El Diablo Part 38

The lights of the returning motor-boat drew alongside before Gregory answered:

"Listen, Mascola. If you're looking for trouble, this is the place to find it. If you're not, you can move out to sea and get as many fish as we are. We'll not bother you. There's plenty of albacore over here to-night for everybody. If you try to break through us, it will be up to you."

Mascola's anger came in a torrent of Italian words. Then he composed himself sufficiently to speak in broken English: "This Mr. Bandrist's island. He tell me I fish here. He say you go. You stay, you like trouble. My men like fight any time."

"Go to it, then," Gregory answered quietly. "And when you see your friend Bandrist, tell him for me that he hasn't bought Diablo. He's only leasing the land. If he has any more claim to the water than we have, he'll have to show us."

Mascola completed his repairs, started his motor and raced away in the direction of his fleet with the _Richard_ running close at his side. But when he came abreast of the cannery fis.h.i.+ng-boats, he made no effort to head in.

"He don't want to rough it any more with this one," Bronson commented.

"I reckon when he looks over his boat it'll mean a job for the shop putting in a few ribs."

Mascola returned to his fleet, his cheeks burning with rage. In the first preliminary skirmish with the enemy, he realized he had been beaten. He had found out nothing of value. Had damaged his boat too, no doubt. Well, he'd make somebody pay for it before morning. Circling his boats, he gave orders for an immediate advance in the direction of the cannery fleet.

Kenneth Gregory looked after the departing lights of the _Fuor d'Italia_.

"Score one for the invaders of Bandrist's island," he said grimly.

"Mascola didn't learn much on his reconnoitering expedition, except that we had a better boat than his." Then he turned to Bronson. "Take us up to the other end," he instructed. "I want to tell the boys to keep as close in as they can so Mascola's boats will have to skirt the reef to get by."

When they arrived at the indicated spot and the V broadened according to orders, the lights of the alien fleet could be discerned moving toward them.

"Here they come," announced d.i.c.kie Lang. "Looks as if they were going to try to crowd in from the north side."

Gregory smiled. "That's just what I want them to do," he answered. "One of the benefits of reconnoitering is to get an idea of just what you're going into. If Mascola had taken a good look, he wouldn't have come that way."

CHAPTER XXIII

BATTLE OF NORTHWEST HARBOR

Convoyed by his fis.h.i.+ng fleet, Mascola came steadily on. Cruising to the seaward of the cannery boats he circled, laid to and critically surveyed the bobbing lights in the narrow channel which was flanked on both sides by saw-toothed reefs. The fish were coming from the north and west.

Doubtless the American fisherman already had them well "chummed up" with their live bait. He would force an entrance among the cannery boats if they did not give way and take their school. He had done it before. It was simple enough. Directing his boats to follow, he led them on.

Kenneth Gregory stood in the bow of the _Pelican_ with a megaphone and directed the position of the boats which made up his first line of defense. His plan of keeping Mascola away from his fis.h.i.+ng fleet was nothing more or less than just straight football formation, with an augmented line to withstand the opposing pressure. The _Pelican_ formed the center of the wedge. To her right and left followed the heavy Diesel-motored vessels with the _Curlew_ and _Snipe_ guarding the extreme ends. Behind the first line came the reserve which closely covered the fis.h.i.+ng-boats cruising the center area. Every boat was at its proper station, awaiting the signal from the _Pelican_.

It came with Gregory's word to Howard: "All right, Tom. Let's go."

He stood at Howard's side as the fisherman whistled for sea-way and moved his vessel forward with the fleet flanking him astern in V formation. Mascola's boats gave no heed to the signal save to draw closer together and slacken speed as they entered the narrow channel.

Again the cannery boats shrieked a warning and the wedge narrowed with the waterway until only the bare width of a boat separated the beams of the defending vessels. Dead ahead, and only a few boat-lengths away, twinkled the lights of the alien fleet. Gregory grasped the rail of the engine-house and braced himself for the shock. The next instant the foremost of Mascola's boats struck the _Pelican_ a glancing blow on the bow.

The heavy fis.h.i.+ng-boat quivered from stem to stern from the impact. Then the powerful Diesel engine came into play. The drunken skipper of the _Lura_ felt his craft being shunted to the side. Before he could gather his wits together, another American boat brushed his outside rail and crowded him forcibly against the craft he had endeavored to ram. Caught between the heavy hulls of the _Pelican_ and _Albatross_, the _Lura_ grated, beam to beam, her timbers creaking and twisting from the strain, her propeller churning the water in a vain effort to break through the tong-like grip of the two boats which disputed her pa.s.sage.

The drunken crew of the _Lura_ surged to the rail with wild cries of rage. The air was filled with flying missiles. Came the sharp snap of breaking gla.s.s and the dull thud of heavy objects hurled from the alien craft to the deck of the _Pelican_.

"Stay under cover," Gregory commanded the crew. "Stand by if they try to board."

A flying bit of sc.r.a.p-iron gashed his forehead and caused the blood to trickle over his eyes. He wiped it away with his hand and turned to observe the progress of the other vessels.

The engagement was now general. Mascola's boats were trying to smash their way through. But the V was as yet unbroken. That, he could tell by the solid formation of the boats in reserve. They had not found it necessary to separate.

The night was enlivened with the shrill cries of the aliens. Gregory noticed that there was congestion of lights on his left wing. He reflected suddenly that that was where the _Curlew_ was stationed. And d.i.c.kie Lang was on the _Curlew_. Why had the girl persisted in her determination to take an active part in the conflict? Perhaps she might be already wounded. Hit by a piece of flying iron or a wine-bottle.

"How about it?" Howard's voice recalled him to his plan of battle.

Gregory looked hastily along his front line. "All right," he exclaimed.

"Go to it."

The _Pelican's_ whistle shrieked two shrill blasts in reply, the signal for every man at the wheel to go full ahead and put his respective craft hard over.

Mascola cursed volubly at the increasing jumble of his boats. They had already lost their way and were only tending to raise a further barrier to his entrance to the fleet. If he rammed, he must ram his own boats as well as those of the enemy. It flashed over his heated brain that the American had chosen a difficult position for him to break through. The narrowness of the sea-way prevented him from engaging them in ma.s.s formation. Then he became conscious of another fact as two sharp whistles sounded above the uproar. His lead boats were being crowded back against their fellows with a twisting movement which was carrying them in the direction of the reef. The channel had been too narrow to break through the solid wall of Diesels. A puff of wind from the southeast helped Mascola to make up his mind. Directing a summary withdrawal, he sped away toward the reef to pilot his boats again to safety from the dangerous sh.o.r.e.

Gregory directed the pivot movement of the cannery wedge until the last of the alien fleet had fled from the channel. In the first preliminary engagement, the enemy had been beaten back. At what cost he must find out at once. As he turned about to signal the _Richard_, a voice which he recognized as Hawkins', came to him from the darkness astern.

"Bronson's knocked out."

Leaving Howard to supervise the return of the advance line to their original positions, Gregory instructed the sailors to launch a dory over the rail of the _Pelican_ and was rowed away in the direction of the _Richard_.

Hawkins had but little to tell. The _Richard_ had been plying about according to orders, to report any break in the wedge. As she skirted the right end close to the _Snipe_, some one had thrown a bottle from the nearest enemy craft. It had struck Bronson in the head. The _Richard_ had drifted backward. Hawkins had thrown out an anchor. That was all. Gregory examined Bronson while Hawkins was speaking. The man was not badly injured. But his loss would be a serious one. Without the speed-boat, Gregory would be greatly handicapped. He set his jaw grimly in the darkness. He could not afford to tie up the _Richard_. He would run her himself. Directing Hawkins to pull the anchor, he slid into Bronson's seat and focused the rays of his flash-light on the speed-boat's starting mechanism.

"Are you going to try to run her?" Hawkins inquired as he tugged at the hook.

"I am going to run her. Bronson showed me how. It's taking some chance of course. But not so much as tying her up. We've got to have the _Richard_, Bill. That's all there is to it."

Gregory started the motor and, proceeding at quarter-speed, set off to take Bronson to the _Curlew_. By so doing, he realized, he could accomplish a dual purpose, find out about the safety of d.i.c.kie Lang and leave the boatman in her care. That, he reflected, would give her a safer though more inactive role.

The girl greeted him from the rail of the _Curlew_. Not a man had been scratched aboard her vessel. Her craft had held the pivot and twisted two of the alien boats until they b.u.mped the reef. A man had been reported injured on the _Falcon_.

Placing Bronson in the dory, Gregory directed the skiff to be pulled aboard the _Curlew_. Then he climbed over the rail with Hawkins.

"Bronson was hurt by a flying bottle," he explained. "Will you look after him? I've got to round up the boys and see what's doing."

"You're hurt yourself," d.i.c.kie observed as the rays of the cabin lamp fell upon Gregory's face.

"Just a scratch," he said quickly. "If you'll look out for Bronson I'll be off."

d.i.c.kie Lang whirled about. "Look out for this man, Jack. See you later, Jones. I'm going with Mr. Gregory."

Reluctantly Gregory consented to allow the girl to accompany him in the _Richard_. An instant later they were on their way to round up the fleet.

Injuries were few among the crews of the defending vessels. Bruises and cuts summed up the physical damage done by Mascola's men. One of the boats was leaking, but Sorenson was holding the water easily with the pumps. The _Falcon's_ shaft was sprung but the propeller was still turning. To a man, the various captains reported that their men had obeyed instructions to the letter. No acts of violence had as yet been committed by any of the American crews. The ex-sailors, though chafing at their inaction, had a.s.sumed the defensive throughout.

The next thing was to arrange to oppose Mascola's next move.

"Whatever he does, he's got to do mighty quick," observed d.i.c.kie as the _Richard_ nosed her way among the albacore fishermen. "It's roughing up in the last five minutes and the gla.s.s is falling all the time."