The man had, by this time, advanced quite close to them. They saw he was tall, rather swarthy and fairly well dressed. He did not look like a man who “used the river,” as the phrase goes, for those who make their living from the waters of the St. Lawrence.
“I’ll order you about just as much as I please,” he snapped angrily, seemingly in a towering rage. “This island is mine.”
“I’ll have to contradict you there,” rejoined Ralph calmly. “Since the time of the Fenian invasion the island has been a sort of no-man’s-land. The United States and Canada have not yet decided to which government it belongs. We’ve as much right here as you have.”
“You impudent young whelp, don’t accuse me of telling an untruth!”
“I’m doing no such thing,” retorted Ralph bluntly. “I’m stating facts and—you’re not.”
“Well, anyhow, you can’t land here. I’ve no idea where you came from, but I don’t want you here; so get out before I drive you out.”
“You’ll have to answer me a few questions first. What exploded here?”
“What do you think you are? A bloomin’ bobby?”
“No, I don’t think I’m a policeman; but neither I nor my friends here intend to leave till we know more about this explosion. If you have explosives stored here you are a menace to the other islanders, of whom my father is one.”
“A lot I care about that. Are you going?”