This, it seemed, was what he had wanted to find when he left New York to go roving. The lake, storm-lashed, was a wild and terrible thing. It was a beast, but something with a vast appeal lay behind its fury and its anger. Lake Michigan was the place for a man. It would never be free of challenge if there was anyone who dared to pick up the gauntlet it cast.
There was motion beside Ramsay, and the deck hand who had passed while he argued with the bearded man fell in beside him. He glanced at the man. The deck hand was about thirty-six, older than Ramsay by eighteen years, and there was a seasoned, weather-beaten look about him. It was as though he had turned his face to many a raging storm and many a fierce wind.
He grinned amiably. "Hi!"
"Hi!" Ramsay said.
The deck hand chuckled. "Boy, I thought you were in trouble sure when you were ruckusin' with old Devil Chad."
"Devil Chad?"
"Yeah. The one who told you to help load hides. He'd of cleaned the deck with you."
"Maybe he would," Ramsay said. "And then again, maybe he wouldn't."
"He would," the deck hand asserted. "He can lick anybody or anything. Owns half the country 'round here, he does, includin' most of the Holter. What's more, he aims to keep it. One of the richest men in Wisconsin."
"Quite a man," Ramsay said drily.