El Diablo, Page 27

  CHAPTER XXVII

  TO SOLVE THE MYSTERY

  The days that followed the return of the victorious cannery fleet fromEl Diablo were filled with sunshine for Kenneth Gregory. The effect ofMascola's defeat was far-reaching, and, magnified by Hawkins' publicity,gave to the Legonia Fish Cannery a place of prominence in the publiceye.

  Taking immediate advantage of the growing popular interest, Winfield &Camby entered into an extensive advertising campaign on behalf ofGregory's product. The brands of the local firm were flaunted on thebill-boards of a dozen western agencies. Whole states were placarded.Newspapers featured the cooperative enterprise of the service men andcommented upon it in glowing terms. A current-news company took severalhundred feet of film illustrative of the industry and the signal victoryachieved by the Americans over the alien fishermen.

  Basking in the reflected lime-light, the Service Market caught on like"wild-fire" and taxed the fishermen to their utmost to supply theever-increasing demand for the fresh product.

  Gregory's bank balance began to mount. The financial sky was unclouded.Success loomed bright upon the horizon.

  In the hey-day of prosperity, no one noticed the faint clouds whichcrept upward from the sky-line. Storm-signals fluttered feebly and werepassed by unheeded. Then Mr. Dupont, of Winfield & Camby, sounded thewarning.

  "You're not getting enough fish," he exclaimed on one of his periodicalvisits to Legonia. "I'm building up a demand for your product which isfast becoming national. The way things are going now, you will not beable to supply it. Then I'll be out of pocket for my advertising. I'mcutting into your surplus every day. In two weeks you'll be down tobed-rock. What are you going to do about it?"

  As Gregory considered the question, Mr. Dupont answered for him: "You'vegot to have more boats. If you haven't the money to tie up in them rightnow, I'll back you and take a mortgage on your plant. I'm willing tostick by you and back you to the limit. But you've got to furnish thegoods."

  Gregory made up his mind quickly. Dupont was right. Things were cominghis way with a rush. What was the use of losing all he had gained bypursuing a policy of playing safe and "shooting nickels"? Men who madefortunes on the sea had to take chances. It grayed their hair and seamedtheir faces with premature lines. But that was part of the game,--thetoll which the sea demanded.

  "All right," he said. "Let's get down to business. I'll go back to thecity with you and we'll fix things up. I know of some boats I can leasewhile Barrows is building the others. Let's go."

  From the arrival of the new craft which went to make up the greatercannery fleet, misfortune stalked grimly in its wake. Fishing wasuniversally poor. The boats were forced to cruise wide areas in order tosupply fish enough for the cannery and Service Market. Areas whichplaced them beyond reach of the radio and gave Mascola his chance. TheItalian struck without warning. Angered by the loss of his prestige,strengthened by his augmented fleet, he began to hector the extremeoutposts beyond reach of the wireless.

  Then ensued a long period of stormy weather. Owing to new andinexperienced crews and the increasing interference of Mascola's men, anumber of Gregory's vessels were wrecked on the island shores andsalvaged with great difficulty and expense. With the extended radius ofhis operations, overhead expenses mounted perceptibly, cutting downprofits and adding to the multiplying worries of the young cannery-ownerin countless ways.

  At the close of one particularly trying day he sat alone in the canneryoffice and stared moodily at a wireless despatch which lay on the deskbefore him. It came from Diablo and reported the arrival of a portion ofhis fleet off the Hell-Hole.

  The message was phrased in the most optimistic terms. Fish appeared tobe plentiful. The weather was fine, the sea smooth. There was no signof interference from any quarter.

  Yet the worried lines which creased Gregory's forehead deepened. It hadbeen that way often of late at devil island. No matter how clear the skyappeared, the shadow of El Diablo bulked dark and sinister across thesunlit horizon. Something would happen out there to-night. He felt sureof it. He should have gone with the fleet. But how could he? He was fardown the coast with the new boats when they left.

  Diablo, he realized sharply, was getting on his nerves. Were theobstacles which he had encountered about the island due to somethingmore than a mere defense of good fishing grounds? It was not the firsttime he had asked himself the question. There was something wrong at ElDiablo. He could not shake off the feeling. As he sat down to wait forthe evil tidings he felt sure would come, he took up an unopened letterfrom Hawkins which had been on his desk two days. A part of the lettercaused him to read it the second time.

  "So I got to nosing around and incidentally tumbled on to something which I think may be of interest to you. Would it surprise you to know that Mascola does not own a single fishing-boat? It did me, though I might have known it if I had remembered the federal statute which prohibits any but American-owned fishing vessels from operating in American waters.

  "Rock and Bandrist own the alien fleet. Mascola, you see, is an alien. Bandrist apparently is not. I wish by the way you'd tell me all you can of that bird. I'm looking up Silvanus myself. I'm on the trail of a pretty good story, Cap, if it works out all right. Shouldn't be surprised if I might not drop in on you any time. If I do, I'll want a boat to go over to Diablo. Keep this all under your hat. It isn't censored."

  For some time Gregory stared at Hawkins' letter. The information gleanedfrom its contents shed a new light upon El Diablo. Bandrist and Rockwere in cahoots. Both were interested in keeping him away from Diablo.Something was wrong on the island. It was Mascola's job to keep strangecraft from going there to find out. With the words strange craft, hismind flashed to a new tangent. To his half-closed eyes came a vision ofa long gray hull, running dark, gliding through the water toward themlike a destructive shadow. Bronson had said it looked like the _GrayGhost_. What was the _Gray Ghost_? Where did she clear from? And whatwas her purpose in putting in in the dark to Hell-Hole?

  The questions multiplied with the smoke-wreaths and in the blue hazewhich enveloped him, Kenneth Gregory beheld his vague and intangiblesuspicions gradually crystallizing into three fundamental hypotheses:Something crooked was being pulled off at Diablo. Rock and Bandrist wereback of it. The isolation of the island was threatened by the increasingactivities of the American fleet in that vicinity. Mascola's opportunitywas only a means to an end.

  Gregory's frown deepened. What Rock and Bandrist were doing at Diabloconcerned him in itself, not at all. In so far as it related toMascola's interference, however, it was all-important. Mascola was theone man who stood between him and his cherished dreams. If Rock andBandrist were behind Mascola, as he imagined, would it not be pursuing a"cart before horse" policy to continue his expensive militant oppositionto the Italian? Why not fathom the motive which lay behind Mascola'saction? If Diablo held a secret, the guarding of which threatened hisbusiness existence, why should he not as an American citizen take theinitiative and----

  His meditations were disturbed by a soft tap on the office door. DickieLang entered.

  "I knew I'd find you here," she said. "Smoking yourself to death andworrying gray. I've come to take you outside for a while. You'll be sickif you go on like this. Forget for a while and come with me. The boysare having a mussel-bake on the beach and they've sent for you. If youhave ever eaten kelp-baked mussels you'll not wait to be urged. Thegrunion should run to-night too, and I want you to see them."

  Gregory drew his fingers through his tousled hair and shook his head."I'm sorry," he said. "But I can't go. I'm waiting for a radio fromDiablo."

  "Bosh!" the girl interrupted. "It won't take one of the boys fiveminutes to bring you the message if it comes while you're gone." Shecame closer and placed a hand on his arm. "Please come," she said."Just to please me."

  Gregory had no alternative. Leaving word with one of the night men tosend him any radio despatch at once, he followed Dickie to the bea
ch,where the service men sat cross-legged about a blazing fire ofdrift-wood. Gregory sank to the sand beside the dark mound of dampenedkelp and watched the operations of the chef as he busied himself inremoving the heavy pieces of canvas which covered the sea-grass.

  "It's nature's fireless-cooker," explained the girl as she took herplace beside him. "You can cook most anything in an oven like that ifyou know how. It's simple enough too. All you have to do is to scoop outa hole in the sand and line it with rocks to hold in the heat. Thenbuild your fire and let it burn for a couple of hours to get a good bedof coals. Cover them with a thin layer of damp kelp and put in thepotatoes. Another layer of sea-weed, then the roasting-ears. After thatcome the fish, wrapped in paper. Then the mussels, clams or anythingelse you want. When you get them all in, cover the whole thing with alot of heavy kelp and batten it down with a big piece of canvas. Thewhole trick is knowing just when to open the oven. Nothing can burn soit's better to leave it too long than to try to hurry things."

  Gregory took the tin-plate, piled high with its smoking delicacies, andleisurely freed a succulent mussel from its shell. As he placed it inhis mouth his eyes lit up with genuine pleasure and the anxious linesslowly disappeared from his face.

  "What do you think of them?"

  He could only gasp his appreciation. Dickie smiled at the rapidlydisappearing contents of his plate. He looked like a new man already.Nothing like a mussel-bake in the open air to make people forget theirtroubles.

  About the dying drift-wood fire, the service men drew closer togetherand began to sing.

  "There's a long, long trail a-winding Into the land of my dreams."

  As their voices rose above the dull boom of the surf, Gregory's thoughtsturned to the words of the song. The trail had been long. How long andhow devious, he had never quite before realized. Perhaps it was becausehe was tired and the firelight made him think. The "land of his dreams"was still far ahead. Blocked from his vision for the time being by anintangible something which lay like a dark shadow across the path.

  "_Over there. Over there._"

  He started and looked involuntarily toward the phosphorescent line ofbreakers. Over there? Once it had meant France. Now it came to him witha new meaning. Beyond the gleaming waves he fancied he could see thejagged shore-line of El Diablo.

  "And we won't come back, Till it's over, over there."

  Gregory's eyes narrowed. When "it was over, over there," perhaps itwould be over everywhere. Then, and only then, would he reach "the landof his dreams." He looked guiltily at Dickie Lang and was glad that shecould not read his thoughts concerning the end of the long trail.

  "What were you thinking of, just then? I never saw you look like thatbefore."

  It was the eternal feminine speaking.

  Gregory shook his head. "I never did look like that before," he said."Because I never thought quite that far. Some day perhaps I'll tell youwhat I was thinking."

  The moon, which had shyly appeared over the low brown hills, grew bolderand mingled its rays with those of the fire in crowding back theshadows. Then a shout came from the water.

  "Grunion."

  The singing ceased abruptly and the service men scrambled to their feetand raced down the beach.

  Dickie made haste to follow.

  "Come on," she cried to Gregory. "And I'll show you the sight of yourlife."

  Following the girl to the wet sands, Gregory was amazed at thespectacle. The silver waves were alive with glistening fish. Borne highon the crest of the tumbling breakers, they surged to the beach bythousands and lay quivering like quick-silver, stranded in the sand bythe back-wash. With a deafening shout men scrambled to the water's edgeand scooped them up in their hands. Dickie rushed to the water andreturned with a small fish, somewhat resembling a sardine.

  "Grunion," she announced. "They come up at certain seasons of the yearto spawn. There are only three places on the coast south of the GoldenGate where they run. For three or four nights now while the tide is highand the moon full they'll be swept up on this beach and left to laytheir eggs in the wet sand. If you get closer you can see them standingon their tails. You'll never believe it unless you do see it. You've gotto work fast to get them for they hop along the beach only for a second.Then the next breaker takes them out."

  Handing him one of the little fish, she continued: "Take him up to thefire and look at him. Against a good light you can see clear thoughthem. If you had a skillet hot on the coals and threw in a handful ofgrunion you could never have a finer dish. But they won't hardly keepover night. For that reason they are good for nothing, commercially."

  She paused abruptly and listened. "I thought I heard some one calling,"she said.

  Turning about they saw three men standing by the fire.

  "Maybe it's some word from the boys," Gregory exclaimed. "Let's go andsee."

  At the fireside they came upon Hawkins with two strangers, whom heintroduced as brothers of his craft. Drawing Gregory aside while Dickieconversed with Slade and Billings, he said:

  "Listen, Cap. I want a boat and a man to run it who knows Diablo fromthe water-line up. I'm on the trail of the biggest kind of a scoop. Ican't give you all the dope but I can tell you a few things that willopen your eyes."

  The two men drew farther into the shadows and conferred in low-pitchedvoices, broken now and then by Gregory's muttered exclamations. Whilethey talked one of the night men from the cannery hurried on to thescene.

  "Message for Mr. Gregory," he called.

  Gregory took the message and drew nearer the coals. In the red glow ofthe fire, he read:

  From: Launch _Snipe_

  At Sea. Five miles off Hell-Hole.

  Got into fight with Mascola about an hour ago. His boats drove ours from island. His men drunk and armed with shotguns. Some of boys pretty well filled up. _Curlew_ lagged with engine trouble and was cut in two off Hell-Hole Isthmus. Sunk in five minutes by some big boat, running dark. _Albatross_ picked up crew. All saved. Wire what to do. Twelve boats here. Others at Cavalan for repairs.

  Jones.

  Dickie's eyes shone angrily at the message. "Damn them!" she cried."They got my _Curlew_." Grasping Gregory's arm, she exclaimed: "There'sa bunch of the fleet off San Anselmo on the mainland side. There's somemore a few miles down the coast from Cavalan. They can all make Diabloin two hours if you wire them right away. We can go over in the_Richard_ and round them up and smash Mascola's whole fleet. What ifthey have shotguns? We have rifles. Come on. What are you waiting for?"

  Dickie Lang was breathless. Her cheeks glowed. Her eyes were shining.

  Gregory shook his head slowly and looked at Hawkins.

  "The _Gray Ghost_ ran the _Curlew_ down about an hour ago off theHell-Hole Isthmus," he said.

  The two strangers drew closer and listened intently to the news whileDickie chafed at Gregory's failure to get under way.

  "That means we've got to be off," exclaimed one of the men. "How aboutgoing over in that speed-boat of yours?"

  Gregory nodded. "That's what I was figuring on," he said. "I'm going tosend a radio to all my boats within a thirty-mile radius of the islandto reinforce the fleet and mix it with Mascola off the Hell-Hole Isthmuson the north side. While they're busy on that side, it will leave us aclear field on the other."

  Dickie's eyes opened wide at his words. As they moved away together inthe direction of the cannery, she cried: "I don't understand at all.Aren't you going to help the boys out?"

  Gregory shook his head and the grim lines tightened about his mouth.

  "No," he answered. "Not this time. That is what Rock, Bandrist andMascola think I am going to do. But I'm going to fool them. There'ssomething back of all this that we can only guess at now. Diablo has asecret our fathers died to learn. I'm sure of it now. To-night I'm goingto find out what it is."