“Well,”--and Hughie stood up,--“it’s time I was off, for I’ve a date. We’ll go over to Hog Island tomorry night and attend to the lad from Arizona. We’ll take my big open boat that the resorters use for fishin’-parties. Jimmy, fetch a quart along to cheer us up. I’ll have the boat ready as soon as it’s dark.” “Then put lights aboard her,” said Connie Dunlevy, “for the coast-guard has been raisin’ hell wid the lads for carryin’ no lights.” Hughie laughed at that, and swung away. It was little he cared for the coast-guard. * * * * * So, with all this keeping the island busy, and no boats putting out that Sunday, and the wind in the east so the tourists could make up no fishing-parties, there was none to notice the small launch that came drifting up the channel toward sunset, past the length of the island, with a man standing in her and waving his shirt as a signal for help. The coast-guard might have seen her, but it was dark before she came within sight of the point, and then the channel current carried her out and on past Pismire Island. So she went on drifting up between Garden and Hog, and no lights on her, and not a soul knew of her being around. It was well they did not, for if they had seen her and had seen the man who was aboard her, there would have been some tall talk. It was Hardrock Callahan who heard the man yell. Hardrock had been down the island shore in his canoe that afternoon, having grown tired of waiting for boats that did not come, and had been pulling bass from around the wreck in Belmore Bay. He kept nothing under three pounds, and he had sixteen on his string when night came, and stayed to make it twenty. He was paddling up for the end of the island in the darkness when he heard a long shout and then another one coming from the water, and started out to see who was there. When he sang out and got answered, he paddled up toward the launch. “Engine’s broke down and my gas has leaked out,” called the man in the launch. “I left Charlevoix this morning and have been drifting up the channel all afternoon. Can you give me a lift?” “You bet,” said Hardrock, coming alongside. “No oars aboard?” “Nary a sign. What you got there, a canoe? You can’t pull the launch with that.” “You climb aboard and take my other paddle,” said Hardrock, “and save your breath to work with. Got any grub? No? Then we’ll get around to my camp and fry some of these bass, and in about an hour you wont give a cuss whether you get home tonight or not.” The other laughed, transferred skillfully to the canoe, and after making fast a line to the launch, they set out. Neither man spoke as they slowly worked the dragging launch ahead, got her around the point, and then down the north shore to Hardrock’s camp.