El Diablo, Page 31

  CHAPTER XXXI

  BENEATH THE WATERS

  As the _Richard_ cleared the point and plunged into trough of the swell,a thin column of light filtered through the fog astern and traveledslowly over the gray water.

  Gregory put the wheel over and began to zigzag as he remembered that the_Bennington_ was lying in at the goose-neck. At the distance the revenuecutter would be unable to distinguish friend from foe and would take nochances.

  "Stay down," he called to Dickie. "It's the search from the_Bennington_. They may shoot."

  The light moved shoreward as he spoke, carefully searching the rockswhich fringed the coast. Gregory threw the wheel in the oppositedirection and struck out at a tangent toward the sea. His speed wouldsoon carry him beyond rifle range. Kicking open the cut-out, he advancedthe throttle. The _Richard_ shook with the sudden burst of power, thenbegan to plane.

  Gregory kept his eyes on the moving rays as he held the launch on herseaward tack. The light was moving nearer, but its beams were paling.The cutter evidently had not moved from her anchorage. Doubtless shewould be kept fully occupied at the goose-neck. The next instant thefog-wall ahead dripped in the rays of the searchlight.

  Gregory's hand flashed to the spark as his foot released the throttle.The angry roar of the speed-boat died away on the instant and the hulldropped sullenly. Putting about, he started shoreward at right angles tohis former course.

  The whine of machine-gun bullets sounded over his head to the starboard.Then the leaden hail was drowned by the bark of the open exhaust.

  He had done the right thing that time. To have tried to dodge at speedwould have turned the _Richard_ over. Now he was safe for a few secondsat least he reflected, as he watched the light traveling over his formercourse.

  As the rays again bent shoreward he saw a long point projecting out intothe sea. Beyond the jutting promontory he would be safe. Running acourse which would carry him clear of the point by a narrow margin hesettled low in his seat and dashed forward.

  The fog-dimmed light hovered about the point as the _Richard_ plungedboldly into the focus of its dripping beams. As the launch veered tomake the turn, the waters astern were splashed by the steel pellets fromthe _Bennington's_ machine-gun. Then the gunner of the revenue cutterbegan to raise his sights. Splinters flew from the _Richard's_ stern.The coaming was riddled as the deadly hail moved toward the bow.

  The gunner on the _Bennington_ ceased grinding as the launch disappearedbehind the point.

  "I could have got that bird in one more second," he muttered ruefully."If the old man would let us move, we can get him yet."

  Gregory threw off the power and hurdled the seat.

  "Are you hurt?" he called to Dickie as he hurried toward the stern.

  Dickie Lang was not hurt. Only cut by a flying splinter. It was nothing.The girl made her way forward.

  "Let me take her until we clear the coast," she said. "You gave me theshivers the way you grazed that reef off China Point."

  As they inclined their ears into the gray mist which enveloped them,they caught the murmur of the _Fuor d'Italia's_ exhaust.

  Gregory surrendered the wheel.

  The girl listened to the rapid-fire pulsations of the boat ahead.

  "He's headed out to sea," she said. "And we're going to have to drive tocatch him with this lead."

  Her words were drowned in the thunder of the _Richard's_ motor and thespeed-launch bounded away to overtake her hated rival.

  * * * * *

  "The fog is lifting. Soon it will be clear. We must watch closely forpursuit."

  Mascola grunted a reply to Bandrist's observations. Weather conditionsmeant very little to him at the present moment. His mind was occupiedwith matters of far more importance.

  It would be well to know just where Bandrist stood concerning a divisionof his money before they went farther. Now would be a good time to findout. He made the suggestion at once that the islander grant him anadvance of funds until such time as he could obtain his money fromLegonia and Port Angeles.

  "I have no money to spare," Bandrist answered curtly. "You are foolishnot to have been better prepared. Our business is one which should havetaught you that. You will have a hard time now to get your money fromthe States."

  An angry retort welled to Mascola's lips but he choked it back. Bandristwas speaking again.

  "Here is one hundred dollars. You are welcome to that. But no more."

  Mascola's eyes flashed at the smallness of the sum. A hundred dollarswould be next to nothing, even in Mexico. Bandrist, he felt sure,possessed money in plenty. If there was not enough for two, there wouldbe plenty for one.

  Mascola made up his mind quickly. He would be the one. He had givenBandrist his chance. The islander had tried twice to-night to give himthe double-cross. Would do it again if he got the chance. But Bandristwould have no more chances. Reaching out his hand, Mascola took the goldwith muttered words of thanks. Then his fingers sought the switch andthe noise of the motor died suddenly into silence.

  "Listen."

  Mascola turned quickly in his seat and looked over the stern. At thesame time his right hand sought his dagger.

  Bandrist twisted about, his eyes searching the gray waters astern.

  "I don't," he began. But his words ended in a choking gasp.

  Mascola's knife had found its mark and the Italian's fingers weretearing at Bandrist's throat.

  The islander struggled to reach his gun, but he felt his strengthleaving him. The moonlight shimmered before his eyes, mingled with graysplashes of fog. A sharp pain laced his side. His mouth opened and hefought hard for air. Heavy darkness began to settle about him. From thefar-off spaces he heard the sound of rapid breathing. Or was it thefaint pulsing of a motor-launch? Then the murmur grew fainter until ittrailed away into silence. Mascola pulled the islander roughly from theseat and dragged him along the floor of the cockpit. Then he sprang tothe wheel and started the motor. There was no time now to get the money.The fog was lifting. And there was a boat following.

  * * * * *

  Clear of the Diablo reefs, Gregory took the wheel and plunged the_Richard_ into the shifting wall of fog. Mile after mile he traversed insilence, stopping at intervals to listen to the faint pulsing of theboat ahead. At length the gray canopy lifted slowly from the water andhe caught the outline of the _Richard's_ broad hood rising staunchlyabove him in the gloom. He smiled grimly at the sight. The motor had notmissed a shot since leaving the island. And they were overhauling the_Fuor d'Italia_.

  He threw the switch again as his eye caught the gleam of the moonlightahead. For some moments he listened intently. But only the soft slap ofthe waves against the hull of the launch disturbed the stillness.

  Mascola had escaped him; had noted the clearing and heard the sound ofpursuit; had doubled back into the fog bank. Anguish took possession ofhis heart at the thought as he reached for the switch. But neitherGregory nor Dickie Lang heard the rasp of the starting mechanism. Thesound was swallowed up in a deafening roar which came from the moonlitwaters ahead.

  "Straight ahead," the girl shouted. "I see him."

  Gregory had already thrown in the clutch. In a swirl of white water the_Richard_ raised her head proudly, and snorting angry defiance, racedacross the intervening waves which separated her from her primordialenemy. Gregory saw the _Fuor d'Italia_ leap forward in the moonlight,noted that the craft had already changed direction and was heading offat a tangent, a course which would bring Mascola under cover of the fogbank.

  Veering as sharply as her speed would permit, the _Richard_ dipped likea gull and sped on to intercept the _Fuor d'Italia_. The shifting bankof blinding mist hung uncertainly above the shimmering waters less thanhalf a mile ahead, dead ahead for Mascola, off Gregory's starboardquarter. For the Italian it meant safety. To his pursuer it spelleddefeat.

  The _Richard_ was gaining. Gregory measured the distance with acalculating eye. He was going to head
the Italian off.

  "Swing her to port. Catch him on the beam."

  Acting at once upon Dickie's advice, Gregory saw the wisdom of it atonce. His angling course would have put him into the fog before the_Fuor d'Italia_ reached it. Now he would catch Mascola broadside, fullon the beam. Or at least at an angle which would drive the heavier hullthrough the lighter one.

  With seaman's instinct, Mascola sensed rather than saw the _Richard's_change of course. If he tried to make the fog he would be cut in two. Ifhe deviated a hair's breadth at that speed he'd turn turtle. There wasonly one thing he could do.

  He reached his decision in a whirl of the propeller.

  Dickie Lang knew his answer.

  "Hard a port. Throw your switch."

  The words tumbled from her lips in a piercing shriek. Gregory obeyed onthe second, thinking the girl had lost her reason. The _Richard_ dippedwith a swerve which threw him violently against the coaming. As he feltthe heavy hull sinking down into the water he saw that the _Fuord'Italia_ had ceased to plane and was settling sluggishly.

  A snarl of disappointment burst from Mascola's lips as he saw the_Richard_ did not flash across his bow. A snarl, which changed quicklyto a cry of rage as he noted that the two hulls were drifting sullenlytoward each other. Robbed of his way, he could not escape. The _Richard_was already brushing the _Fuor d'Italia's_ rail.

  In a frenzy of mingled fear and rage, Mascola whipped out his dagger andleaped to the cockpit to battle with the hurtling figure that sprangfrom the other boat as the two hulls scraped. Gregory caught Mascola'sknife arm and twisted it backward, crowding the Italian to the rail. Foran instant the two men were locked in a swaying, bone-racking embrace.Then Mascola felt the oak coaming pressing hard against his knees. Hewas being shoved over the rail by the fury of the heavier man.

  Struggling in desperation, there came a gleam of hope. In the waterGregory's superior weight would not count. Strength would not count somuch, without the weight. But a knife would count. Jerking his bodybackward, he lunged downward into the sea, dragging his antagonist withhim.

  As Gregory and Mascola fell to the water, Dickie Lang drew her automaticand covering the cockpit of the _Fuor d'Italia_ with her flash-light,peered cautiously over the rail. Upon the floor of the launch sprawledthe figure of a man. His face was turned away from her. The graylinoleum was dyed red with his blood. As she watched him, his extendedfingers twitched convulsively. He was still breathing. But that wasall. Seizing the rail of the _Fuor d'Italia_ she began to work the_Richard_ around the hull of the other craft. She dared not start themotor. The propeller might cut the men in the water to shreds. Reachingthe stern of Mascola's launch she directed the rays of her light intothe rippling waves.

  Gregory tightened his hold on Mascola's wrist as the waters closed overhis head. The Italian struggled fiercely to free his right arm as hefelt his body sinking deeper into the water. Then he noticed that hisantagonist had freed his legs and was moving them slowly upward to hisstomach.

  Locking his knees about Mascola's waist-line in a scissors-grip, Gregorybegan to squeeze. Lashing the water with his feet the Italian jerked hishead backward and forced it against Gregory's chin. Then he freed hisleft arm and the fingers slid upward to his enemy's throat.

  Under the steady pressure of the sturdy legs about his waist Mascolafelt his strength going from him. With bursting lungs he tore at thecorded muscles of Gregory's throat. But his fingers had but littlepower. Sharp pains seared his eyeballs. A deadly numbness was creepingover his entire body. Then he felt the hand which held his knife armtwist the wrist and forced it inward to his body.

  Mascola writhed in terror. By a powerful effort he squirmed sidewise andchecked the onward course of the knife as it came nearer to his side.The exertion sent the blood pounding to his temples, left him weak withnausea. For an instant his hold on Gregory's throat relaxed. Then hisfingers dug viciously into the flesh as he felt his wrist being crowdedcloser to his body.

  The point of the dagger was scratching at his shirt. In another secondit would be piercing his side. Mascola knew that the blade was sharp.The Italian released his grip on Gregory's throat. With a convulsiveshudder he dropped his knife. He was beaten. At the mercy of his enemy.Better take chances with the courts than sure death at the hand ofKenneth Gregory.

  Gregory felt the muscles of the Italian relax in a token of submission.For an instant his heart rebelled at the turn of the battle in hisfavor. Why not strangle Mascola beneath the surface? Who would everknow? The Italian had shown his father no mercy.

  Why didn't Mascola fight like a man?

  Gregory's fingers reached the Italian's throat. The law of the sea knewno mercy.

  * * * * *

  A feeling of utter helplessness seized Dickie Lang as she stared intothe moonlit waters. The man she loved was battling for his life beneaththe surface of the shimmering waves. And she could do nothing.

  "God bring him up safe." She repeated the words again and again. Then anew fear assailed her.

  Kenneth Gregory would never give up. If he came up at all there would beblood upon his hands. Justifiable blood. An eye for an eye. And yet, asthe seconds trailed endlessly by, the girl was surprised to find herselfamending her prayer.

  "Bring him up safe--and clean."

  She uttered a choking cry as the bright rays of her light fell uponKenneth Gregory's head. He was swimming slowly toward the launch,dragging Mascola after him.

  The bright rays of her light fell upon Kenneth Gregory'shead]

  "Hold his wrists."

  She noted the lifeless tone of Gregory's voice as she made haste tocomply with the order. Saw the fingers of the two men clutch the railwhile they waited for strength to pull their bodies from the water.

  Kenneth Gregory pulled himself weakly over the coaming. In silence heassisted the girl in dragging Mascola from the water. Huddling on thedriver's seat of the _Richard_, the Italian leaned against the dash,fighting for breath. Gregory stumbled backward and sank to the floor ofthe cockpit, covering his face with his hands.

  "I--failed," he gasped. "I had a chance.--But I passed it up.--Icouldn't do it."

  Dickie fell to her knees beside him and threw her arms about his neck."You're a man," she whispered, "One in a million." Then her lips foundhis.

  Mascola watched the two shadows blend into one. Silhouetted in thebright moonlight, he leaned against the coaming, his lips curved in asneering smile.

  From the darkened cockpit of the _Fuor d'Italia_ came a bright jet offlame. Then another. Before the echoes of the two shots had died awayMascola's body slid from the seat and fell in a heap upon the floor.

  Dickie drew her revolver and sprang to the rail. Sweeping the darknessof the _Fuor d'Italia's_ cockpit with the rays of her light, she drewback.

  "Bandrist," she whispered to Gregory through whitening lips.

  CHAPTER XXXII

  FOR ALL THE WORLD TO KNOW

  Silvanus Rock was at the Golden Rule Fish Cannery at an early hour onthe morning following the raid upon El Diablo. When Blankovitch enteredthe office, he noted at a glance that the face of the capitalist lookeddrawn and worried.

  "Any news, Blankovitch?"

  The words tumbled eagerly from Rock's thick lips as he caught sight ofthe ruddy countenance of the manager.

  Blankovitch shook his head.

  "Only the broken message a little before midnight," he answered. "Yougot that. Gonzolez landed. That's all we know."

  Rock fidgeted while his eyes roved about the room. "You don't supposeanything went wrong?" he hazarded after a moment.

  Blankovitch did not think so. The wireless had failed for some reason orother. But it had done that before. He was expecting Rossi in at anymoment. There was no occasion for worry. Would Mr. Rock care for a drinkso early in the morning? The bank president gulped down the brandy, andunder the stimulus of the fiery liquor his wavering courage ralliedperceptibly.

  "Had a bad night," he explained. "Didn't sle
ep a wink. Neuralgia."

  The Slavonian nodded sympathetically and the two men lapsed intosilence. After some time had passed a fisherman entered.

  "Rossi's coming in," he announced.

  Rock leaped to his feet with the youthful exuberance of a schoolboy.

  "I feel like a new man," he confided to Blankovitch, when the messengerhad gone out. "The brandy was just what I needed. Lack of sleep surelypulls a man down."

  The manager agreed and together the two men went out to the receivingplatform to await the arrival of the boat from El Diablo.

  When Rossi drew alongside, Rock greeted him effusively.

  "How is everything at the island?" he asked. "Have you plenty of fish?"

  The fishing captain answered the bank president's greeting with hisusual shrug.

  "_Bonne,_" he said shortly. "Everything's fine. I got some good fish."

  Rock was jubilant. His fears had been groundless. Everything was quiteall right. For had not Rossi given the accustomed signal to that effect?

  Blankovitch had already taken the cue.

  "If his fish are first-class, we might put them up special for those A-1orders," he suggested.

  Rock nodded as he noted the stolid faces of the fishermen peering overthe rail. Rossi had his regular crew. Still, one could never be toocareful. For a moment he appeared to deliberate. Then he said:

  "Good idea, Blankovitch, we're short on high-grade stuff."

  The manager moved at once to the receiving-vat and pulled the gratingover the traveling conveyer which carried the fish into the cannery.Then he opened a valve at the bottom of the tank.

  "All right, Rossi," he said. "Dump them in."

  Rock stood by for a moment watching the fish slide into the vat. Then hewalked away in the direction of the cannery office. Passing through theroom where he had conferred with the Slavonian, he entered the manager'sprivate sanctuary which lay beyond and closed the door.

  In the far corner of the room was a small clothes-closet. To this Rockmade his way hastily, and, fitting a key in the lock, passed within,slamming the door after him. In the darkness of the stuffy cubby-hole,his fingers found a small flash-light in the pocket of an old vest whichhung from one of the hooks. Directing the rays of the light about him,he worked his way through the hanging garments and reached the end ofthe closet. For an instant his fingers slid along the inside wall. Thena cool draught of air fanned his face, strongly tinctured with thesmell of the mud-flats.

  Swinging the panel shut behind him, Silvanus Rock descended the narrowstairway. When he reached the bottom he paused and drew his coat collarcloser about his neck. The air was damp and cold and the waters of thebay were lapping softly against the pilings which supported thebuilding.

  Grasping the wooden rail of the gangway which led away from the bottomof the stairs, the capitalist crept on through the darkness until hereached the base of a big concrete storage-vat. Groping for the lockwhich secured the outlet-cleaning-door of the big tank, he unlocked itand passed within.

  With the water-tight door closed behind him, he switched on the electriclight. The cement floor of the vat was already partly covered with thefish which slid downward from the receiving tanks on the platform above.

  Rock listened intently. But only the soft slip of the fish through thechute and the drip of the water from the draining-table, disturbed thesilence. Then he heard the murmur of men's voices from the platform. Thevalve was still open. When Blankovitch closed that, no sound wouldpenetrate the vat from the outside world.

  He turned his attention at once to the fish. Drawing one of the albacoreto one side, his fat fingers delved carefully into the fish's belly.Then they brought forth a large aluminum capsule and laid it carefullyon a tin-topped table which stood conveniently near a smallcapping-machine.

  For some moments he repeated the operation until all the fish had beenemptied of their contents and a double row of capsules covered thetable.

  The albacore, he noticed suddenly, had ceased to slip through the chute.He frowned at the observance. Surely Rossi had brought a larger cargothan this.

  Walking again to the intake from the tank above, he listened. The valvewas still open. There would be more or Blankovitch would close the chuteand assist him below. Wiping his hands carefully on his handkerchief, hewalked nervously about the tank. There was nothing he could do but wait.There would be no use to fill the cans at present or start the conveyerto carry the empty-bellied fish to the cannery floor. Both wouldnecessitate the use of machinery, and even electric-driven power madesome noise.

  If the Slavonian was through, why didn't he close the valve and comedown? The door of the storage-vat opened suddenly and Blankovitch'sbulky figure staggered within. Rock drew back at the expression on theSlavonian's face. All color had fled from the manager's ruddy cheeks.His eyes were staring and his heavy jaw sagged.

  Then Rock noted that the door was still open. As he made haste to closeit before questioning the frightened Slavonian, he found the way blockedby three shadowy figures who sprang upon him.

  "You are under arrest, Mr. Rock."

  Silvanus Rock wriggled vainly in the arms of the men who forced him backinto the tank. In the struggle the light fell full upon the open vest ofone of the strangers. Then Rock collapsed.

  For years he had suffered this nightmare. In his troubled dreams he hadseen the glittering shield of the revenue men winking at him from thedarkness. Now it was a tangible reality. He was caught with the goodsthrough the Slavonian's treachery. Glaring in sullen anger at histrembling manager, he opened his mouth to speak but no word came. Thenone of the deputies who had made a cursory examination of the vat, beganto speak:

  "Well, Mr. Rock," he said, "it kind of looks like we had the man higherup. At the point of a gun, Mr. Blankovitch showed us the way to yourlittle office down here. And Signor Rossi brought us all the way overfrom Diablo hidden away among his fish so we could have the pleasure offinding out where he sold his cargo. The little ride was worth as muchto him as it was to us."

  Turning to the man who was standing by the Slavonian, he ordered:"Better put the steels on him, Jack. I'll take this one while Joe staysdown here with the stuff."

  * * * * *

  When the _Bennington_ entered Crescent Bay followed by the _Richard_towing the _Fuor d'Italia_, excitement was rife at Legonia. And as theboats came to anchor off the Golden Rule Cannery a large crowd ofcurious village-folk collected on the dock.

  The consensus of opinion, in Silvanus Rock's absence, was expressed bythe local postmaster. There had been another fight at El Diablo and"Uncle Sam had stepped in and 'pinched' the whole darned bunch." To thatopinion, the crowd for the most part concurred though there were somewho thought otherwise.

  It remained for Silvanus Rock himself to upset the truth of thepostmaster's statement. Scarcely able to credit their sight, thevillagers saw the magnate of Legonia led forth from the Golden RuleCannery in the custody of strangers. Strangers who spoke and acted withan air of authority and displayed shining badges to part the crowd asthey walked with their prisoner to meet the small boat from the cutter.Then came Blankovitch wearing hand-cuffs.

  It was some time before the truth leaked out through the lips of anewspaperman who was aboard the _Bennington_. Even then there were somewho doubted.

  Mascola killed by Bandrist? Impossible. Bill Lang and Richard Gregorymurdered at El Diablo and Mexican Joe who had been with them, found onthe island?

  Silvanus Rock a smuggler? Why the very thought was absurd.

  But the postmaster was gifted with more sagacity. With an ear trained tocatch the slightest drift of public opinion, he declaimed after hearingall the evidence:

  "I ain't much surprised. Kind o' had my suspicions of old Rock all alongthough I never said nothin'. But I allays did say that young Gregory wasa comin' citizen."

  * * * * *

  Purple dusk settled closely about Legonia at the close of the mostmemorable d
ay in the history of the village. For a time the streets weredeserted as the fishermen sought their homes at supper-time to retailthe latest bits of gossip which were current in the saloons.

  Kenneth Gregory's name was upon every lip. No story was complete unlesshe figured in it. The Golden Rule Cannery had been closed until furthernotice. Gregory had bought all the fish brought in by the alien fleet.His wharves were piled high with fish-boxes. His vats were full ofalbacore. He was going to give everybody a chance if they "shot square"and became American citizens. Rock and Blankovitch had been taken withthe men from Diablo Island to the jail at the county-seat. The body ofMascola was still in the custody of the local undertaker and Bandristhad been removed to a hospital. But of the men themselves little wassaid. An era of universal friendliness prevailed throughout the village.

  At the Lang cottage Aunt Mary was striving vainly to assemble her guestsabout the table for the evening meal.

  "The biscuits will be ruined," she pleaded. "Leave the talk go. You'veall talked yourselves half-sick now."

  Jack McCoy protested as Miss Lang led him to the table.

  "Remember, I wasn't there," he said. "And I've got a lot to find outbefore I get caught up."

  Hawkins slid into a chair by McCoy.

  "Well that's about all there is to it, Mac," he said. "Except that the_Gray Ghost_ made a clean get-away in the fog. You see the Custom Househas been wise to her for a long time but they never could catch her withthe goods. For some time there has been a lot of dope floating around intuna cans so they kind of laid it to some fish cannery. In talking itover with Cap. I began to look this fellow, Rock, up. And I found amongother things, that he didn't have a dollar until a few years ago. Hemade his money quick, and as far as we knew, right here in town. Then,this Diablo stuff gave me a hunch."

  Gregory looked up quickly at the mention of the island.

  "Easy on the Diablo stuff, Bill," he cautioned. "Aunt Mary doesn't knowmuch about that."

  When supper was over, Jack McCoy rose hastily.

  "I must be getting back," he said. "We have a big night-shift and fishto burn. And they will burn unless I'm on the job."

  Gregory followed him to the door.

  "I'll be down pretty quick, Jack," he said. "I want to see Miss Lang aminute before I go."

  A crooked little smile twisted the corners of McCoy's mouth and for amoment he looked deep into Gregory's eyes.

  "I suppose congratulations are in order," he began somewhat uncertainly,and seeing that Gregory made no denial, he put out his hand. "I hopeyou'll both be happy," he said slowly.

  Then he turned quickly and hurried out the door. Hawkins hurried afterhim.

  "I guess I'll go down with McCoy," he explained. "I want to keep near aphone." Then he turned to Aunt Mary. "In to-morrow's _Times_ you'll getthe latest details of the secret of El Diablo," he said as he bade hergood night.

  When Hawkins had gone out and Aunt Mary had retired to the kitchen,Gregory exclaimed to Dickie Lang in a low voice:

  "There's one secret she won't get in _The Times_. She won't have to waitthat long. For I'm going to tell her now."

  "You'd better not," answered the girl. "You would have to shout. She'sunusually deaf to-night. All the neighbors would hear."

  "That's what I want," Gregory cried as he walked to the kitchen withDickie following close behind.

  In the semi-darkness of the little pantry-closet he took the girl in hisarms.

  "It's the only secret I'd never be able to keep," he confessed. "And Iwant the whole world to hear it."

  Pushing aside the swinging-door, he went into the kitchen to tell AuntMary.

  In the semi-darkness of the little pantry-closet]

  THE END

  [Transcriber's Notes: Punctuation errors have been corrected and hyphenusage made consistent. Illustrations (excepting frontispiece) have beenmoved from their original page locations to the paragraph which theyillustrate. Printer's errors have been corrected as follows: Page 7: Dois amended to Dios (Gracious a Dios) Page 49: bare-booted amended to bare-footed (bare-footed fishermen) Page 67: speak amended to speck (speck on the horizon) Page 81: do amended to go (to go down anyway) Page 82: run amended to ran (He ran his boats) Page 148: be amended to he (he began to fall down) Page 171: slippel amended to slipped (slipped a hand into his pocket) Page 173: furinor amended to furrinor (bossed around by a "furrinor") Page 182: rememberance amended to remembrance (a sharp remembrance) Page 205: unimpeachible amended to unimpeachable (unimpeachable standing) Page 225: Back amended to Black (together off Black Point) Page 278: lose amended to loose (cut loose from the _Pelican_) Page 279: she's amended to she'd (she'd take it) Page 293: preceptibly amended to perceptibly (expenses mounted perceptibly) Page 313: jibbering amended to gibbering (gibbering with fear) Page 328: order amended to ordered (Smith ordered.) Page 331: extra "the" removed (darkness across the cave) Page 347: died amended to dyed (dyed red with his blood) Page 357: steals amended to steels (put the steels on him)Errors in foreign language spelling (_Gracious a Dios_ and _Sangre deChristo_) have been retained.]