“You and me will have a talk,” said Hughie Dunlevy, “when you’ve had a bite to eat.” “Right,” said Hardrock Callahan. “I’ve had one or two talks already this morning.” The girl looked at him, met his twinkling gray eyes, and smiled despite herself. CHAPTER II Nelly Callahan saw that this man Hardrock was a stranger; and yet he was not a stranger. No one but a fool would have walked ashore on the Beavers and claimed ownership of land, unless he was known and accepted; for little good his law title would do him. Hardrock was certainly not a fool, however; and at the same time he had some knowledge of the islands. He had hidden his canoe and the stuff in it; and it was significant that Nelly did not look upon the story he told as a lie, but as justifiable precaution. Was it his motorboat that she had seen sinking? “And did ye say,” inquired Hughie, recalling the boat, “that your boat had gone down?” “Motorboat,” and Hardrock nodded in affirmation. “Hit a sunken rock out yonder and raked her bottom out.” “Where from?” “St. James.” Hughie scowled at that, as well he might, since no one but an islander was from St. James; and this man was no islander. Set in the middle of Lake Michigan, inhabited by a hundred and fifty families, each related to the others, living by the loot of the lakes and woods, the islanders were a clannish lot who clung together and let the world go by. A few Indians lingered; a few outsiders had roamed in; a few tourists came and went; and over on High Island was the colony of Israelites--silent, wistful men with wide eyes and hairy lips. No law was on the Beavers, nor ever had been, save when King Strang established his brief Mormon kingdom at St. James. There was not an officer in the group, not a judge nor a lawyer nor a doctor, and one man was as good as another; and once when the revenue men came to pry around, with talk of the Eighteenth Amendment, there were dark tales of what happened by night--but no more revenue men came. As for game wardens they were not fools. The Beavers were not out of touch with the world, however. Scarce a large boat on the western lakes but had from one to ten islanders aboard, and the Beaver Gallaghers were known from Buffalo to Duluth; how many island men lay at the bottom of Whitefish Bay, it was hard to say. Some, who made money, spent the winters in Chicago or elsewhere; and Bowery Callahan, who swung the island vote, was State road-inspector and traveled up and down the land enjoying his ease. * * * * *