“You’d be shot so damned quick ye’d never know what struck!” said Vesty promptly. “Word’s been passed around that you’re a revenuer, but I’ve put a stop to that. If Owen John does any talkin’ before they take him to Charlevoix, he’ll be able to tell what happened, but they say he’s bad off.”
“I suppose the sheriff will be over to investigate?”
Vesty sucked at his pipe a moment. “Maybe,” he said slowly. “And maybe not. Depends on what story’s told. This here is Beaver Island, me lad. Them fellys has had scraps with everybody—Injuns, Danes, Israelites and Washinton Island men. Last week they had a scrap with some fellys from Cheboygan that was robbin’ some nets. A wild bunch, them Cheboygan lads, fishin’ on other folks’ ground and runnin’ whisky in from Canady. What’ll ye do now?”
“Go back to Hog Island,” said Hardrock.
“Do it, and if ye have any regard for health, keep the peace with Matt Big Mary! I’ll walk up the shore with ye—left your canoe on the north point, ye said? It’ll do ye no harm to be seen walkin’ with me.”
They left the shed and swung up to the road, and there Vesty hailed a man and halted Hardrock to meet him.
“It’s Tom Boyle Gallagher, me own cousin, and his boys run the freight-boat and he runs the store yonder. Hey, Tom! Shake hands with Hardrock Callahan. He’s the felly who had the scrap with Connie Dunlevy yesterday mornin’. It’s a friend of Danny’s he is, and a friend of mine, and he’s bought some land on Hog Island from Eddie John Macaulay.”
Tom Gallagher grinned as he met Hardrock’s grip. “Glad to meet ye. Another Callahan, eh? Glory be, but the fightin’ Callahans are all over the world! I seen ye to the dance the other night. Hear ye knocked Connie clear off’n the dock, eh? Good for him.”
“Sorry I had any trouble,” said Hardrock. “I want to spend the summer up here, and it seems like I got off to a bad start.”
“More like a good start,” and Tom chuckled. “Drop in to the store any time. It’s glad to see you I’ll be. See ye later, Vesty!”