The mist was gone, and a sharp breeze had sprung up in its wake. Every night, when the fishing was done, or any time at all when they weren't being used, the pound boats were pulled far up on the shore. Casting a circle of light over the water, the burning boats illuminated the rising waves whose whitecaps broke and fell. A fierce storm was in the making.

Ramsay's fear gave way to terrible anger. The wind from the lake would have fanned the flames anyway, but obviously, before they had been set on fire, the two pound boats had been coated with tar, pitch, or something else that would burn hard and assure their complete destruction. They were already charred beyond the faintest hope of salvation. Ramsay gritted his teeth.

Hans left the house and swung back, away from the lake, on a course that would keep him in the shadows. Ramsay followed, and he was aware of Pieter following him. There was not the least sign of the raiders or of the boat they might have come in. Ramsay hesitated. Perhaps they had done their work and fled, or perhaps they were lurking in ambush near the burning boats. Five shotguns could be ready to cut down whoever came.

Then Ramsay set all his doubts at rest. He knew what he must do.

There could no longer be any question but that this was Devil Chad's work. He controlled everything around Three Points that made any money.

He was out to gain control of the fishing, too, and he was not a man who would leave any job half-done. Failing to provoke a fight because the White Sturgeon had ruined his gill net, he had taken the direct approach. Beyond any doubt he would be able to produce any number of witnesses who would swear that Hans, Ramsay and Pieter were the aggressors. Ramsay knew what he was going to do about this.

"Take the shotgun," he whispered, and pressed the weapon upon Pieter.

"But ..."

"Take it," Ramsay repeated.

Leaving the shotgun with the bewildered Pieter, he dropped to the ground and wormed farther away from the circle of light. Into the shadows he went, then on toward the lake. Now he did not know where Hans and Pieter were or what they were doing, but he was positive that they would take any action necessary when the time came. He no longer felt alone.

This was a thing that could never be settled with guns but must be slugged out toe to toe and man to man. The fishing was worthwhile, and any man who would get and keep anything worthwhile had to be ready to fight for it. If Devil Chad had already fled, tomorrow they must go into Three Points and seek him out.

Ramsay halted, peering around. He could see nothing clearly. The flames had died down and there was only dimness, filled with varying shadows that were most difficult to identify. But what was that down at the edge of the lake?

It seemed to rise and fall with the rising and falling waves. Most of the shadows were there one second and flitted away the next, but this did not flit away, and after another thirty seconds Ramsay was fairly sure that it was a Mackinaw boat, anchored out in the lake. Its crew had waded ashore from it and, when and if they ran, they would wade back to it.

Ramsay began a slow, steady crawl toward the anchored craft. The burning pound boats flared brightly, seeming to ring him with a halo of light.

He shrank back, certain he could be seen, then as the glare subsided, crawled forward again. If he could see no one in the darkness, neither could anyone see him.

He was within thirty yards of the lake now, and he no longer gave a thought to Hans and Pieter. He was sure only that they would be present when they were needed and that his way was the right one. There could be no compromise with destruction and no lingering aftermath of this outrage. Whatever was to be settled had to be settled completely, and tonight.

Ramsay was certain now that the thing he saw was an anchored Mackinaw boat. It remained in the same place, rising and falling with the waves, and no nebulous shadow did that. Intent on the boat, he was not aware of the man until he heard his voice, "Gus, you fool! I said be quiet!"

Ramsay held very still, and a rising exultation flooded him. He had heard that voice before, and there was only one just like it. He had heard it first when he stood on the _Holter_--that seemed years ago. He knew that he lay within feet of Devil Chad, who was indeed waiting in ambush with his men.

The angry voice repeated, "Be quiet! They'll come!"

Ramsay rose and rushed forward, flinging himself into this combat with all the fierce joy of a newly awakened warrior. He had given a full summer, an important part of his life, to building up a career which he greatly loved. Now he stood ready to defend it with his muscles, his heart and, if need be, his life.

He saw Devil Chad rise uncertainly to meet him, not knowing whether he was friend or foe. He aimed a mighty kick at the shotgun in the other's hands, and he knew that he had knocked it completely out of his enemy's grasp. He felt a fresh burst of wind on his cheek and, strangely, knew all about the storm that was brewing on the great lake. He closed with his enemy.

Devil Chad and his men had come to destroy and, if necessary, to kill.

But they had counted on Ramsay, Pieter and Hans, charging angrily up the sand beach. Outlined against the burning boats, they would be at a tremendous disadvantage. A hail of lead from five shotguns could cut them down in almost no time. They had their choice between surrendering or dying for what they believed in.

It had never occurred to Devil Chad or his men that an enemy would dare crawl into their very midst. The darkness that had befriended them now became their enemy. Nobody dared shoot because nobody could possibly be certain whether he were shooting at friend or foe. Ramsay edged up to Devil Chad and swung a tremendous upper-cut to the other's jaw.

He missed, felt his knuckles graze his enemy's cheek, and stepped back for a new try. Only vaguely was he aware of muffled exclamations that became shouts and then grunts. He knew that Pieter and Hans had closed in. Then it was as though he and Devil Chad were alone.

This was something that had to be. The seed that made the task necessary had been planted long ago, on the _Holter_. It had taken deep root during the fight in the tannery. Since that time Ramsay had met every challenge the lake had flung at him. Now he would have to prove himself capable of meeting the challenges men flung at him. Then, and only then, could he survive.

Ramsay's lips framed a grin. He had taken the risk, and he had won. For one brief second somebody might have shot him down, then the opportunity was forever gone. Now nobody dared shoot. He found a firm footing on the lake sand.

Ramsay dodged a terrific blow that would have knocked him flat had it connected, and went back in with his arms swinging. He sunk a left and a right to his adversary's midriff and heard Devil Chad's breath whistle out of his clenched lips. He drew back to strike again.

Like the bull he was, Devil Chad charged recklessly. He took Ramsay's stinging blows without flinching, and the boy had to give ground. But it was not lost ground, and for one brief, glorious second Ramsay stood and traded blows. His head rocked, but he took what the other had to offer and returned it in full measure. Then he learned his mistake.

A pair of gigantic arms were flung about his middle. They tightened like a vise, bending him backward and seeming to compress him into a space not half-big enough. His spine was ready to crack, and lights danced in his head. He gasped for air.

The many lessons he had been taught by Hans Van Doorst came to his rescue. Four months ago, and perhaps even one month ago, the fight would have been ended by that terrific bear hug. But now Ramsay remembered in time that he was not fighting a man alone but a man who was part beast.

And it was never wise to lose one's head. A man must always adapt himself and fight like a beast if he fought with one.

Summoning all his remaining strength, Ramsay drew back his right foot and sent his heavy shoe smashing into Devil Chad's shin. The fellow relaxed his hold and staggered back into the darkness.

Ramsay stumbled away from him. Devil Chad was a bull, he remembered, and he did not know about matadors. The next time he rushed, the boy stepped aside and let his opponent's momentum carry him past. Ramsay's strength and breath came back.

He became cool, able to reason coolly. Devil Chad outweighed him by fifty pounds, so he must not close again. If he did not, and there were no accidents, he, Ramsay, would win this fight. For the first time in his life Devil Chad was fighting his equal.

Ramsay felt strength swell within him. It was the strength of the lake, and it had flowed into his body through the numberless sturgeon he had carried to the pond and from the many times he had helped bring in the seine and from the many fish he had scooped from the raised pound nets.

He was no longer a boy but a man.

The burning pound boats were falling into embers now, and as the light they cast receded the blackness of the night became more intense. Wind keened in from the lake, and the waves assaulting the sand beach made themselves heard.

Ramsay waded in, his fists flying. In the darkness he was aware of Devil Chad coming to meet him, but his deception of his opponent was complete.

From the first, he had had no intention of meeting him squarely.

He stepped aside, lashing out with both fists as he did so, and felt both of them collide soddenly with Devil Chad's chin. The latter bellowed, swung his head and hooked viciously. But he hooked falsely, for Ramsay was not there. His lithe body, dodging and twisting, now here and now there, became like the cape that lures the bull to its doom.

Devil Chad swung and kicked, and often he struck his target. But he did not strike hard enough to bring Ramsay down, and he could not again get a grip with his giant arms, although he tried desperately.

Roaring wildly, he charged. But it was a blind, mad attack, directed almost completely by rage and desperation.

Ramsay licked his upper lip, vaguely aware of the fact that he was tasting his own blood but not caring. He felt no pain, and it was oddly as though he sat on some high pinnacle from which he could watch himself and direct himself. Both his fists lashed squarely into Devil Chad's face, driven by all the strength in his hard, young body.

Devil Chad paused, as though bewildered, and Ramsay knew that he was stunned. Not stopping, throwing some of his caution to the wind, he followed up his advantage. His fists worked like cracking whips as he struck again and again. Devil Chad spun around, took two halting steps, and sank to one knee.

He remained there like some carved statue, and again Ramsay licked away the blood that flowed down his face. Now, if he did the correct thing, he would go in and end it with kicking feet. He would beat Devil Chad as mercilessly as he had been beaten. But he did not.

He waited, cool and poised, while the other bowed before him. Only when Devil Chad lurched to his feet and struck out drunkenly did Ramsay go in again, and he went in with his fists. He beat a continuous, almost unopposed tatto on his enemy's chin. The second time Devil Chad collapsed he measured his full length on the sand, and he did not move again.

Ramsay stood watching intently for several moments. He wanted to make certain that he had met his enemy fairly and defeated him fairly. How long he had been fighting he did not know. It seemed like a few seconds, but it must have been much longer. He only knew that he had come out of the battle stronger than he was when he went into it. He called, "Hans?"

"Here," the Dutch fisherman answered.

His voice was strained, but even now there was nothing of desperation in it. Rather, it was a joyous voice. Ramsay turned toward it and saw scuffling men. He approached them and reached out with groping hands until he touched another man. It was neither Hans nor Pieter, and as soon as he was sure of that he swung.

He felt a strong disappointment, for the heat of battle flared strong within him and, instead of fighting back, the man merely collapsed on the sand. Obviously he had already been manhandled by Hans and had little strength left. Ramsay looked strangely at him, as though there was something that should not be. Then he became aware of the fact that dawn had come and he could see. He turned to help Hans or Pieter, whichever needed it the most, and he turned just in time to see Hans hit Joe Mannis so hard that the body-watcher flew into the air, described a little backward whirl, and fell on the sand.

Hans stood, shaggy and huge, breathing hard, but unbeaten and unbeatable. Moving over beside him, Ramsay felt that at last he was worthy to stand there. Both watched while Pieter teased the single remaining man, one of the hired ruffians who had helped set the gill net, then slapped him resoundingly on both cheeks. As though he were unworthy of further notice, Pieter whirled on his heel and left his foe.

The man went weaving up the beach into the lightening morning.

Hans grinned wryly at Ramsay. "Your face, it looks like a horse stepped on it."