The two men walked up the road together, meeting not a few folk. To more than one of these Vesty spoke, introducing Hardrock with emphatic cordiality, stopping now for a word or two and again for a bit of talk, so that it was a good hour afterward when they approached the canoe. Hardrock, who wanted to pick up a trout or whitefish on the way back, showed his trolling line to old Vesty, and had a word of advice as to tackle, and then Vesty gave him a word as to other things. “Lay low, me lad. When news comes, I’ll have Tom Boyle Gallagher’s boy bring it to ye--Micky, his name is. There’s a few Gallaghers left on the island yet, praise be, and any friend o’ Danny’s is goin’ to have a square deal. Be off with ye now, and good luck.” Ten minutes later, with the canoe leaning over to the breeze as she drew out, Hardrock was steering north and exchanging a last wave of the hand with Vesty Gallagher. Under the latter’s optimistic influence and quick friendship, his stunned depression had quite evaporated. He was himself again, no longer hesitant or doubting, ready for whatever might happen. “Blamed lucky thing I met him!” he thought, as he let out his trolling line and settled down to steer for home. “And I sure hope that wounded chap will open up and talk before long. Well, by gosh, I feel a heap better than I did! I think I’ll drop in on Matt’s camp--ought to get there about noon. Going to marry Hughie Dunlevy, is she? Not if I know it! Not, that is, unless she wants to, and I’ll gamble she doesn’t.” * * * * * With just the right amount of ballast to hold her head down, the canoe was a marvel for speed, and Hardrock Callahan, who had not spent all his life in Arizona, knew how to handle her. Thus it was not quite noon when he bore up for the north point on Hog Island. In spite of the big whitefish that came to his line and set his knife to work and brought the gulls wheeling to pick up the offal, Hardrock had plenty of time to reflect on his situation. He was not particularly given to reflection, but just now there was need of it. One man was dead; another was badly wounded; by good fortune, no one knew of their encounter with Hardrock Callahan, but that story was bound to come out. If the wounded man did not recover, and could not give an account of the killing, investigation would probably fasten the blame on Hardrock, from circumstantial evidence. So far suspicion was not directed at him--but it would come. “These are slow-thinking people, and the law is probably slower to reach up here,” he mused. “So much the worse when the time for action comes! Looks like it’s distinctly up to me to land the murderers, as a matter of self-protection; and a fat chance I have of doing it! Since there was no mention of Connie Dunlevy being taken to the hospital, he’s probably not so badly hurt as I thought. That gang is against me, sure. Hm! Guess I’ll take counsel with the young lady. She’s got a level head.”