By this time it was midday. I was hungry, for a breeze on the water is calculated to sharpen up almost any one’s appetite. I had a lunch in the locker, and this I munched as the sloop sped along to the north shore. Suddenly I saw, or fancied I saw, a speck of white in the bushes some distance ahead. I tacked in the direction, and presently distinguished the mast of some vessel standing out straight among the crooked trees that lined a long and narrow inlet. Satisfied that I had made a discovery of importance, I lowered the jib and took several reefs in the mainsail. The wind carried me directly into the opening, and here I dropped anchor. “Hullo, there! What do you want here?” It was a rough voice that hailed me, and looking around I beheld a rougher-looking man standing on the shore, not ten feet away from me. It was Andy Carney, the fellow Darrow had mentioned to me. He carried a gun, and his manner was one of astonishment and anger. CHAPTER VII. A PITCHED BATTLE. I was astonished to find myself face to face with Andy Carney, whom I knew to be one of the toughest characters that infested the north shore of Rock Island Lake. But if the meeting was unexpected for me, it was equally so for him, for after hailing me he stood still for a moment; and in that space of time I had a chance to recover. “I say, what do you want here?” he repeated, seeing that I did not answer him. “I was looking for a sloop that capsized on the lake a couple of days ago,” I returned. “What kind of a sloop?” I described the Catch Me as best I could. “No such craft around this island,” said Carney, after I had finished. “Are you sure?” “Certain. I was all around the shore only this morning.” I did not believe this statement, and I paused, undecided what to do next. “Was it your sloop?” went on the fisherman. “Yes. She was given to me the day she was blown over.” “That so? Why didn’t you see to her at once?” “I didn’t have time. I was told she was somewhere up here.” “Who told you?” “Tom Darrow.” The instant I uttered the name I was sorry I had done so for I did not wish to get my honest old friend into trouble. The man I addressed scowled. “Darrow ought to keep his mouth shut,” he muttered. “The sloop ain’t here.” “What boat is that over yonder?” “That’s my own craft.” “You have got her pretty well up the cove,” I added. The man scowled even deeper than before. “See here, what business is that of yours?” he demanded. “Reckon I can take my boat where I please.” “I suppose you can; I only asked. I reckon I can do that.” “I drew the boat up because I’m busy painting her, and this is a good spot to do it.” “Do you live here?” I went on, more to gain time to think than for any desire to know. “Sometimes. I’ve got a sort of a house here, and another over to the shore yonder. I own this island.”