The woman shrugged. "I'm tellin' you for your own good, kid. You'll get nowhere in Three Points as long as Chad don't like you. Why not be a smart little boy and beat it back to wherever you came from?"
Ramsay said, "That isn't a good idea."
"You're a stubborn kid, ain't you?"
"Mule-headed," Ramsay agreed. "Even worse than a mule."
"Well, if you won't take good advice, there's not much I can do. Would you like to sleep here tonight?"
"Nope. I'll be going now, and thanks for the steak."
"Well ... Good luck, kid."
"Thanks."
Ramsay walked out into the darkness and drew his jacket tightly about him. The lake shore was cold by day, much colder by night when there was no sun to warm it. He had brought extra clothing, but all his personal belongings had gone down with the Holter. He looked dismally at the dark town—Three Points seemed to go to bed with the setting sun—and wandered forlornly down toward the lake front. Both the sailing vessel from Ludington and the Jackson were gone.
A little wind was driving wavelets gently against the shore, and the lap-lap of their rising and falling made pleasant music in the night. Ramsay wandered out on the pier, where the stacked bags of salt were covered with tarpaulins. He looked furtively around.