A few mornings after the first call of the Calista Budge and Percy were out pulling traps. Percy had told Jim plainly that he did not care to do any more trawling. Jim had smiled and made no reply; but after that either Throppy or Budge went out with him after hake. What the others said in private about Percy he neither knew nor cared.

On this particular forenoon the lobster-catchers had half circled the island. As they nosed along the northern shore Percy spied some strange-looking floats ahead.

"There's a red buoy!" he exclaimed. "Somebody else must be fishing here!"

Incredulously Budge glanced forward. What he saw left him sober.

"You're right! This'll be unpleasant news for Jim."

They ran up to the strange float. It was a battered wedge, painted a faded brick color. Percy gaffed it aboard.

"What's the brand?" queried Budge.

"Hasn't any."

Lane examined it and found that Percy was correct. The wood bore no marks to reveal its owner.

"Better haul the trap?" asked Percy.

He began heaving in on the warp.

"Stop that!" ordered Budge, sharply. "Throw it over. We don't want to get into any scrape. We'll have to put it up to Jim this noon. He'll know what to do."

They counted nine more of the red buoys before they reached the northeast point of the island.

"Look there!"

Percy pointed toward the landlocked Sly Hole. A thin column of blue smoke was rising above it, as if from the stovepipe of an anchored boat. Budge debated for a moment, then turned the bow of the pea-pod toward the narrow entrance.

"We'll go in and see who's there."

A dozen quick strokes sent the boat through the winding channel into the little harbor. Budge rested on his oars and they looked eagerly about.

In the center of the haven lay anchored a rusty black sloop about forty feet long, a dory swinging at her stern. From her cabin drifted the sound and smell of frying fish, mingled with men's voices.

"Might as well take the bull by the horns," said Budge.

He rowed directly up to the sloop. The sounds on board evidently drowned the dipping of his oars, for it was not until the stem of the pea-pod struck the rusty side that the voices stopped and two startled brown faces popped up out of the companionway. Both men had sharp black eyes, and black shocks of hair badly in need of the barber. One was slightly gray, and a prickly stubble of unshaven beard covered his chin. The younger man had a jet-black mustache with long, drooping ends. Both

wore red shirts, open at the neck, with sleeves rolled above the elbows. The younger held a half-smoked cigar, while his companion grasped a large fork, which he evidently had been using on the fish. For a few seconds the two couples regarded each other in silence.

Then the man with the black mustache smiled ingratiatingly.

"H'lo, boys!" he invited. "Won't you come 'board?"

"No, thank you," declined Budge. "When did you get here?"

"We come last night, from ... there," with a vague gesture toward the west. "We fish, we lobster. You live on dis island ... yes? We stay here, too. We be good friend. Wait!"

Diving below, he brought up a long-necked black bottle.

"You have drink?"

"No!" refused Budge, decidedly.

The man looked disappointed. He muttered a few words to his companion. The latter scowled. Then they drank from the bottle and replaced it below. The younger man began talking again.

"Disa good harbor! We build camp there."

He gestured toward the beach.

"We plenty lath on board. We make one ... two hundred trap. We stop all summer. Good friend, eh?"

"I guess so," returned Budge.

The program announced had taken him somewhat aback. He hardly knew what to reply. Pushing the pea-pod off, he turned her toward the channel.

"You livea 'cross dis island ... yes?" shouted the man after him. "We come see you to-night!"

Budge made no response to this advance. Steady, rapid pulling soon brought the boys again into open water.

"Well, what do you think now?" asked Percy.

"Wait till we hear what Jim says," was Lane's reply.

The remaining traps were hauled in double-quick time and they made a bee-line for Sprowl's Cove. Spurling and Throppy came in at noon on the Barracouta. Jim's brows knitted when he heard of their new neighbors.

"What should you say they were?" he inquired.

"Don't know," answered Lane. "Only I'm sure they're not Yankees."

"And they had no brand on their buoys?"

"Not a letter!"

"That's against the law. Suspicious, too. So they intend to build a camp here and spend the summer?"

"That's what they said."

The anxious furrows in Jim's forehead deepened. He brought his fist down hard on the Barracouta's cabin.

"Boys," he said, firmly, "they can't stop here. There aren't lobsters enough on these ledges for them and for us. What they get we won't. They've got to pull up those traps and get out just as quick as we can make 'em."

The others exchanged looks of surprise. Though they knew Jim's absolute fairness and sense of right, they could not help feeling that his decision was a harsh one. Jim read their faces.

"I know what you're thinking, boys. It seems as if I had no right to drive 'em off. But suppose any one of you owned a piece of woods on the mainland, and a stranger should come and begin to chop the trees down without your permission. How long would you stand it? The same principle holds good here, even if it is twenty-five miles offshore. This is my uncle Tom's island. He's been paying taxes on it for years. His living comes from it and the waters round it. He's leased it to us on shares, and we've got to look out for his interest as well as our own.

"But how can you stop them from setting traps?" queried Lane. "I thought the sea beyond low-water mark was public property."

"It is. They can set as many traps as they can bring on their sloop, and I never could trouble 'em so long as they lived aboard. If they fished with only the few they've got now I'd never say a word. But when they talk of building a camp ashore, and going into the business wholesale with one or two hundred pots, we must draw the line, and draw it sharp. They can't use any of the shore legally without my permission, and that they'll never get; and if they try to use it illegally they'll find themselves in hot water mighty quick.

"Another thing," he continued, "they're strangers to us, and drinking men. They might pull our traps or accuse us of pulling theirs. There's a chance for all sorts of mix-ups. No, they've got to go, and the sooner the better."

"They're coming across to call to-night," said Lane.

"Not if we can get over there first. We'll go round in the sloop as soon as these hake are dressed and salted."

At four o'clock the last fish was slapped down on the rounded-up tub.

"Now we'll go," announced Jim. "Come on, everybody! You, too, Filippo! Might as well show up our full force. It may help stave off trouble."

"Aren't you going to take the gun?" Percy inquired.

"Gun? No! What'd we want of that? We don't intend to shoot anybody."

Twenty minutes after the Barracouta left Sprowl's Cove she was thudding into the Sly Hole. The sloop still lay at anchor in its center, but the dory was grounded on the beach. From the woods above, ax-strokes echoed faintly.

"Either cutting firewood or beginning on that camp," said Jim.

Presently the chopping ceased. Before long the two men appeared on the top of the bank, dragging a spruce trunk about twenty feet long. On seeing the Barracouta they halted in surprise, then dropped the tree and hurried down to their dory.

"Seem to be afraid we've been mousing round aboard their boat," muttered Spurling.

Without responding to his hail the two strangers rowed hastily to their sloop and went below. A minute or two of investigation evidently satisfied them that nothing had been disturbed. As they came up again Jim ran the Barracouta alongside.

"Where you from?" he asked.

The younger man again acted as spokesman:

"Way off ... there!"

As when Budge had questioned him, he gestured vaguely toward the west. Then he launched into a repetition of what he had said that forenoon.

"We stay on dis island all summer. Make trap. Build camp. Catch plenty fish, plenty lobster. All friend, eh?"

He laid his left hand on his heart, and with his right made a sweeping gesture that included the whole group.

"You wait!"

Dropping suddenly out of sight, he reappeared with equal quickness, brandishing the black bottle.

"We drink ... all together, eh?"

Jim brushed his proffer aside.

"I've hired this island. You'll have to pay me rent if you stop here."

A shadow of wrath swept over the dark face. Instantly it was gone, and a smile replaced it.

"Rent!" he protested. "No, no! Friend no pay! We sing, we smoke, we drink, we playa cards. All good friend together. No pay money!"

The last very decided. The older man nodded vigorously in confirmation, and for the first time broke silence.

"No pay money!" he repeated. "All friend!"

The two laid their hands on their hearts and stood smiling and bowing. For a moment Jim was nonplussed. He backed the Barracouta out of earshot.

"Well, what d'you think of the outlook?" asked Lane.

"Don't like it, and I don't like them. Too much palaver! I've got 'em sized up. They're regular salt-water gipsies; I've heard of 'em before. They drift round from one place to another, fish a little, lobster a little, smoke a good deal, and drink more. They'd be worse than a pestilence on this island. Yes, sir! They've got to go! They know just as well as I do that they've no right to stop here; but they're going to bluff it through. They'll try to stave me off by pretending not to understand what I mean, but you noticed they were bright enough when money was mentioned."

"What are you going to do about it?"

"Tell 'em they've got to go!"

"And if they won't?"

"Send for the sheriff!"

While the boys had been holding their council of war the two men had disappeared into their cabin, where they held an angry, but unintelligible, discussion. As Jim brought the Barracouta once more alongside their heads quickly appeared. They were scowling blackly.

"Will you pay rent?" demanded Jim.

"No pay rent," came the defiant reply from both together.

"Pull up your traps, then, and go!"

"No go!" exclaimed the younger. "You go! We stay!"

"That settles it," said Jim. "I'll send for the sheriff to-night, and have him here in the morning."

He leaned over to start his engine. At his first movement the two dropped out of sight, but before he could rock the wheel they were up again, each holding a shot-gun. They leveled these weapons at the Barracouta.

"No send for sheriff! No start engine!"

Jim straightened up and the startled boys glanced at one another. The demonstration of hostility had come like a bolt from a clear sky. Things looked ugly. Again the younger man spoke.

"S'pose you go for sheriff. We stay! Cut buoy! Sink boat! Burn cabin! Then go before you get back! How you like that, eh?"

For once Jim was at a loss. What answer could be made to such an argument? The other noted his hesitation, and smiled triumphantly.

"You let us alone, we let you alone! You trouble us, we trouble you. Now you go!"

It was half a permission, half a command, backed by the leveled guns. Jim was on the point of starting the engine when Filippo interrupted him.

"Misser Jim, let me talk to 'em," he begged in a low tone.

Spurling glanced at him in surprise.

"What for, Filippo? Are they countrymen of yours?"

"Don't know! I see!"

"Go ahead, then! It can't do any hurt."

"Hi!" called out Filippo. "Listen! Ascoltatemi!"

The two men started as if they had been shot; they fixed their gaze on Filippo. He began talking rapidly to them in Italian, gesturing freely. They replied in the same language. For fully ten minutes the heated dialogue continued. Jim and his mates listened in silence, now and then catching a word they had learned from Filippo, but not comprehending the drift of the debate.

At last it was clear that some conclusion had been reached. Shaking their heads in disgust, the two sullenly restored their guns to the cabin. Filippo turned to Jim.

"All right! They go to-night, after they pull traps. Now we start—right away!"

Jim looked at the Italian in amazement; but he started the engine and the sloop forged out of the cove. Once in the passage, he broke silence.

"How did you ever manage it, Filippo?"

"I tell them your uncle own island; you hire it of him for summer. You lots of friends. If they no go, you send for sheriff right away. We too many for them. Guard cabin with gun till you get back. Sheriff come in night, while they sleep. Take them, take boat, take trap. Put them in jail. They break rock, work on road rest of summer. They not like that. They go!"

"Good enough, Filippo! Guess you didn't strain the truth much. You certainly have got us out of an unpleasant hole. I'm free to say I was at my wits' end. Good thing for us we ran across you on the wharf at Stonington!"

"Better thing for me!" answered Filippo.

That evening after supper the boys stole silently through the woods to the northeastern end of the island. The Sly Hole was empty! The sloop had gone!

Stepping out of the evergreens, Jim looked westward along the shore.

"There they are!"

The dory towing astern was piled high with traps.

"Shouldn't wonder if they had some of ours among 'em!" exclaimed Jim. "No matter! We're getting rid of 'em cheap, if they scoop a dozen! But look at that! They've got all they want, and now they're cutting away our buoys! Here's where I call a halt!"

He sprang out upon the bank in plain sight.

"Hi, there! Stop that!"

One of the men had just gaffed a buoy. At Jim's hail he glanced up and waved his hand nonchalantly. Then he deliberately cut the warp. The other man dropped into the cabin and reappeared with the two guns. Jim threw himself flat on his face.

"Down, boys!" he cried.

A hail of birdshot peppered the bluff and the woods behind it as both the double-barrels roared out in unison. One leaden pellet drew blood from the back of Jim's hand, while Throppy, a little slow in dropping to cover, was stung on the cheek. The others were untouched. Percy shook with fright and excitement. Lane was boiling with anger.

"Let's take the Barracouta and follow 'em!" he proposed.

"Cool off, Budge!" laughed Jim. "That's just a parting salute. Besides, they've got two guns to our one. Let 'em go! And good riddance to bad rubbish! See! They're on their way now!"

The sloop's head swung to the north and she filled away.

"They've done what damage they've dared and they're gone for good. They'll be up at Isle au Haut to-night, either in Head Harbor or Kimball's Island Thoroughfare. Forget 'em!"

"Lucky my temper isn't hitched up with your strength," said Lane.