El Diablo Part 40

"We ought to be putting to sea," she observed as a sudden gust of wind and rain a.s.sailed them. "This is a bad place to be caught napping."

Gregory's eyes glowed with the l.u.s.t of battle. "No," he gritted. "We're going to stay and fight. Mascola's not going to win on a fluke if it costs me every boat I have."

In a frenzy of activity he threw the _Richard_ wide open and sped away to gather his scattered boats for a flank attack upon the alien fleet.

Mascola was in high good humor. His boats were crowding the fishermen backward in the direction of the reef. Forced to the rocks they would have no chance in the face of the approaching storm. What was the loss of the _Florence_ in comparison to the destruction of a dozen or more fully equipped fis.h.i.+ng vessels, laden to the water-line with their valuable cargoes?

Repairing to the cabin of the _Lura_, the Italian refreshed himself with a drink. A shout from without brought him hurrying to the deck. Bearing down upon him at full speed came the cannery fleet. His vessels were broadside. They would strike him full on the beam. Cut his boats in two.

Mascola shrieked out an order to put about and face the enemy. His captains sprang to their respective wheels and battled desperately among themselves for steerage way.

Then came the crash.

Skirting the ma.s.s of snapping grinding hulls, Gregory shot through with the _Richard_ and came among the fis.h.i.+ng-boats. Some were already grazing the reef. A line from the speed-craft pulled them again to safety and launched them around Mascola's rear. Fighting their way through the press of the alien craft they circled and renewed the attack from the opposite flank. Mascola's fleet was caught broadside between the Americans.

The din of the battle mingled with the roar of the wind. Again men met over the rail. Knives flashed in the sullen glare from the burning _Florence_. Pistol shots echoed above the tumult and the air was filled with flying splinters.

Slowly and inexorably Mascola's fleet was ground back. An alien craft, reaching the clear s.p.a.ce to the rear of the battle line, turned hastily about and fled down the narrow channel leading to the sea. Another followed. Still another.

Mascola strove vainly with shouts and curses to stem the tide of his retreating vessels, but the boats brushed by him and continued on their way. Soon the exodus became a rout with hull sc.r.a.ping hull in the effort of the alien boats to gain sea-way in the channel.

In a few minutes the last of Mascola's fleet, leaking badly and settling low in the water, lumbered by with rapidly pulsing motor in the direction of Northwest Harbor.

"We beat him at his own game." Kenneth Gregory repeated the words again and again. Blood flowed from a jagged cut in his cheek. His face and hands were raw and blistered, but his eyes were s.h.i.+ning with the light of victory.

In the shadow of the _Pelican_ his arms closed about d.i.c.kie Lang and he drew her to him. "We beat him," he cried. "You, and the boys, and I."

The girl struggled for a moment, then lay pa.s.sive in his arms. He was delirious from the fire and the battle. He did not know what he was doing. Freeing herself with an effort from his clinging arms she drew away.

"We must put to sea," she cried. "Before the storm breaks."

Gregory roused at her words and turned quickly away.

"Yes," he answered. "You're right. I forgot."

Within a few minutes the cannery fleet was heading down the main harbor channel in the direction of the open sea.

Then the storm broke. Battling desperately into the teeth of the gale, the fis.h.i.+ng-boats plunged head-on into the curling waves. Las.h.i.+ng the sea into white-caps, the wind picked up the water and hurled it to the decks in great clouds of choking, blinding spray.

In a last dying flare the flames leaped upward from the charred hull of the _Florence_ as she lay pillowed on the rocks. And in the feeble glow, only Hawkins, who was looking astern, saw the shadowy outline of a long gray boat nosing her way about the island.

The _Gray Ghost_ was running before the storm.

CHAPTER XXV

THE BANKER AT THE HELM

Foot by foot down the storm-lashed, wind-swept channel the victorious cannery fleet doggedly fought its way from the Diablo coast and headed to sea.

"We've got to lay in at San Anselmo," d.i.c.kie Lang shouted to Gregory as she guided the _Richard_ skilfully through the buffeting waves. "Some of the boats are pretty badly stove up. They're riding too low to try to make the mainland. We'd have to buck the storm all the way over. Best run before it as long as we can. Then we can gain the lea of the other island and head in at Cavalan and leave some of the boats there. May have to run a few of them on the beach. We ought to make the little harbor on the south sh.o.r.e of San Anselmo in a couple of hours."

Gregory agreed with some reluctance. When it came to seamans.h.i.+p he was perfectly willing to leave the management of his craft to d.i.c.kie Lang.

The girl was familiar with the coast of the two islands and had fully demonstrated her ability to handle the _Richard_ in a storm. Still the idea of running from Diablo rankled in his heart. It looked like quitting.

The girl's next words, however, made him feel a little better.

"There would be no use lying in at Northwest Harbor at Diablo," she was saying. "The anchorage is too small and Mascola's boats will overcrowd it. If you tried to beach anything there, you'd wreck it. At Cavalan we can check things up, transfer the fish if we have to and get them right out. We've beaten Mascola, hands down, so why should we care?"

It was well toward morning before the last of the cannery fleet staggered into the little harbor of Cavalan. Then came the first opportunity to reckon the cost of Mascola's defeat at Diablo.

Gregory's first thought was for the personnel of his fleet. In the fight with the alien fishermen several of his men had been injured, but as near as could be ascertained, none fatally. A number of men had been slashed by knives, but the injuries for the most part were only flesh wounds. There were many aching heads and bruised bodies. Two sailors and a fisherman had been grazed by bullets. One man's arm had been broken.

To a man the various crews made light of their injuries and proudly maintained that they had left their mark on many a dark-skinned member of Mascola's aliens.

Bronson had partly recovered and was anxiously inquiring concerning the behavior of the speed-craft in the storm.

While Gregory directed the transferring of the injured men to the better equipped launches, d.i.c.kie checked up the material damage inflicted upon the tonnage.

On the _Curlew_ Gregory encountered Hawkins. The newspaper man was jubilant. The victory over the aliens was just what he needed. He had antic.i.p.ated the outcome and had already sent out a full account of the struggle with the aliens over the radio. The people of Port Angeles would be reading it in a couple of hours.

As Hawkins a.s.sisted Gregory in caring for the needs of the men, the reporter hinted that he was on the trail of a bigger story which would make all his former journalistic efforts pale into insignificance. But when questioned concerning the specific nature of his scoop, Hawkins became extremely reticent.

d.i.c.kie Lang's report upon the condition of the fis.h.i.+ng-boats added materially to the cost of the victory. Four of the craft had been jammed in the melee and were leaking badly. How they ever made port at all was a thing she could not understand. Three of the other vessels had sustained bent shafts and broken propeller blades. All the fleet were more or less battle-scarred but their defects could be remedied in the water. She had set the men to work already. There was a machine shop at Anacapa on the opposite side of the island and a marine railway large enough to take on the disabled craft. When the blow subsided, they could put in there for temporary repairs.

The girl's eyes glowed with happiness as she totaled the catch of the fishermen. Every boat was laden almost to its full capacity. With a storm coming on and in the face of a probable shortage of fish, the success of the night's work would reach a substantial figure.

"It's worth more than you know," put in Hawkins. "Wait until my yarn gets into print and I'll show you." He smiled broadly and put out his hand. "Then I want my rake-off, Cap. Gregory," he concluded.

"I won't forget you, Bill," Gregory was quick to answer. "Nor any one else. I knew the boys would stand by to a finish. They sure came across to-night."

He turned quickly to d.i.c.kie Lang. "When can we start out with the fish?"

he asked.

"Figuring to go at daybreak," the girl answered. "Better send Jack a message right away so he can be ready for them. They'll have to buck the blow so it will be afternoon by the time they get over."

She looked out across the faintly graying waters where brightening lights began to appear from the shadowy hulls of the fis.h.i.+ng-boats. Then she inhaled the air hungrily.

"Look," she exclaimed. "The boys are getting breakfast. Let's go over to the _Snipe_ and tie in with them. They've got a man there from the regular navy who can surely cook."

Gregory and Hawkins welcomed the suggestion and a moment later they were speeding away to answer to the first call for breakfast.

In the lea of San Anselmo, sheltered from the storm in the land-locked little harbor of Cavalan, the American fleet rested from its labors. The sailors gathered on the decks and greeted the new day over plates piled high with crisp slices of bacon and fried eggs. The night had been long, fraught with danger and fatiguing toil; but work and worry had endured only for the night and joy came with the morning.