A few mornings after the first call of the _Calista_ Budge and Percy were out pulling traps. Percy had told Jim plainly that he did not care to do any more trawling. Jim had smiled and made no reply; but after that either Throppy or Budge went out with him after hake. What the others said in private about Percy he neither knew nor cared. On this particular forenoon the lobster-catchers had half circled the island. As they nosed along the northern shore Percy spied some strange-looking floats ahead. "There's a red buoy!" he exclaimed. "Somebody else must be fishing here!" Incredulously Budge glanced forward. What he saw left him sober. "You're right! This'll be unpleasant news for Jim." They ran up to the strange float. It was a battered wedge, painted a faded brick color. Percy gaffed it aboard. "What's the brand?" queried Budge. "Hasn't any." Lane examined it and found that Percy was correct. The wood bore no marks to reveal its owner. "Better haul the trap?" asked Percy. He began heaving in on the warp. "Stop that!" ordered Budge, sharply. "Throw it over. We don't want to get into any scrape. We'll have to put it up to Jim this noon. He'll know what to do." They counted nine more of the red buoys before they reached the northeast point of the island. "Look there!" Percy pointed toward the landlocked Sly Hole. A thin column of blue smoke was rising above it, as if from the stovepipe of an anchored boat. Budge debated for a moment, then turned the bow of the pea-pod toward the narrow entrance. "We'll go in and see who's there." A dozen quick strokes sent the boat through the winding channel into the little harbor. Budge rested on his oars and they looked eagerly about. In the center of the haven lay anchored a rusty black sloop about forty feet long, a dory swinging at her stern. From her cabin drifted the sound and smell of frying fish, mingled with men's voices. "Might as well take the bull by the horns," said Budge. He rowed directly up to the sloop. The sounds on board evidently drowned the dipping of his oars, for it was not until the stem of the pea-pod struck the rusty side that the voices stopped and two startled brown faces popped up out of the companionway. Both men had sharp black eyes, and black shocks of hair badly in need of the barber. One was slightly gray, and a prickly stubble of unshaven beard covered his chin. The younger man had a jet-black mustache with long, drooping ends. Both wore red shirts, open at the neck, with sleeves rolled above the elbows. The younger held a half-smoked cigar, while his companion grasped a large fork, which he evidently had been using on the fish. For a few seconds the two couples regarded each other in silence. [Illustration] Then the man with the black mustache smiled ingratiatingly. "H'lo, boys!" he invited. "Won't you come 'board?" "No, thank you," declined Budge. "When did you get here?"