the dink was Lefty Howe. He pulled in beside the float. When
he stepped up on the planks, he limped perceptibly.

"Land alive, what happened yuh, Lefty?" his wife cried.

"Got a rap on the leg with a peevy," he said. "Nothin' much."

"Why did the _Waterbug_ go down the lake?" Stella asked breathlessly.
The man's face was serious. "What happened up there?"

"There was a fuss," he answered quietly. "Three or four of the boys got
beat up so they need patchin'. Jack's takin' 'em down to the hospital.
Damn that yeller-headed Monohan!" his voice lifted suddenly in
uncontrollable anger. "Billy Dale was killed this mornin', mother."

Stella felt herself grow sick. Death is a small matter when it strikes
afar, among strangers. When it comes to one's door! Billy Dale had
piloted the _Waterbug_ for a year, a chubby, round-faced boy of twenty,
a foster-son, of Mother Howe's before she had children of her own.
Stella had asked Jack to put him on the _Waterbug_ because he was such a
loyal, cheery sort of soul, and Billy had been a part of every
expedition they had taken around the lake. She could not think of him as
a rigid, lifeless lump of clay. Why, only the day before he had been
laughing and chattering aboard the cruiser, going up and down the cabin
floor on his hands and knees, Jack Junior perched triumphantly astride
his back.

"What happened?" she cried wildly. "Tell me, quick."

"It's quick told," Howe said grimly. "We were ready at daylight.
Monohan's got a hard crew, and they jumped us as soon as we started to
clear the channel. So we cleared them, first. It didn't take so long.
Three of our men was used bad, and there's plenty of sore heads on both
sides. But we did the job. After we got them on the run, we blowed up
their swifters an' piles with giant. Then we begun to put the cedar
through. Billy was on the bank when somebody shot him from across the
river. One mercy, he never knew what hit him. An' you'll never come so
close bein' a widow again, Mrs. Fyfe, an' not be. That bullet was meant
for Jack, I figure. He was sittin' down. Billy was standin' right behind
him watchin' the logs go through. Whoever he was, he shot high, that's
all. There, mother, don't cry. That don't help none. What's done's
done."

Stella turned and walked up to the house, stunned. She could not credit
bloodshed, death. Always in her life both had been things remote. And as
the real significance of Lefty Howe's story grew on her, she shu