Among the six of them it was not hard to guess close to the truth. Connie Dunlevy knew that Marty Biddy and Owen John had gone out in the launch to catch Hardrock; nobody else knew this, but he knew it, for he had sent them. And he knew that they, like himself, had been up and raising deviltry all that Thursday night, and like himself had been in liquor. “They had no guns,” he swore solemnly to Hughie and the other four. “What would they be havin’ guns for, now? It was this felly Hardrock that had a shotgun anyhow, and likely carried a pistol.” “He told me,” said Hughie, stirring his hot one, “that it was whisky-runners had shot up the lads.” “How’d he know that?” demanded Jimmy Basset. “If they sunk his boat and he shot ’em, it’s hangin’ he needs. He told ye the tale of whisky-runners, Hughie, for a blind.” “Most like he did,” agreed Hughie. “We’ll have no outlanders comin’ in here and murderin’ poor helpless lads like them! What story was told on the mainland about it?” A cousin of the dead man spoke up, his face black and gloomy. “It was told they had put a box of cartridges into the stove by mistake. Irene Dunlevy is a nurse in the hospital yonder, and Owen John’s father did go over wid him, so there’d be no chance of Owen’s talkin’ to outside ears.” “Then the matter’s up to us to settle?” “It is that. There’ll be no officers pokin’ their heads into the island.” Hughie sipped his hot one reflectively. They looked to him for leadership, and he was not backward in accepting the guidon; at the same time, he was not going to rush headlong into trouble. There had been altogether too much trouble of late, and any rash actions that would compel the law to make an investigation would make everybody on the islands irritated with Hughie Dunlevy. “We’ll ’tend to him,” said Hughie. “We’ll give him a dose that’ll send him away where he come from. I got a little score of my own to be settlin’ wid him.” “So I hear,” said one, and there was a snicker. “What’d he hit ye wid, Hughie?” “Blessed if I know, but he’ll not do it again! You felleys go easy wid your talk, now. We got other things to mind besides him. I’m goin’ to cut loose every fish-trap up and down the shores that aint ours, and if we meet them Cheboygan or Manistique lads, we’ll make ’em like it.” “That’s the stuff, Hughie!” came the chorus of affirmation. Now Jimmy Basset spoke up, as he limped over to the stove and refilled the kettle. “After church this mornin’ I was talkin’ a bit wid Matz Larsen. Ye know that little point where his wharf and fish-sheds are, on the Garden Island shore up beyond his place? He was tellin’ me that on Thursday mornin’ at the break o’ the storm, him and his boys were mendin’ nets when they seen a strange boat off the island, cruisin’ about.” “Eh?” Hughie’s eyes narrowed. “What sort o’ boat was it?” “Green wid a red stripe around the house. A stranger. Up from Ludington, maybe, or one o’ them ports. It was no Cheboygan boat; that’s certain.”