El Diablo Part 37

"What do you want?" he called.

Mascola blinked under the bright rays. Seated beside him was another man who leaned closer into the shadow of the fis.h.i.+ng-boat.

"I want you to move," Mascola said thickly. "My men were here first.

Plenty of fish at San Anselmo. Many as here. If you go to the other island there will be no trouble."

"And if we stay?"

Mascola's pa.s.senger looked up quickly at Gregory's words, and the light fell full upon his face.

It was Bandrist.

"I hope you will not decide to stay," he said slowly. "As I have told you before, I'm not seeking trouble on this island. Mascola's men have been drinking too much and are ugly. A supply-boat arrived to-day from the mainland with too much liquor. I am having some difficulty with my own men. I hope you will help us avoid trouble."

Gregory answered them at once.

"If there is any trouble, it will be of your making. The ocean is free to all. We are interfering with no one's rights. We're here. The fish are here. And here we're going to stay."

"I'll show you, you----"

Bandrist checked the Italian's angry outburst by placing a hand firmly upon his arm.

"I'm sorry," he began. But Mascola's open m.u.f.fler drowned his words and the _Fuor d'Italia_ leaped away into the darkness.

"Mascola's drunk," commented d.i.c.kie, looking after them. "Otherwise, he would never have talked like that. It's a wonder Bandrist ever mixed up with him." She turned about and confronted Gregory. Behind him were Hawkins, Bronson and the crew of the _Curlew_. "This means we've got to move," she exclaimed. "We'd better round up the bunch, give them their positions and start fis.h.i.+ng."

Gregory and the girl climbed into the _Richard_, calling to Bronson to follow.

"Tell 'Sparks' to send word to Howard to beat it out with the _Pelican_ right away," Gregory instructed Hawkins. Then he exclaimed to d.i.c.kie as she took her seat beside him: "It looks like Mascola was spoiling for a fight. And if he is I'll say he's due for the surprise of his life."

CHAPTER XXII

STRICTLY ON THE DEFENSIVE

The _Richard_ was in motion before the echoes of the _Fuor d'Italia's_ gatlin-like exhaust had died away. Directing Bronson to take them alongside each of the vessels which composed the fleet, Gregory and d.i.c.kie Lang boarded the fis.h.i.+ng vessels and conferred with the respective captains. Gregory's instructions were phrased with military directness.

Every launch was a.s.signed a definite position which it was to a.s.sume at once and hold at all cost. The fleet was divided into three divisions.

The main unit, comprising the vessels equipped with the live-bait tanks, were to begin "chumming" at once within a given area. As soon as practicable, fis.h.i.+ng was to commence. The second division, made up for the most part of the heavier, Diesel-motored vessels, was to lay to in V formation about the fishermen to protect them from interference in the direction from which the fish were running. The remainder of the fleet were to stand by as a rearguard, cover the extreme flanks and maintain a reserve.

Before taking leave of each craft as it left to go to its new position, Gregory briefly addressed the crew: "Get this, fellows. We're here to fish. Not to fight. If trouble comes, let Mascola start it. If he does, I expect you to hold your positions. Keep in the clear and use no firearms. Remember, what you do to-night, binds me. Play safe. Keep cool. But get the fish."

To a man, the ex-sailors understood the seriousness of the situation, though there were some who argued against the poor fighting policy of letting the other fellow hit the first blow. The radical element, however, were soon quieted by the older and more conservative men, and all agreed to stay in the clear so "n.o.body could hang anything on the boss."

Tom Howard had arrived with the _Pelican_ when Gregory and d.i.c.kie Lang returned to the _Curlew_. The fisherman brought the news that the men of the alien fleet were in a high state of intoxication. Moreover, they appeared to be completely out of live bait.

d.i.c.kie smiled grimly. "That means that if Mascola does send them down here, he'll just be looking for trouble. If they haven't the bait, all they can do will be to try to steal our school like they did before, and I guess this time they'll find they're out of luck."

"Met Mascola on my way down," Howard announced. "He was running wide-open, heading straight for Black Point."

Gregory frowned. "It's hard to tell what Mascola will do to-night," he said.

The _Pelican_ was despatched at once to take her position as the leader of the front rank. As the _Curlew_ made ready to get under way, Hawkins appeared at the rail.

"Don't forget the press," he called. "If I'm going to do this affair justice I've got to be at the ringside."

Gregory moved nearer to Bronson and allowed the newspaperman to accompany the party on the speed-craft. Then the _Richard_ sped away to see that all the boats were in their proper places. Arriving in the center of the fis.h.i.+ng area, d.i.c.kie Lang watched the men "chumming" the fish and suggested they throw out their lines at once.

"I don't like the looks of the weather," she confided to Gregory. "It feels like a blow. I'm going to have a look at the gla.s.s on the _Snipe_." Gregory noticed that the girl appeared worried when she returned to the _Richard_. "Dropping fast," she announced. "It may be just a squall or it may be a real blow. This is no place for us in either case. We must rush the fis.h.i.+ng all we can."

Gregory agreed and gave the necessary orders. From the sides of the _Snipe_ the lines flashed over the rail. On the instant the albacore began to strike. As the _Richard_ bounded away to notify the other boats of the order to hurry operations, the girl observed:

"The fish are heading close in all right. They're running from something. Now is the time to hit it hard. Oughtn't to take long the way they're starting. I must see that the boys have all the barbs off the hooks. We have to work fast. And when the blow comes, we'll have to get clear of the Diablo coast."

The second tour of the fis.h.i.+ng fleet was only partly completed when d.i.c.kie directed Gregory's gaze in the direction of the point off Northwest Harbor.

"Here they come," she cried. "Mascola's looking for trouble just as I told you."

Gregory surveyed the bobbing lights in silence as they moved nearer; saw the red-lights blur and fade into green as the vessels changed direction and headed sh.o.r.eward; noted one twinkling light running far in advance of its fellows; saw it swerve and double again into red and green. That meant that the _Fuor d'Italia_ was bearing down upon them. Directing Bronson to intercept the Italian, Gregory explained:

"I want to give Mascola another chance. We're not looking for trouble.

He can lay to the seaward but he's got to give us sea-way to get out if it roughens up."

The _Richard_ swung wide and came abreast the _Fuor d'Italia_. Then it came to Mascola that the strange craft on his left had some speed. Above the roar of his own exhaust he heard his name called in a peremptory hail. The hot blood surged to his face and he stepped on the throttle.

He had no time to talk. He must spot the position of the cannery boats and give his men instructions how to break through.

The _Fuor d'Italia_ bounded away with a sullen roar. But before Mascola could circle in the direction of the lights of the fleet, the _Richard_ was again on his rail. Cursing to himself, the Italian advanced his spark and pressed hard on the throttle. But though he gained a few feet on his pursuer, he knew that he dared not try to make the turn. His boat would "turn turtle" or be cut in two by the craft behind.

On the two boats sped through the darkness. The lights of the fis.h.i.+ng fleet flashed by them like the gleam of switch-lights, seen from an express train. Mascola's anger mounted. His men were waiting for orders and he had seen nothing of the enemy's formation. A plan formed quickly in his brain. It was dangerous of course. But the liquor gave him courage. Removing one hand from the wheel, he extended it toward the switch-board.

"He doesn't dare make the turn at this speed," d.i.c.kie shouted in Gregory's ear. "Tell Bronson to watch him close when he doubles to come back. He'll head into the swell, to the starboard."

Gregory was giving the boatman the message when he felt d.i.c.kie grasp his arm.

"He's switched off his lights," she cried. "He's going to try to dodge us, running dark."

Bronson had already slackened speed at sight of the disappearing lights ahead. Then he put the _Richard_ hard over, and the speed-craft swerved with a jerk which left her pa.s.sengers crowding close against one another.

"Give her the gun," shouted Gregory. "Head back. Don't let him slip us."

As the boatman complied and the _Richard_ began to lift her hull from the sea, the dark waters ahead were brightened by a phosph.o.r.escent flash. Directly across their course lay the _Fuor d'Italia_. Twisting the steering wheel with only the slightest pressure of his fingers to avoid turning the _Richard_ over, Bronson opened the cut-out and stepped hard on the throttle. The speed-craft dipped, then raised and b.u.mped the _Fuor d'Italia_ beam to beam as she raced by.

The shock of the collision threw Mascola half from his seat and had a decidedly sobering effect upon his senses. He had noted his boat tremble at the impact and crowd away from the stranger; had felt the straining of her timbers. Now he noticed that his motor was missing badly. A loose wire probably. He made haste to repair the trouble and switched on his running lights. The _Fuor d'Italia_ was too light to take chances of roughing it in the dark. As he worked, he heard a voice hail him.

"What do you want?" he demanded angrily. "d.a.m.n you, you hit my boat."