"Where were you?" Ramsay demanded.
"I'll ask the questions here!" Devil Chad's thick lips curled in an ugly oblong. "Where's the Holter?"
"At the bottom of Lake Michigan!" Ramsay flared. "Captain Schultz and one of your deck hands are lying drowned on the beach! I don't know where the others are."
Devil Chad's glass balls of eyes glinted. His face twisted into a horrible glare, and every inch of his big frame seemed to shrink and swell with the rage that consumed him. "You mean to tell me," he demanded furiously, "that all them hides was lost?"
"Men were lost," Ramsay pointed out.
"You mean to tell me," Devil Chad repeated, as though he had not heard Ramsay, "that all them hides was lost?"
"Swim out and get 'em," Ramsay invited. "I'll show you the place where I landed, and the Holter can't be more than a couple of miles out in the lake."
"What did Schultz do?" Devil Chad demanded.
"Drowned."
"You're pretty flip, boy," Devil Chad warned, "an' I don't put up with flip people. You tell me what happened."