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El Diablo, Page 21

Brayton Norton


  CHAPTER XXI

  THE GRAY GHOST

  Ready to clear for Diablo at last! Gregory's lieutenants had done theirwork well. The gear from the ship-chandlers had arrived on the morningtrain. Also the remittance from Farnsworth. Dickie Lang had outfittedthe fishing-boats in record time. Crews of experienced men were selectedand supplies taken aboard. One by one the launches were carefullyexamined by the girl and despatched singly on a course mapped out byherself, a course which would bring them to Northwest Harbor withoutskirting the shore of the island. The auxiliary supply boat, the last ofthe fleet to go, had cleared but an hour before. For the time beingDickie Lang was content to rest upon her oars.

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

  Jack McCoy was ready. Everything within the cannery was shipshape tohandle a big run. Depleted supplies had been hastily ordered. Necessaryadditions to the floor force had been made and the house-manager was inpossession of detailed instructions for the running of the plant duringthe owner's absence.

  Even Hawkins was ready. The advertisements had been written and checkedover before being despatched to _The Times_ to "farm out" among theother city dailies. In addition to that, the newspaperman had arrangedto communicate with his paper _via_ the cannery wireless should he befortunate enough to secure a big story.

  Gregory himself was ready. The details of the embarkation had beencovered to the minutest detail. A plan had been formulated in the earlymorning hours for the outwitting of Mascola at El Diablo, a plan towhich Dickie Lang had given her hearty approbation before it was sent toHoward over the radio.

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

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

  He put out his hand and McCoy's fingers tightened over his. Then McCoywatched him go down the gangway and take his place beside Dickie Lang inthe _Richard_.

  * * * * *

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

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

  Gregory and Dickie Lang looked up from their scrutiny of the small clockon the _Richard's_ dash and smiled:

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

  Bronson smiled but made no comment.

  As the island loomed across their track, Dickie directed a change ofcourse.

  "Cut in close to that big cliff on the northeast corner and we'll workour way along close in to the shore."

  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_. Thenwe'll find out if he's spotted the _Curlew_ yet. If he hasn't, the boyscan get in in the dark and 'chum' the fish. By that time we won't carewhat Mascola does."

  The passing of a few minutes brought them in sight of the alien fleetgrouped closely together off Black Point.

  "They've shifted," announced the girl. "Tom's message said they were offthe Hell-Hole."

  Gregory said nothing but as they drew nearer he exclaimed: "Look!They've got the _Pelican_ sewed up tighter than a drum. Looks likeMascola hasn't tumbled on to the other boat yet."

  "Can't tell."

  Dickie searched the darkening water intently. Then she observed: "Idon't see Mascola's boat anywhere. Maybe he's cruising the island."

  Throttling to the speed of an ordinary fishing craft they approached thefleet 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 Harboraccording to orders. Had circled the island and appeared off the eastcoast at daybreak as if en route from the mainland. Had stumbled on to asmall school of albacore off Black Point and started fishing. Mascola'sfleet had moved down from Hell-Hole in the early morning. Had "fenced"him. The Italian's men had been drinking freely all day and had refusedto give him sea-way to get out. Of Mascola himself he had seen butlittle. The Italian boss had been down in the morning but had paidlittle attention to his men. After boarding but one of his boats he hadreturned with the _Fuor d'Italia_ in the direction of the Hell-HoleIsthmus. 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 thesefellows we had anybody else over here. 'Sparks' says they've got a riground 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 offthe other side of the island now, waitin' for dark to pass the harbor."

  Gregory and Dickie were elated to find the fleet so near. At the sametime both looked worried at the mention of another wireless equipment inthe immediate vicinity.

  "I'll bet they're trying to reach that shore-set the boys spotted theother day," hazarded the girl. She looked at her watch and glancedtoward the towering peaks which cast their shadows far out into thewater. "Well, if they are, we can't stop them," she observed. "What doyou say we start along the north shore with an eye out for fish andMascola? 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 thespeed-craft zigzagged her way through the fishing fleet and headed awayfrom Black Point. At the same time one of the faster of the alien boatsdetached 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_ boundedaway from her pursuer and raced into the shadows of the cliff. When theyarrived at the point near the Hell-Hole Isthmus, the speed-craft motorbegan to miss and Bronson guided the _Richard_ in the lea of thepromontory and threw out an anchor.

  "Good place to fix that right now," he said. "You see everything's newand I've been feeding too much oil. The plugs are all gummed up. 'Twon'ttake but a minute to clean them."

  While he worked over the motor Gregory's eyes roamed shoreward to thecliffs. It was quite dark now and only the sound of the lapping wavesbetokened the presence of the jagged rocks which projected above thesurface of the water near the shore. It was almost here he rememberedsuddenly that the _Sea Gull_ had been wrecked. As he looked out into thedarkness, he felt Dickie'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 wererippled with sparkling threads of silver-white. From out the darknesscame a swiftly moving gray shadow. One glance astern caused Bronson toslash the anchor-rope which held the _Richard_. Then he started theauxiliary motor and threw the speed-craft forward with a jerk. The sameinstant a long gray hull brushed by them and disappeared into the gloomas silently as she had come. Bronson whirled the _Richard_ about, gazingintently after the departing stranger.

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

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

  Kenneth Gregory leaned closer and spoke in a voice which only theboatman could hear. Bronson put about at his words and muffling 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 abird like that."

  Soon the strange craft was again dimly visible, appearing like a grayblot in the darkness ahead. Off the Hell-Hole she turned shoreward andwas lost to view.

  "Tell him to stop the motor for a moment," whispered Dickie Lang.

  When Bronson complied, the silence for the space of a few minutes wasunbroken. Then from the little cove came the muffled cough of ahigh-speed motor.

  "All right. Head out."

  The _Richard_ sped on her way at Gregory's command. Then he asked: "Whatdid that sound like to you, Bronson?"

  The boatman answered promptly: "That was the bird you're looking for.I've heard the _Fuor d'Italia's_ exhaust too many times to guess wrong."

  Dickie Lang nodded sagely in the darkness, while Bronson volunteered:

  "I think I know the one that nearly run us down too. Running dark's herlong suit." For a moment he hesitated, then he added: "She looked awhole lot like the _Gray Ghost_."

  "Interesting, if true," muttered Hawkins, sliding nearer to theoperator. Then he asked aloud: "Who's the _Gray Ghost_?"

  Bronson noted the suppressed eagerness of the man's tone. Then heremembered that Hawkins was a newspaperman. Reporters were a nosey classas a rule. Perhaps it would be as well to keep still. After all, whatdid he, Bronson, know about the _Gray Ghost_? What did anybody reallyknow about her, for that matter?

  "The _Gray Ghost_ is a fishing-boat," he said quietly, "that was builtby Al Stevenson. She's bigger and quieter than the average. She'ssupposed to be about as fast for her size as any of them. I heard theother day she was owned by a fellow by the name of----" He stoppedabruptly. "I can't remember the man's name," he concluded.

  Hawkins knew Bronson was lying. Straightway he decided to find out whathe could about the ownership of the _Gray Ghost_. Of the vessel herself,he had some knowledge though he gave no intimation that he had everheard the name before.

  "Mascola must own the _Gray Ghost_ himself, the way he's sticking aroundher," observed Dickie Lang. "He must have been waiting in there for heror he'd have been scouting around before this."

  Gregory agreed.

  "Tom said they were pretty well fished out down below," he contributed,"and Mascola hadn't given them a new location. He's evidently gotsomething on his mind that's more important to him than fishing."

  Bronson said nothing but smiled grimly in the darkness. Perhaps thatwasn't such a wild guess, at that. But it was none of his business. Hisfirm was building boats for the Italian, so why should he say anything?

  The sky was dark overhead and a freshening breeze sprang up when theyreached the tip of the island and headed shoreward. Rounding Devil'sPoint they came in full view of the glimmering lights of the fishingfleet.

  "Looks like home," commented Dickie. "Wonder how long the boys have beenthere." She checked up the lights rapidly, then announced: "They're allthere but one. Probably the supply-boat. She isn't due yet. That'spretty quick work I'd say."

  Hailing the first of his fishing-boats, they learned that the voyagefrom the mainland had been without incident. The albacore were thickabout the island. They were keeping the fish around with live bait. Allof the fishermen predicted a record haul.

  Proceeding to the _Curlew_, Bronson tied the _Richard_ alongside and theparty from the speed-launch climbed aboard. Then the girl conferred withGregory and plans for the night were formulated. The fleet would lay atanchor with every motor in instant readiness to get the respectivevessels under way at a given signal. The men would alternate on ananchor watch and keep the fish "chummed" up during the night. Those whowere off duty would get their needed rest and make no unnecessary noise.No vessel was to move from her anchorage without permission from the_Curlew_. Fishing would begin at daybreak.

  With preparations completed for the night, Gregory's party madethemselves comfortable aboard the _Curlew_. A message was despatched tothe _Pelican_ instructing Howard to join the fleet shortly aftermidnight. And the cannery was notified of the safe arrival of the boatsat the island.

  After supper Hawkins clung tenaciously to Bronson and the two menretired to the bow and conversed in low tones. Gregory sat with DickieLang in the stern and for some time puffed at his pipe in silence. Theyellow rays which issued from the fresneled glass light on the mast-headfell full upon the girl's figure and Gregory saw that her eyes werefixed on the dark outlines of the coast.

  "What do you make of Mascola?"

  Dickie shook her head. "I don't know," she answered. "He has me guessingright now. I can't understand why he's been hanging round Hell-Hole allday and hasn't tumbled on to the _Curlew_. He seems to have forgottenhis boats entirely."

  "I have an idea he has," Gregory answered. "Sometimes I think thatperhaps fishing is only a small part of Mascola's business. We both knowhe hasn't made much with his boats in the last few months, yet Bronsonsays he's having twenty new launches built at Port Angeles. That willrun into a big bunch of money at present prices."

  "You're not the only one who has ideas to-night," Dickie said softly."Being around Diablo always makes me think--and wonder."

  "What?" Gregory encouraged.

  The girl moved closer to his side.

  "I'm wondering about the same things our fathers wondered about," shesaid. As Gregory said nothing, she went on hurriedly: "Did you ever stopto think that if Mascola and that gray boat lay in at Hell-Hole thatthey are doing it with Bandrist's permission? That means that whateverthey are doing there, Bandrist is in on it." She paused abruptly and hereyes rested full on Gregory's face. "I have an idea that old Rock is inon it, too," she said. "He and Bandrist are pretty thick evidently, andRock always did stick up for Mascola. And all three of them are doingall they can against us."

  "And you think it is something else than fishing?" Gregory prompted.

  "Yes, I'm sure of it. I think our fathers had the same idea. I believethey came over here alone that night to find out."

  "Do you think----" Gregory began.

  But the girl answered his unfinished question.

  "Yes," she said slowly, "I think they found out. That is why they nevergot out alive."

  "But they were wrecked and drowned."

  Dickie shook her head slowly. "I have never thought so," she answered ina half-whisper. "Listen," she went on, "boats like the _Sea Gull_ don'twreck themselves and a better man with a launch than my dad never lived.Men like him don't drown easily. He was a regular fish in the water andhad got out of many a smash-up before."

  "But they were drowned. The coroner himself told me----"

  "You're right," she interrupted. "Any man can be drowned. How long doyou suppose you and Tom Howard would have lasted on the island if youhad insisted on staying the night we were over here?"

  Gregory considered her words carefully. In the light of past events,they held some truth. But if Bill Lang and his father had met with foulplay, why were the bodies ever recovered? Why would it not have beensimpler to have made way with them entirely? He put the question andDickie answered promptly:

  "That would have caused a search of the island. Just what they do notwant, if they are up to anything crooked over here. With the bodiesrecovered and the boat smashed, it had all the appearance of a naturalwreck."

  "Why have you never said anything like this before?"

  Dickie hesitated. Then she answered simply. "Because I never felt as ifI knew you well enough. I have no proof. It's only a girl's idea, andone I'm afraid you would have taken but little stock in."

  "You're mistaken," Gregory replied. "I w
ould have. And perhaps by now wecould have had the proof."

  "No. We've done just right. If we had pretended we suspected anythingthey would have gone to cover. There's only one way to get to the bottomof this thing and that is to beat Mascola at his own game. Make himthink that fish are the only thing in the world we care for aroundDiablo. And while we're fishing over here, keep our eyes open and learnwhat we can."

  Before Gregory could reply the silence of the night was broken by thesharp exhaust of a high-speed motor. Looking in the direction of thesound, he saw a flash of red pierce the darkness and heard the girl'svoice close to his ear.

  "I guess we're due to find out something now. Here comes Mascola."

  Together they watched the red light brighten. Then came a flash of greenas the oncoming launch swerved and sped toward them. In a few momentsMascola had located the flag-ship and the _Fuor d'Italia_ lay snortingangrily by the _Richard's_ side.

  "I want to see the boss," demanded the Italian.

  Gregory leaned over the rail and focused his flash-light on Mascola.

  "What do you want?" he called.

  Mascola blinked under the bright rays. Seated beside him was another manwho leaned closer into the shadow of the fishing-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 otherisland there will be no trouble."

  "And if we stay?"

  Mascola's passenger looked up quickly at Gregory's words, and the lightfell full upon his face.

  It was Bandrist.

  "I hope you will not decide to stay," he said slowly. "As I have toldyou before, I'm not seeking trouble on this island. Mascola's men havebeen drinking too much and are ugly. A supply-boat arrived to-day fromthe mainland with too much liquor. I am having some difficulty with myown 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 freeto all. We are interfering with no one's rights. We're here. The fishare here. And here we're going to stay."

  "I'll show you, you----"

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

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

  "Mascola's drunk," commented Dickie, looking after them. "Otherwise, hewould never have talked like that. It's a wonder Bandrist ever mixed upwith him." She turned about and confronted Gregory. Behind him wereHawkins, Bronson and the crew of the _Curlew_. "This means we've got tomove," she exclaimed. "We'd better round up the bunch, give them theirpositions and start fishing."

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

  "Tell 'Sparks' to send word to Howard to beat it out with the _Pelican_right away," Gregory instructed Hawkins. Then he exclaimed to Dickie asshe took her seat beside him: "It looks like Mascola was spoiling for afight. And if he is I'll say he's due for the surprise of his life."