Jim Spurling, Fisherman Part 16

"Hasn't any."

Lane examined it and found that Percy was correct. The wood bore no marks to reveal its owner.

"Better haul the trap?" asked Percy.

He began heaving in on the warp.

"Stop that!" ordered Budge, sharply. "Throw it over. We don't want to get into any sc.r.a.pe. We'll have to put it up to Jim this noon. He'll know what to do."

They counted nine more of the red buoys before they reached the northeast point of the island.

"Look there!"

Percy pointed toward the landlocked Sly Hole. A thin column of blue smoke was rising above it, as if from the stovepipe of an anch.o.r.ed boat.

Budge debated for a moment, then turned the bow of the pea-pod toward the narrow entrance.

"We'll go in and see who's there."

A dozen quick strokes sent the boat through the winding channel into the little harbor. Budge rested on his oars and they looked eagerly about.

In the center of the haven lay anch.o.r.ed a rusty black sloop about forty feet long, a dory swinging at her stern. From her cabin drifted the sound and smell of frying fish, mingled with men's voices.

"Might as well take the bull by the horns," said Budge.

He rowed directly up to the sloop. The sounds on board evidently drowned the dipping of his oars, for it was not until the stem of the pea-pod struck the rusty side that the voices stopped and two startled brown faces popped up out of the companionway. Both men had sharp black eyes, and black shocks of hair badly in need of the barber. One was slightly gray, and a p.r.i.c.kly stubble of unshaven beard covered his chin. The younger man had a jet-black mustache with long, drooping ends. Both wore red s.h.i.+rts, open at the neck, with sleeves rolled above the elbows. The younger held a half-smoked cigar, while his companion grasped a large fork, which he evidently had been using on the fish. For a few seconds the two couples regarded each other in silence.

[Ill.u.s.tration]

Then the man with the black mustache smiled ingratiatingly.

"H'lo, boys!" he invited. "Won't you come 'board?"

"No, thank you," declined Budge. "When did you get here?"

"We come last night, from ... there," with a vague gesture toward the west. "We fish, we lobster. You live on dis island ... yes? We stay here, too. We be good friend. Wait!"

Diving below, he brought up a long-necked black bottle.

"You have drink?"

"No!" refused Budge, decidedly.

The man looked disappointed. He muttered a few words to his companion.

The latter scowled. Then they drank from the bottle and replaced it below. The younger man began talking again.

"Disa good harbor! We build camp there."

He gestured toward the beach.

"We plenty lath on board. We make one ... two hundred trap. We stop all summer. Good friend, eh?"

"I guess so," returned Budge.

The program announced had taken him somewhat aback. He hardly knew what to reply. Pus.h.i.+ng the pea-pod off, he turned her toward the channel.

"You livea 'cross dis island ... yes?" shouted the man after him. "We come see you to-night!"

Budge made no response to this advance. Steady, rapid pulling soon brought the boys again into open water.

"Well, what do you think now?" asked Percy.

"Wait till we hear what Jim says," was Lane's reply.

The remaining traps were hauled in double-quick time and they made a bee-line for Sprowl's Cove. Spurling and Throppy came in at noon on the _Barracouta_. Jim's brows knitted when he heard of their new neighbors.

"What should you say they were?" he inquired.

"Don't know," answered Lane. "Only I'm sure they're not Yankees."

"And they had no brand on their buoys?"

"Not a letter!"

"That's against the law. Suspicious, too. So they intend to build a camp here and spend the summer?"

"That's what they said."

The anxious furrows in Jim's forehead deepened. He brought his fist down hard on the _Barracouta's_ cabin.

"Boys," he said, firmly, "they can't stop here. There aren't lobsters enough on these ledges for them and for us. What they get we won't.

They've got to pull up those traps and get out just as quick as we can make 'em."

The others exchanged looks of surprise. Though they knew Jim's absolute fairness and sense of right, they could not help feeling that his decision was a harsh one. Jim read their faces.

"I know what you're thinking, boys. It seems as if I had no right to drive 'em off. But suppose any one of you owned a piece of woods on the mainland, and a stranger should come and begin to chop the trees down without your permission. How long would you stand it? The same principle holds good here, even if it is twenty-five miles offsh.o.r.e. This is my uncle Tom's island. He's been paying taxes on it for years. His living comes from it and the waters round it. He's leased it to us on shares, and we've got to look out for his interest as well as our own.

"But how can you stop them from setting traps?" queried Lane. "I thought the sea beyond low-water mark was public property."

"It is. They can set as many traps as they can bring on their sloop, and I never could trouble 'em so long as they lived aboard. If they fished with only the few they've got now I'd never say a word. But when they talk of building a camp ash.o.r.e, and going into the business wholesale with one or two hundred pots, we must draw the line, and draw it sharp.

They can't use any of the sh.o.r.e legally without my permission, and that they'll never get; and if they try to use it illegally they'll find themselves in hot water mighty quick.

"Another thing," he continued, "they're strangers to us, and drinking men. They might pull our traps or accuse us of pulling theirs. There's a chance for all sorts of mix-ups. No, they've got to go, and the sooner the better."

"They're coming across to call to-night," said Lane.

"Not if we can get over there first. We'll go round in the sloop as soon as these hake are dressed and salted."

At four o'clock the last fish was slapped down on the rounded-up tub.