The Spell of the White Sturgeon

by Jim Kjelgaard

  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-facedurchin about ten years old stood near, watching him. The youngster wasJohnny O'Toole, son of Shamus O'Toole. In the summer Shamus did oddjobs. In winter, when boats could not run, he drove one of the sledsthat carried leather from Three Points to Milwaukee and cattle hidesfrom Milwaukee to Three Points.

  "You goin' to fix a sturgeon?" Johnny demanded.

  "Sure," Ramsay said absently. "Pretty soon."

  Ramsay's eyes kept straying out on the lake, past the solid wooden pierwhich Hans, Pieter and Ramsay, had erected. The past days, it seemed,had been nothing but work. Up with the dawn and out to make anothercatch of fish. Pack the catch, and spend any time that remained workingon the pier. Weeds were sprouting as high as the corn, oats were headinguntended and unheeded on their stalks, and the farm was getting only theskimpiest attention. All this because they had decided to gamble onfishing.

  When the _Jackson_, summoned by Hans, had nosed into their pier, she hadtaken on board a hundred and twenty barrels--twenty-four thousandpounds of whitefish--and forty thousand pounds of sturgeon. Thewhitefish, Hans had assured them, would bring not less than five cents apound in the Chicago market and the sturgeon were worth three cents apound. When they had their money they would be able to buy a pound net,a pound boat, more salt and barrels, and be ready for fishing on areally big scale.

  Ramsay's eyes kept darting toward the lake. The _Jackson's_ skipper hadsaid that, depending on how much cargo he had to take on in Chicago andthe number of stops between Chicago and Three Points, the ship would beback Tuesday or Wednesday. This was Tuesday, and Ramsay could notcontrol his impatience.

  "Fix a sturgeon," Johnny pleaded. "Fix a sturgeon now."

  "I ... All right, Johnny."

  Ramsay began to dismember a hundred-pound sturgeon, and Johnny O'Toole'seyes danced. He stood anxiously near, trying to remember his manners,but his impatience triumphed. "Gimme his nose, will ya? Can I have hisnose?"

  "Sure, Johnny."

  Ramsay, who had learned a lot about dressing fish since his firsthalting attempts, sliced the sturgeon's nose off with one clean strokeof his knife. The nose was round as a ball, and as rubbery, and everyone of the numberless freckles on Johnny O'Toole's face danced withdelight when Ramsay tossed it to him.

  Immediately, Johnny began bouncing the sturgeon's nose up and down onthe hard-packed ground. He had only to drop it, and the nose boundedhigher than his head. This was the rubber ball, and sometimes the onlyplaything, of children who lived among the commercial fishermen of LakeMichigan. Johnny began throwing the nose against a tree, catching it inhis hand as it rebounded to him.

  Ramsay--Hans and Pieter were down at the lake, strengthening thepier--picked up another sturgeon and filled a barrel. He sprinkled theusual two handfuls of salt on top of the filled barrel, fitted a head toit, and bound it tightly with a black ash hoop. Ramsay looked at the twosturgeon remaining from this morning's catch, and decided that theywould just about fill a barrel. He rolled one of their dwindling supplyover.

  "Can I have their noses, too?" Johnny begged. "Can I? Huh?"

  "Sure, Johnny."

  "Gee! Thanks!"

  Johnny O'Toole began to play with his four sturgeon noses, sometimesbouncing all of them at once and sometimes juggling them. Ramsaycontinued to steal glances at the lake. If everything worked out the wayHans said it would, they would have ... Ramsay dared not think of it,but, even after they paid the skipper of the _Jackson_ for hauling theircatch to Chicago, there would be a great deal.

  "I'd better be goin'," Johnny O'Toole said. "My Pa, he whales me if Istay out after dark. Thanks for the sturgeon noses. I can trade two of'em to my brother for a knife he's got."

  "You're welcome, Johnny. Come back when we have some more sturgeon."

  "I'll do that!"

  Bouncing one of the sturgeon noses ahead of him, Johnny O'Toole startedup the beach toward Three Points. Ramsay watched him go, then cleanedthe last of the sturgeon, put them in a barrel and sealed it. As theevening shadows lengthened, he looked again at the bay. The _Jackson_still had not put in, and he gave up. The ship would not be here untiltomorrow. He left the barrels where they were and went toward the house.

  Tradin' Jack Hammersly's four-wheeled cart was again in the yard, itscurtains rolled up to reveal the trader's tempting array of wares. Hisgray horse was in the corral with the little black, and Tradin' JackHammersly's stovepipe hat was decorously placed on the bench outside thedoor. Ramsay grinned faintly as he washed up. The Trader was aneccentric character, and Ramsay suspected that his eccentricities wereplanned; they made good advertising. But he was likeable, and now theywould get more news. Ramsay went into the house.

  "Hi, Ramsay," Tradin' Jack greeted him. "How about a pretty ribbon forthat girl of yours?"

  "I still haven't any girl."

  "Slow," Tradin' Jack asserted. "So much time you have spent around herean' still no girl. Too slow."

  "I'll get one," Ramsay promised, "but I've been too busy fishing to lookthe field over."

  Tradin' Jack nodded sadly. "Yes. I heard it. That's what I did, heardit. So you go fishin'. So what happens? Can a trader trade fish? No. Hecan't. Fish you sell in Chicago. Fishermen are the ruination oftraders."

  "Not everybody will go fishing," Pieter pointed out. "Enough will stayat farming to keep you supplied. Besides, with all the money thefishermen are going to earn, they can buy a lot more of your goods."

  "That's so," Tradin' Jack agreed. "That's so, too, but a man's got totake everything into account. If he wants to stay in business, he hasto. Got any eggs for me, Marta?"

  "Yaah! Crate after crate."

  "I'll take 'em. Take 'em all. Fourteen cents a dozen. Fourteen and ahalf if you'll take it in trade."

  His mind on the _Jackson_, which even now should be churning its waytoward them, Ramsay only half-listened as Tradin' Jack rattled on aboutthe various events which, combined, went to make up life on the westshore of Lake Michigan. Remembering little of what he had heard, Ramsaywent upstairs to bed. Snuggling down into the soft, feather-filledmattress, he tried to stay awake and could not. The work was always toohard and the days too long to forego even one minute's slumber.

  * * * * *

  The sun was only half-awake when Ramsay got up, breakfasted and wentback to the place where they cleaned their fish. Everything that couldbe was packed and the grounds were clean, but yesterday they had rippeda ragged gash in the seine and now that needed repair. Ramsay, assistedby Hans, set to work with a ball of linen twine. He lost himself in whathe was doing. The important thing, if they wanted fish, was to get thenet into the water and use it. Even one half-hour must not be wasted.

  Ramsay was jerked out of his absorption in the net by two shrill blasts.He sat up, and sprang to his feet as the blasts were repeated. Lookingin the direction of the pier, he saw the _Jackson_, her wheel churningup a path of foam, nosing toward the mooring place. Pieter appeared, andMarta. All four raced to the pier, and they reached it before theapproaching steamer did. Ramsay and Hans secured mooring lines which adeck hand threw to them, and Captain Williamson of the _Jackson_ camedown a short ladder.

  He was a bustling little man who wore a blue-and-gold uniform which,Ramsay thought, would have graced an admiral in any navy. But he wasefficient and he knew the lake. For eleven years he had been running the_Jackson_ between Three Points and Chicago without getting her into oreven near trouble.

  Captain Williamson took a white sheet and a wallet from an inner pocket,and he read from the sheet, "Twenty-four thousand pounds of whitefishyou gave me. It brought five cents a pound, or twelve hundred dollars,less a cent a pound for the hauling. Here you are, nine hundred andtwenty dollars."

  From the wallet he extracted a sheaf of bills and handed them to Hans.Ramsay looked questioningly at him. "The stu
rgeon?" he asked.

  "Ha!" Captain Williamson snorted. "There's enough sturgeon layin' on theChicago pier to run the whole city for the next six weeks. Nobody'sbuying it but, since I hauled, I have to be paid. See you later,gentlemen."

  Captain Williamson scrambled back up his ladder, which was hauled inafter him. Snorting like an overworked draft horse, the _Jackson_ backedaway from her mooring, made a wide circle into the lake, and puffed ontoward Three Points. Ramsay looked incredulously at the money in Hans'fist, slow to realize that, even if they split it among the four ofthem, it would be more than half a year's wages for each and they hadearned it in less than two weeks. Then he looked at Marta's face andburst out laughing.

  From the first, Marta had been with them only half-heartedly and onlybecause Pieter could not be swayed from fishing. Now, seeing enoughmoney to buy a farm, and with tangible evidence that fishing paid well,she had swung completely to their side. Pieter and Hans joined inRamsay's laughter while Marta looked puzzled. She was, as Hans haddeclared, a good Dutch girl. Definitely she was not avaricious, but nogood Dutch girl could fail to be impressed by the sight of so muchmoney. Hans clasped the bills firmly and looked at his partners. "Whatdo you say?" he asked.

  "What do you mean?" Ramsay inquired.

  "Pound nets we need, pound boats. Men to help us set them. More salt andmore barrels. We owe Baptiste. Or shall we divide what we have and keepon fishing with the seine?"

  "Will it take so much to buy those things of which you speak?" Martainquired.

  "This and more, if we really want to take fish."

  "Then let's do it!" Marta declared.

  "Pieter?" Hans inquired.

  "Fishing beats farming."

  "Ramsay?"

  "I came here to fish."

  "Come with me."

  Hans hitched the little black horse, and Ramsay climbed up on the cartbeside him. Captain Klaus, hurrying frantically from his perch atop thehouse, alighted on the cart and caressed Hans with his bill. The Dutchfisherman whistled happily as he drove along, and Ramsay grinned. Thiswas the way to get things done; work every second of every day to catchfish and then, without even thinking twice about it, invest everythingthey had earned in more equipment so they could catch even more fish.Captain Klaus winged off the cart to go and see what some of his wildrelatives along the lake shore were doing.

  Ramsay turned to Hans, "How big is this pound net?"

  "Ha! You have never seen one?"

  "Never."

  "Soon you will. Very soon you will. There are a lot of pieces in eachnet and, all together, they weigh about six hundred and fifty pounds. Itwill cost, I think, about thirty cents a pound, or perhaps two hundreddollars for each net. Then we shall need at least one pound boat, andthat will cost an additional two hundred dollars. We shall need morerope, perhaps two hundred and fifty pounds, at a cost of about ninecents a pound. Then we shall have to hire men to help us drive spilesfor the net. We need more barrels, more salt. The money we have herewill provide us with no more than one net."

  "How many should we have?"

  "I think that you, I and Pieter could handle three on part time. Wecould very well use seven or eight if we gave full time to pound nets.However, as soon as we get three in working order--and meanwhile we willcontinue to seine--we will build a good Mackinaw boat, like the _Spray_,and use gill nets, too."

  Ramsay whistled. "We're really getting in deep!"

  "Ah, yes!" Hans said gleefully. "But the fishing, it is a business! Itis the only business for a man!"

  Ramsay pondered thoughtfully. Devil Chad, who lately had seemed remote,was now near and his presence could be felt. Probably, to anyone whoknew Devil Chad, it would be impossible to go into Three Points withoutsensing his nearness. If Devil Chad had set out to control everything,then why hadn't he made an attempt to control fishing? Certainly it wasprofitable. Ramsay dismissed the thought. Maybe Devil Chad had his handsfull and lacked the time to intrude on the fisheries. It still seemedstrange that he would lack time to intrude on anything that offered anhonest, or even a dishonest, dollar.

  Captain Klaus came winging back to the cart and perched on theDutchman's shoulder. Hans turned the little horse down a dim road, oneRamsay had not yet noticed, on the edge of Three Points, and they cameout on the borders of a river that emptied into the lake.

  There was a large shed with a chimney that leaned at a crazy angle andbelched a thin trickle of smoke. Hans halted the little horse, whoimmediately lowered his head to nibble at one of the few patches ofgreen grass growing on this sand beach. Ramsay turned his head to lookat the place.

  Lumber of various sizes and cuts was stacked all about it, and there wasa pile of uncut logs left to season. Ramsay saw the gleam of a saw andcaught the scent of a wood-fired boiler. Now the saw's shrill roar wasstilled and the boiler's fires were banked. Ramsay looked at the dozenboats that were drawn up on the river bank. They were sturdy, fourteento sixteen feet long, and propelled wholly by oars. At the back of eachwas sort of a small winch. There were broad seats and long oars. Ramsayturned to face the man who emerged from the shed.

  He was tall, blond and so big that he was almost fat. But his quick eyeswere not those of a dull-witted fat man, and his big hands tapered intoslim, expressive, artist's fingers. A ready smile seemed engraved on histhick lips, and his blue eyes lighted readily. "Hans!" he exclaimed.

  "Hello, Tom," Hans said.

  "What the dickens! I thought you'd gone off some place!"

  Hans laughed. "Not me! I wish you to meet one of my new partners, RamsayCartou. Ramsay, Tom Nedley. He is an artist with the wood and could makefine violins, but he prefers to pass his time on this river bank, makingpound boats for indigent fishermen."

  "Glad to know you." Tom wrung Ramsay's hand. "What are you up to?"

  "We have come," Hans announced, "to get a pound boat."

  "Sure. Take your pick."

  "We," Hans said grandly, "have the money to pay for it."

  "Gosh! I heard you lost the _Spray_?"

  "That we did," Hans conceded, "and three good men with it. But we shallbuild another boat as good. Can you, by the way, supply me with a goodoaken keel and cedar planking?"

  "Sure. I'll even show you where there's some big cedar stumps that'll dofor the ribbing."

  "I already know," Hans said. "What we wish to have you do now is delivera good pound boat to Pieter Van Hooven's place. Two hundred dollars?"

  "Yup. But if you haven't the money ..."

  "We have it," Hans assured him. He counted out some money and pressed itinto Tom Nedley's hands. The big boatmaker looked both embarrassed andpleased. "Gosh! Thanks! Got your spiles driven?"

  "Nope."

  "For that you need two boats."

  "Of that I am aware. But we do not have money to buy two."

  "I'll get my brother, my cousin and their sons," Tom Nedley offered. "Bedown in the mornin'."

  "For that we will pay you."

  "Aw, Hans ..."

  "Take it." Hans grinned. "We are certain to get rich fishing but, if wedon't, you will have something."

  "Aw shucks ..."

  "Take it!"

  "We'll be there."

  "Thanks," Hans said.

  Mounting the cart, he turned the horse around and at a smart trot droveup into the village. Ramsay sat proudly erect, feeling strength likethat of a young bull arise within him. This was the village from whichhe had been driven in disgrace by Devil Chad, but it was a village hedared return to. Any time he felt like it he would return to ThreePoints, and let Devil Chad meet him if he dared. Hans stopped the horsein front of a cottage which might have been an exact duplicate of theone occupied by Pierre and Madame LeDou.

  Letting the horse stand, Hans leaped from the cart and faced Ramsay."This," he announced loudly, "is the home of Frog-Mouth Fontan, whosegood wife is about to sell us a pound net. Frog-Mouth, by the way, isone of Devil Chad's closest friends."

  As though summoned by the voice, one of the very few tall French
menRamsay had ever seen appeared at the door. His mouth, the boy noticed,was oddly like that of a frog. As soon as he recognized his visitor, heemitted an enraged bellow and charged.

  Hans grinned, stepped aside, and swung. But Frog-Mouth Fontan was anexpert fighter, too. He dodged, pivoted and dealt two swift blows thatset Hans' head to rocking. Then the Dutchman found the range, and senthis pile-driver fist into Frog-Mouth's jaw. He hit again, and a thirdtime. Frog-Mouth Fontan staggered, weaved backwards, and with a sillygrin on his face sat down against the cabin. He continued to grinfoolishly, staring into the bright sun. A small, dark woman without anyteeth appeared at the door. She looked at her husband, then spat at him."_Cochon!_" she said. "Pig!" She looked at Ramsay and Hans. "What do youwant?"

  "One of your excellent pound nets, Madame Fontan," Hans murmuredpolitely.

  "Do you have the money to pay for it?"

  "We have it."

  "Load the net."

  Ramsay helped Hans lift the folded net, four pieces ofthree-and-a-quarter-inch webbing, two pieces of six-and-a-quarter-inch,and seven pieces of eight-and-a-half-inch, onto the cart. The lattersagged beneath almost seven hundred pounds of net, and the little horselooked questioningly around. But he stepped out obediently when Hansslapped the reins over his back, and Captain Klaus squawked over them asthey returned to Pieter's farm.

  * * * * *

  The next morning Ramsay stared in astonishment at a unique craft comingdown the lake. Five men, one of whom was Tom Nedley, manned theoutlandish rigging, and it was propelled by two sets of oars. Ramsaystrolled down to meet it, and noticed some spiles--poles--aboutthirty-five feet long, that were piled on the beach. Evidently Hans hadcut them, or had them brought down, after he and Ramsay returned home.The craft, and as it drew near, Ramsay saw that it was two sixteen-footpound boats, bound together by stout planks front and rear, nosed intothe pier. The crew disembarked, and Tom Nedley introduced Ramsay to hisbrother, his cousin and their two strapping sons. Ramsay turned acurious gaze on the boats.

  They were lashed solidly together by planks that kept them about fifteenfeet apart. On top of the planks was raised a sort of scaffolding,connected by a heavy beam whose nether surface was about twenty feetfrom the water. Suspended from the beam was a four-pulley block with arope through each pulley, and the ropes supported an iron drop hammer.There was another pulley whose use Ramsay could not even guess.

  Shouting and scrambling as though this were some sort of picnicespecially arranged just for them, Tom Nedley's boisterous crew threwthe spiles in the water and floated them out to the boats. They tiedthem to the stern, then set up a concerted shouting. "Hans! Hey, Hans!Pieter!"

  Grinning, Hans and Pieter, who had lingered over their breakfast afterRamsay was finished, appeared from the house. Tom Nedley's brother saidplaintively, "Twenty minutes of six! Half the day gone already! Don'tyou fellows ever do anything except sleep?"

  "Yaah!" Hans scoffed. "Who is so filled with ambition?" He looked at theoarsman who had spoken and leaped lightly into the boat. "Now we willsee who is the best man."

  Ramsay jumped on board just in time to keep from being left behind, andHans bent his mighty back to the oars. In the second boat the otheroarsman tried to match Hans' pace, and the unwieldy craft spurted awaylike a frightened deer. Trailing behind, the spiles left a path ofbubbly ripples.

  Out of the bay they went and into the open lake. Then they turned south,obviously Hans had some destination in mind. At any rate, he seemed toknow exactly where he was going. They stopped rowing on a reef about amile from shore, and one of the men retrieved a spile.

  Tom Nedley spoke to Ramsay. "Feel strong?"

  "Sure thing."

  "Good. We'll need some strong men around here. Wait until they're set,an' then I'll show you what to do."

  Hans and another man up-ended the spile and probed toward the lakebottom with it. They hung it on the other pulley and, when it was inplace, the end was about three feet below the drop-hammer. Hans fastenedit to the pulley, steadied it with his hands and sang out, "Let her go!"

  Tom Nedley handed a long rope to Ramsay, bade him hold it tight, and twomen in the other boat took the other two ropes. Jerking the rope in hishands, Tom Nedley tripped the latch holding the drop-hammer, andinstantly Ramsay felt the weight.

  He hung on very tightly and was reassured by Tom Nedley's quiet, "You'llsoon get the hang of it. When I give the word, let the hammer fall justhard enough to hit the spile. Stop it, of course, before it hits theboys steadyin' for us."

  Ramsay waited, his eyes on Tom Nedley. The big man said, "Now!"

  The hammer dropped squarely but not completely, because Ramsay tried tostop it too soon. Again Tom Nedley reassured him.

  "Just let her fall," he urged, as he helped raise the hammer back intoposition. "There's plenty of time to stop her, but don't be careless.That hammer weighs a hundred and seventy five pounds, an' I doubt ifeven Hans' head would take that much fallin' on it."

  This time Ramsay got the rhythm. The hammer dropped swiftly, squarelyand with full force. It seated the spile in the lake bottom, so thatthere was no longer any necessity for holding it. Hans and the otherstepped back. Again and again Ramsay helped drop the hammer, until thepole was driven about eight feet into the lake bottom and perhaps fourfeet remained above the surface. It had been about thirty-six feet tostart with, therefore the water at this place was twenty-four feet deep.It should be right for whitefish.

  "Let me take that rope a while," someone said.

  Gladly Ramsay relinquished his rope to Pieter, and rested his achingshoulders while he watched interestedly. The piles were being driven ina geometrical pattern, a sort of square, and Ramsay understood that thefirst nine were to hold the pot, the actual trap. Measuring carefully,the boats moved away and more spiles were driven. These were for thehearts of the net. Finally, running straight toward shore, spiles weredriven in a pattern that resembled the forks of a 'Y.' To these would beattached the tunnel, the webbing that guided fish through the hearts ofthe pound net and into the pot.

  Ramsay straightened, easing his aching shoulders. It was hard work, veryhard, to lift the hammer and let it fall for hours on end. But now thespiles for one pound net were driven. The boy turned to Hans. "Gee whiz!How about moving all this?"

  "You don't move a pound net except, of course, to take up the webbingwhen the lake freezes. Otherwise, we'll leave this right where it is. Itis possible to fish a pound net in the same location for fifty years ormore."

  "What's next?"

  "Set the net. I think there is still time."

  They rowed back to the pier, where Marta, who had taken over thetreasurer's post, paid Tom Nedley and his crew. The big man grinned histhanks.

  "You need us again, you know where to find us."

  "We'll probably take you up on that," Hans said.

  The ropes binding the two boats were loosened and the scaffold takendown. Leaving the boat Hans had bought, Tom Nedley and his helpers piledinto the other one and started rowing up the lake. Hans, Pieter andRamsay went to the pound net.

  The pot, the trap, was loaded first. Then came the flaring, heart-shaped'hearts,' and finally the leads, or tunnel. Setting himself to the oars,Hans rowed back to where they had driven the piles. He tied the lead,the beginning of the tunnel, to the spile. A five-pound stone fastenedto the bottom rope carried it down into the lake. Giving the oars toRamsay and cautioning him to travel slowly, Hans fastened the lead toeach spile and sank it with stones. The flaring hearts were set in thesame way.

  Coming to the pot, Hans first fastened a four-foot chain with anattached pulley to the pile. Then he tied a rope, double the depth ofthe water and with some allowance for shrinkage, to the bottom of thepot. He did this on each spile, and they put the whole pot into thewater. Ramsay began to understand.

  In effect, they had set a gigantic fly-trap. Any fish that came alongwould be guided by the tunnel into the hearts, and then into the pot.Should any escape, the
flaring sides of the hearts would keep themtrapped and, nine times out of ten, send them back into the pot insteadof out through the tunnel.

  * * * * *

  Ramsay labored under the weight of a two-hundred-pound sturgeon whichhad been dragged in by the seine. Hans and Pieter hadn't wanted tobother with sturgeon because there was no market for them, anyhow, butRamsay had permitted them to throw none back into the lake. Cradling hisslippery prize across his chest, as though it was a log, he carried itto the pond and threw it in. For a moment the sturgeon swam dazedly onthe surface, then flipped his tail and submerged. Ramsay gazed into thepond. It was alive with sturgeon weighing from seventy-five to almostthree hundred pounds. There were so many that, to supplement the food inthe pond, they were feeding them ground corn.

  Ramsay stripped off his wet clothes and dived cleanly into the pond.Water surged about him, washing off all the sweat and grime which he hadaccumulated during the day. He probed along the pond's bottom, and feltthe smooth sides of a sturgeon beneath him. It was only a little one.

  He swam on until he had to surface for air, and dived again. Across thepond's murky depths he prowled, his white body gleaming like some greatworm in the water. Finally he found what he was looking for.

  It was a big sturgeon, and it was feeding quietly. Moving as slowly aspossible, Ramsay rubbed a hand across its back. Suddenly he wrapped botharms about the fish and took a firm grasp with his bare legs.

  For a moment, while the dull sturgeon tried to determine what washappening, there was no movement. Then the big fish awakened to dangerand shot to the surface. With all the speed of an outboard motor hesliced along it, and a moment later he dived again. Grinning,exhilarated, Ramsay swam back to shore and dressed.

  Tradin' Jack Hammersly's rig was in the yard, and Ramsay heard the mansay, "Marta, what you been feedin' your hens?"

  "The best!" Marta said indignantly. "The very best!"

  "The best of what?"

  "Why grain, and scraps, and ..."

  "And sturgeon roe?"

  "Why--yes."

  "What I thought," Tradin' Jack sighed. "Ye'll have to stop it. Ever'customer as got some of your eggs told me they taste like caviar!"

  A moment later there was a rapid-fire sputter of French expletives. Hisface red, seeming about to explode, Baptiste LeClaire raced around thecorner of the house.

  "Get your guns!" he screamed when he saw Ramsay. "Get your knives andclubs too! Get everything! We have to kill everybody!"