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.
Nelly looked at the two men by the fire, and felt a sudden hurt in the heart of her for the smiling stranger. He had no fear in his eye, and under his brown throat his skin was white like ivory, and his arms under their tattered sleeves were smooth as silk. At him as he ate glared Hughie Dunlevy, broad and dark like all the Dunlevys, rippling with great muscles, a man with strength to toss a box of fish like a toy; and many a tale was told of Hughie on the lake boats, and how he put the boots to any man who dared stand up to him.
Now Hardrock sighed, and smiled at Nelly, and thanked her for his meal.
“We’ll have our talk,” said he to Hughie, “and then I’ll have a smoke.”
“I’m not so sure about that,” said Hughie. “What are ye doing here?”
“Resting on my own land, if you want to know. I bought this end of the island from Eddie John Macaulay in Charlevoix.”
There was no parry between the two of them, no hesitation. Hardrock looked Hughie in the eye and gave him the news straight and direct.
“Buying isn’t keeping,” said Hughie. “We’ll have a word about that matter. Eddie John told us to take the timber if we wanted it, and take it we will.”
The gray eyes of Hardrock glittered for a moment.