Water crept around his feet as he made his way across the deck to the cage. He put his hand on the bar, and as soon as he did that the little horse thrust a soft, warm nose against it. He muzzled Ramsay's hand with almost violent intensity. All his life he had depended upon men for everything. Now, in this peril, men would not desert him.

Softly Ramsay stroked the soft muzzle, but only for a second. The _Holter_ was going down fast. Soon, as the gloomy deck hand had forecast, she would be on the bottom of Lake Michigan. There was no time to lose. Ramsay unlatched the door of the cage, opened it, and when he did that the horse walked out.

He stayed very near to the boy, fearing to leave, and once or twice bumped Ramsay with his shoulder. Ramsay studied the angry lake, and looked back at the horse. Again he glanced out on the stormy water.

There was nothing else in sight. Those who, by one way or another, hoped to reach shore were already lost in swirling sheets of rain. Ramsay bit his lower lip so hard that he drew blood.

The men had either jumped, or else had merely ridden over the rail on a wave that set the decks awash, but the horse could not do that. There was real danger of his breaking a leg, or becoming otherwise injured, if he tried. Ramsay turned and caught up the axe with which Captain Schultz had stricken down the door.

The black horse crowded with him, afraid to be alone, and the boy had to go around him to get back to the rail. The horse pushed close to him again and Ramsay spoke soothingly, "Easy. Take it easy now."

He raised the axe and swung it, and felt its blade bite deeply into the wooden rail. He swung again and again, until he had slashed through it, then moved ten feet to one side, toward the rail's supporting post, and cut it there. The severed section was whisked into the wave-tormented lake as a match stick disappears in a whirlpool. Ramsay threw the axe back onto the _Holter's_ sinking deck and stepped aside.

Get something that would float, Captain Schultz had said, and be sure that it would keep him above water. But suddenly he could think of nothing that would float. Wildly he cast about for a hatch cover or a door. There was not one to be seen.

The _Holter_ made a sudden list that carried her starboard deck beneath the lake. A wave surged across her. Even the little horse had unsteady legs. Ramsay tried hard to overcome the terror within him.

Then, together, he and the little horse were in the lake. He threw wild arms about the animal's neck, and a huge wave overwhelmed them. Gasping, he arose.

The lake was wilder and fiercer and colder than he had thought it could be. Every nerve and muscle in his body seemed chilled, so that he was barely able to move. Another wave washed in, over both the little black horse and himself, and for a moment they were deep beneath the churning waters. They broke onto the surface, Ramsay with both hands entwined in the horse's mane, and the horse turned to look at him.

There was uncertainty in the animal's eyes, and fright, but no terror.

The little horse knew his own power, and the fact that a human being stayed with him gave him confidence in that strength.

Ramsay spoke reassuringly. "We're all right. We'll do all right, Black.

Let's get out of it."

The words were a tonic, the inspiration the horse needed. The next time a wave rolled in, he did not try to fight it. Rather, he rose with it, swimming strongly. He had adjusted himself to many situations, now he met this one without panic. An intelligent beast, he had long ago learned that every crisis must be met with intelligence.

Ramsay stayed easily beside him, keeping just enough weight on the swimming animal to hold his own head above water and doing nothing that would interfere with the furious fight the horse was waging to keep from drowning.

The lake was indeed cold, colder than any other water the boy had ever known, and he had to exercise every particle of his mind and will just to cling to the horse. The wind blew furiously, and sluicing rain poured down. Then the rain dwindled away and heavy mist settled in. Ramsay knew a moment's panic.

It was impossible to see more than a few feet or to tell which way the shore lay. The lake was huge, and should they be heading towards the Michigan shore, they would never get there. Ramsay tried to remember all he had ever known of wind and drift and currents on Lake Michigan, and discovered that he could remember nothing. Any direction at all could be north and he was unable to orient himself, but he controlled the rising panic. It would do no good at all to lose his head.

The wind seemed to be dying, and the waves lessening. Ramsay kept his hold on the little horse's mane. He saw a floating object pass and tried to catch it, but when he did so he almost lost his hold on the horse.

Kicking hard to catch up, he twined both hands in the horse's mane and tightened them there.

Then he felt a rebirth of confidence. Already they had been in the lake for a long, long time and he had been able to hold his own. It was impossible to get much colder, or more numb, than he already was and he could still hang on. Besides, the horse seemed to know where he was going.

He swam strongly, and apparently he was swimming straight. At any rate, there was no evidence that he was traveling in circles or choosing an erratic course. Ramsay had been told that animals have an instinct compared to which the most sensitive human's is coarse and blunted and maybe that was true. Maybe the horse did know where it was going.

Now that the waves were not rising so high, the horse swam faster. The wind died almost completely, so that the lake's surface was merely ruffled, and Ramsay felt a mounting confidence in his ability to live through this. In the overcast a gull cried, and things had started going wrong with the _Holter_ when the gulls left it. Now they were back.

Probably they, too, had known of the approaching storm and had flown to safety off the lake.

The swimmers broke out of the mist and Ramsay saw the beach.

It was about a hundred yards away, a sand beach behind which a rocky cliff rose. This wore a crest of evergreens, and its face was spotted here and there with smaller trees. A cloud of white gulls screamed into the air as Ramsay and the horse approached.

They reached the shallows, and the little horse's back emerged from the water like that of some suddenly appearing sea monster. Ramsay let go his hold on the animal's mane and swam. Then, coming to waist-high water in which he could wade, he splashed toward the beach.

The wind had died, but waves still pounded the beach and it was very cold. The near borders of this wild lake, Ramsay decided, probably never warmed up. With an immense body of cold water lapping them, they were perpetually chilled.

While the little horse looked gravely on, Ramsay stripped his clothing off, wrung it out, and put the wet garments back on. The horse crowded very close, as though he were afraid to go away. He nibbled Ramsay with his lips. As soon as the boy moved, he moved with him.

He stayed very near as Ramsay walked up the beach, a stretch of driftwood-spotted sand that varied from sixty to two hundred feet in width and reached clear back to the rising bluff. A belt of wet sand showed where the lake had crawled up onto the beach and fallen back.

The boy stopped suddenly, and the little horse stopped with him. Just ahead, in the belt of wet sand which the highest waves had washed, lay two tumbled figures. The little horse tossed his head uneasily, not liking this at all, and Ramsay felt a cold lump rise in his throat. He advanced at a slow walk and, after some hesitation, the horse trotted to catch up with him. Ramsay stopped again.

The two drowned people were Captain Schultz of the _Holter_ and the deck hand who had wished so fervently that he was somewhere else. Ramsay cleared the lump in his throat, and was struck by the notion that at last the deck hand had gone somewhere else. Then the black horse raised his head and nickered, and the boy looked around to see a man on a spotted black-and-white horse riding toward him.

He rode at full trot, the reins hanging loosely around his mount's throat, and he wore an outlandish sort of affected cowboy's hat pulled low over his eyes. His features were heavy, and would be flabby when he had aged a few more years. Blue jeans clung tightly around his legs, and straight black hair lay thick on his head. As he rode, he leveled a heavy pistol.

"Go on! Beat it!"

"But ..."

"This is my find! I said beat it!"

The pistol roared, and a heavy ball buried itself in the sand at Ramsay's feet. The boy felt a quick anger and a disinclination to obey the order to leave. He took a step toward the horseman, knowing that he would need a few seconds to re-load his pistol. But almost by magic another pistol appeared in the man's hand and he leveled it steadily.

"Your last warnin'. Go on!"

Ramsay shrugged, and the black horse followed him as he walked on. This was indeed a strange land, where men were willing to fight for the possession of corpses. What did the horseman want with them? The loot they might have in their pockets? Perhaps, but that seemed very unlikely. Captain Schultz was not the type of person who would carry a great deal of money in his pockets, and certainly the deck hand wouldn't have enough to bother about. But obviously the horseman wanted the two bodies.

Ramsay walked on up the sand beach. Gulls rose protestingly as he came in sight, and flocks of ducks scudded across the water. A pair of Canada Geese hissed at him as he passed. They were guarding a nest and they were ready to fight for it. Ramsay gave them a wide berth and the horse walked faithfully beside him.

The afternoon was half-spent when Ramsay smelled wood smoke. He quickened his pace, but remained cautious. This was a wild land, with no part of it wilder than this lonely Lake Michigan Beach, and there was never any certainty as to just what anyone would find or how he would be received. Nevertheless, if these people were friendly, other humans would be welcome. Ramsay was both hungry and tired to the point of exhaustion. He fingered the two dollars in his pocket. He could pay his way. He rounded a long, forested nose of land where the bluff cut the sand beach to a narrow five feet and looked out on a peaceful bay.

The bluff gave way to gently rising, treeless hills. A rail fence hemmed part of them in, and black-and-white cattle grazed inside the fence. A stone house, of Dutch architecture, stood on a knoll that commanded a view of the lake, and a suitable distance from it was a snug wooden barn. A small lake, or large pond, separated from Lake Michigan by a narrow neck of land, glowed like a blue sapphire. Chickens, ducks and geese crowded noisily together in the barnyard, and a man with a wooden pail in his hand came out of the barn door.

Ramsay walked forward, as first uncertainly and then very steadily. A man might be afraid, but it was always to his advantage not to let the enemy, if enemy this might be, know he was afraid. The man at the barn door hesitated, and then stood still while the boy approached.

Ramsay greeted him pleasantly, "Hello."

"Hello."

The man was tall and supple, with a frank, open face and intelligent, blue eyes. He was perhaps six years older than Ramsay and he spoke with a Dutch accent. Ramsay said, "I was sailing up to Three Points on the _Holter_. Now she's wrecked and I must walk...."

"The _Holter's_ wrecked?" the other broke in.

"Yes."

"Any drowned people on the beach?"

"Two, but a man on a black-and-white horse took them away from me at pistol point." Ramsay knew a rising impatience. "Why the dickens should he do that?"

The other grinned faintly. "You get money for watching 'em until they can be brought in and buried proper, and money is not easy to come by.

If there's a man already watching these, that would be Joe Mannis. He combs the beach night and day after storms, and he's got as much money as most people. What can I do for you?"