El Diablo Part 35

Ready to clear for Diablo at last! Gregory's lieutenants had done their work well. The gear from the ship-chandlers had arrived on the morning train. Also the remittance from Farnsworth. d.i.c.kie Lang had outfitted the fishing-boats in record time. Crews of experienced men were selected and supplies taken aboard. One by one the launches were carefully examined by the girl and despatched singly on a course mapped out by herself, a course which would bring them to Northwest Harbor without skirting the sh.o.r.e of the island. The auxiliary supply boat, the last of the fleet to go, had cleared but an hour before. For the time being d.i.c.kie Lang was content to rest upon her oars.

Bronson was ready. In response to a night letter from Gregory he had arrived on time with the _Richard_, bringing with him a full equipment of heavy gear. Tuned to the minute, the speed-craft waited impatiently at the cannery float for the signal to be under way.

Jack McCoy was ready. Everything within the cannery was shipshape to handle a big run. Depleted supplies had been hastily ordered. Necessary additions to the floor force had been made and the house-manager was in possession of detailed instructions for the running of the plant during the owner's absence.

Even Hawkins was ready. The advertis.e.m.e.nts had been written and checked over before being despatched to _The Times_ to "farm out" among the other city dailies. In addition to that, the newspaperman had arranged to communicate with his paper _via_ the cannery wireless should he be fortunate enough to secure a big story.

Gregory himself was ready. The details of the embarkation had been covered to the minutest detail. A plan had been formulated in the early morning hours for the outwitting of Mascola at El Diablo, a plan to which d.i.c.kie Lang had given her hearty approbation before it was sent to Howard over the radio.

Gregory turned for a last word with McCoy before giving the order which would send the _Richard_ to sea.

"We'll keep in close touch, Jack," he said. "We'll expect you to do the same. This is Friday. If we send in a lot of fish to-morrow it will mean a straight run over Sunday. Keep a man at the key day and night. And don't forget that we are low on cash. If you get any orders that look at all good, grab them until we can get 'out of the woods.' We're going up against a mighty stiff proposition. It's make or break, and the sooner we get down to cases with Mascola the better it will be."

He put out his hand and McCoy's fingers tightened over his. Then McCoy watched him go down the gangway and take his place beside d.i.c.kie Lang in the _Richard_.

"You don't mean to tell me that's Diablo?"

Hawkins wiped his dripping face and stared at the misty blot on the purpling horizon.

Gregory and d.i.c.kie Lang looked up from their scrutiny of the small clock on the _Richard's_ dash and smiled:

"Two hours and ten minutes to here," Gregory announced. "We can make it easy in two hours and a half, and we've been bucking a head wind and sea all the way over. If the _Fuor d'Italia_ can do this well, Mascola will certainly have to show me."

Bronson smiled but made no comment.

As the island loomed across their track, d.i.c.kie directed a change of course.

"Cut in close to that big cliff on the northeast corner and we'll work our way along close in to the sh.o.r.e."

Bronson complied. Then the girl turned to Gregory.

"Get my idea?" she asked.

"You want to see if Mascola has fallen for our scheme," Gregory replied.

"Exactly. We'll cruise by his fleet and lay to by the _Pelican_. Then we'll find out if he's spotted the _Curlew_ yet. If he hasn't, the boys can get in in the dark and 'chum' the fish. By that time we won't care what Mascola does."

The pa.s.sing of a few minutes brought them in sight of the alien fleet grouped closely together off Black Point.

"They've shifted," announced the girl. "Tom's message said they were off the h.e.l.l-Hole."

Gregory said nothing but as they drew nearer he exclaimed: "Look!

They've got the _Pelican_ sewed up tighter than a drum. Looks like Mascola hasn't tumbled on to the other boat yet."

"Can't tell."

d.i.c.kie searched the darkening water intently. Then she observed: "I don't see Mascola's boat anywhere. Maybe he's cruising the island."

Throttling to the speed of an ordinary fishing craft they approached the fleet and dodged skilfully among the boats in the direction of the _Pelican_.

Tom Howard had but little news. He had put to sea from Northwest Harbor according to orders. Had circled the island and appeared off the east coast at daybreak as if en route from the mainland. Had stumbled on to a small school of albacore off Black Point and started fishing. Mascola's fleet had moved down from h.e.l.l-Hole in the early morning. Had "fenced"

him. The Italian's men had been drinking freely all day and had refused to give him sea-way to get out. Of Mascola himself he had seen but little. The Italian boss had been down in the morning but had paid little attention to his men. After boarding but one of his boats he had returned with the _Fuor d'Italia_ in the direction of the h.e.l.l-Hole Isthmus. He had not been back since.

"Is the _Curlew_ still off Northwest Harbor?" inquired Gregory.

"Don't know. Haven't tried to reach them. Didn't want to wise these fellows we had anybody else over here. 'Sparks' says they've got a rig round here somewhere and have been trying to hail somebody all day.

We've been getting a few messages from the boys. Most of them are off the other side of the island now, waitin' for dark to pa.s.s the harbor."

Gregory and d.i.c.kie were elated to find the fleet so near. At the same time both looked worried at the mention of another wireless equipment in the immediate vicinity.

"I'll bet they're trying to reach that sh.o.r.e-set the boys spotted the other day," hazarded the girl. She looked at her watch and glanced toward the towering peaks which cast their shadows far out into the water. "Well, if they are, we can't stop them," she observed. "What do you say we start along the north sh.o.r.e with an eye out for fish and Mascola? Maybe he's already nosing around Northwest Harbor."

Gregory agreed to the girl's suggestion.

"Running slowly will bring us up with the _Curlew_ about dark," he said.

"Let's go."

Climbing again into the _Richard_, Bronson threw in the clutch and the speed-craft zigzagged her way through the fishing fleet and headed away from Black Point. At the same time one of the faster of the alien boats detached itself from the others and trailed along in their wake.

"Better slip that fellow," advised the girl. "We don't want him tagging.

If we keep well in he won't be able to see us long."

Gregory gave Bronson the necessary orders, and the _Richard_ bounded away from her pursuer and raced into the shadows of the cliff. When they arrived at the point near the h.e.l.l-Hole Isthmus, the speed-craft motor began to miss and Bronson guided the _Richard_ in the lea of the promontory and threw out an anchor.

"Good place to fix that right now," he said. "You see everything's new and I've been feeding too much oil. The plugs are all gummed up. 'Twon't take but a minute to clean them."

While he worked over the motor Gregory's eyes roamed sh.o.r.eward to the cliffs. It was quite dark now and only the sound of the lapping waves betokened the presence of the jagged rocks which projected above the surface of the water near the sh.o.r.e. It was almost here he remembered suddenly that the _Sea Gull_ had been wrecked. As he looked out into the darkness, he felt d.i.c.kie's fingers tighten on his arm.

"Look!" she cried. "What's that behind us?"

Gregory turned about to see the black waters to the sternward were rippled with sparkling threads of silver-white. From out the darkness came a swiftly moving gray shadow. One glance astern caused Bronson to slash the anchor-rope which held the _Richard_. Then he started the auxiliary motor and threw the speed-craft forward with a jerk. The same instant a long gray hull brushed by them and disappeared into the gloom as silently as she had come. Bronson whirled the _Richard_ about, gazing intently after the departing stranger.

"A miss is as good as a mile," he observed. "If it hadn't been for the dual motor we'd have been out of luck."

"I wouldn't say so," Hawkins snapped. "A miss of a mile wouldn't give a man heart-failure. Lord, I'm weak as a cat."

Kenneth Gregory leaned closer and spoke in a voice which only the boatman could hear. Bronson put about at his words and m.u.f.fling down, followed silently after the gray boat.

"Cut out your lights."

Bronson threw the switch at Gregory's command.

"It's against the law," he muttered, "but I reckon it's safer with a bird like that."

Soon the strange craft was again dimly visible, appearing like a gray blot in the darkness ahead. Off the h.e.l.l-Hole she turned sh.o.r.eward and was lost to view.