Short Stories
preparing for a trip, when Big Alec stepped aboard. Carmintel
evidently knew him, for they shook hands in recognition. Big
Alec took no notice of Charley or me.
"I've come down to fish sturgeon a couple of months," he
said to Carmintel.
His eyes flashed with challenge as he spoke, and we no-
ticed the patrolman's eyes drop before him.
"That's all right, Alec," Carmintel said in a low voice. "I'll
not bother you. Come on into the cabin, and we'll talk things
over," he added.
When they had gone inside and shut the doors after them,
Charley winked with slow deliberation at me. But I was only a
youngster, and new to men and the ways of some men, so I
did not understand. Nor did Charley explain, though I felt
there was something wrong about the business.
Leaving them to their conference, at Charley's suggestion we
boarded our skiff and pulled over to the Old Steamboat Wharf,
where Big Alec's ark was lying. An ark is a house-boat of small
though comfortable dimensions, and is as necessary to the Up-
per Bay fisherman as are nets and boats. We were both curious
to see Big Alec's ark, for history said that it had been the scene of
more than one pitched battle, and that it was riddled with bullet-
holes.
We found the holes (stopped with wooden plugs and painted
over), but there were not so many as I had expected. Charley
noted my look of disappointment, and laughed; and then to
comfort me he gave an authentic account of one expedition
which had descended upon Big Alec's floating home to capture
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