Ramsay sighed as he cleaned and honed his fish knife, and Hans said, "The moon is bright and right for working, and we need a pier."
"A pier?"
"Yaah. Else how will a boat put in to pick our catch up? I work for an hour or so."
Ramsay, thinking of his comfortable bed, stumbled down to the lake to help Hans put in an hour or two on the pier.
CHAPTER EIGHT
ACTION
Restlessly Ramsay picked up a big whitefish and cleaned it. Salting it, he threw the fish into a barrel and picked up another. A freckle-faced urchin about ten years old stood near, watching him. The youngster was Johnny O'Toole, son of Shamus O'Toole. In the summer Shamus did odd jobs. In winter, when boats could not run, he drove one of the sleds that carried leather from Three Points to Milwaukee and cattle hides from Milwaukee to Three Points.
"You goin' to fix a sturgeon?" Johnny demanded.
"Sure," Ramsay said absently. "Pretty soon."