From thePetrel'ssloping deck they saw the horsemen appear in bold silhouette against the sky-line. Swinging from their saddles they walked to meet a white-shirted rider who galloped over the ridge and drew rein among them.
The newcomer remained astride his horse. Resting an arm on the horn of his saddle, he stared into the little cove through his binoculars. Satisfied apparently by what he saw, he dismounted and walked rapidly toward the trail leading to the beach, the men following after him. As they took their way down the cliff Gregory noticed that some of the men carried rifles. When they reached the beach the white-shirted man walked on alone, and without a backward glance, traversed the rocks in the direction of the wreck.
"He walks like a king," commented Dickie Lang. "I wonder if that is Bandrist."
Gregory noted the clean-cut figure of the stranger carefully. The man was about his own height though of slighter build, the spareness of his figure being emphasized by the close-fitting riding-trousers and the thin silk shirt which fluttered about him as hestrode along. The fair-haired stranger stopped abruptly when he reached thePetrel'sside. Flinging an arm upward with a careless gesture, and looking straight at the girl, he said quietly:
"I am unarmed. May I come aboard your vessel?"
Only the slightest trace of the foreigner was discernible in his speech.
Dickie Lang nodded. "Come ahead," she said. "Whoever you are, you can speak English at least."
The visitor smiled as he caught the mast-stay and drew himself gracefully over the rail.
"I am Leo Bandrist," he introduced. "I fear my men have caused you some annoyance. I am sorry."
Dickie rehearsed the incidents leading up to the trouble with the natives and when she had concluded, Bandrist's forehead wrinkled in a frown.
"I am very sorry," he repeated. "My men, you see, are very stupid. Very ignorant. They understand but little English. Then, too, I have been annoyed by others. You see, I have many sheep and wild goats upon the island. Hunters come to shoot the goats, but they often mistake my sheep for them. Fishermen also have caused me great trouble. I have fenced my lands to keep them out; put up the signs the law tells me I must to protect myself. But no, they disregard my rights. So I give my men instructions to keep them out. When my rangers are opposed they grow ugly. One of them tells me that one of your number began the attack. That angered them, you see, and they fought back. It was but natural. However, I am sorry. I trust that none of your party has been seriously injured."
"Small thanks to you," Dickie snapped. "Your men tried hard enough to commit murder." Nodding in the direction of the unconscious islander, she added: "There's one of your outfit stretched out over there. Another was half-drowned. The third tried to knife Mr. Gregory. I hit him in the head with a monkey-wrench. They both got away or were washed off the ledge."
Bandrist shot a quick glance at Gregory as the girl mentioned the cannery owner's name. At the girl's reference to her part in the affair his eyes lighted with interest. Then the frown came again to his face.
"That is the trouble," he said quickly. "My men do not understand. They know only one way to fight. That is to win. If you will permit me, I shall summon the others to care for their companion."
He waited for the girl's consent. Then he waved his hand to the men on the beach. When they were within ear-shot, Bandrist addressed them rapidly, nodding toward the spot indicated by Dickie Lang. As the men hurried away, he explained:
"They come to me from many countries. Some of them are bad and cause me much trouble. It is so lonesome out here that I can not keep good men. I tell my fence-riders only to keep people away so that they will not kill my sheep. Some of them I arm as you see, because those who hunt also carry guns and are sometimes ugly."
He spread out his slender fingers apologetically.
"Again I am sorry," he said. "If you desire to work now I will see that you are undisturbed, if you will promise to leave the island when you are through. You see I do not want any more trouble," he concluded with frank emphasis. "My men will be very angry when they find their wounded comrade. Sometimes it is difficult for me to restrain them."
The excited jargon of the islanders as they came upon their disabled fellow confirmed the truth of his words. Jabbering to themselves, and casting sullen glances in the direction of thePetrel, they carried the man over the ledge to the beach.
"Mr. Bandrist," said Dickie clearly. "I've as much right to be here as you have. You can't legally keep me from taking the engine out of this boat. She's on tide and you haven't any more claim to that than I have. You know that as well as I do. I'm going to take my time. When I get through, I'll go. And not before. If you are on the square you'll stay here until I do. We don't want trouble any more than you do. But we're not going to be bluffed out on this deal or any other."
Bandrist's eyes shone with unconcealed admiration. He inclined his head in response to her suggestion and exclaimed: "I shall be only too glad to remain here until you are ready to leave."
Dickie Lang turned quickly to Howard. "You keep off your feet, Tom," she said. "I might as wellstart in. The boys from theCurlewought to have been here long before this."
Gregory pressed forward. "Tell me what to do," he said.
The girl regarded him approvingly. "You can loosen the stud-bolts on the motor first. Come on," she said. "I'll show you."
Bandrist followed after them. "May I help?" he asked.
She shook her head with decision. "Two's as many as can conveniently work around the engine," she answered.
The work of tearing down the motor began at once. Gregory wore the skin from his knuckles in loosening the stud-bolts while Howard instructed him from the doorway how to take off the carburetor and rip up the feed-line. As they worked the girl made a rapid survey of the parts she desired to salvage.
"Some more of your friends?"
Bandrist pointed seaward where a dory was rounding the point and heading shoreward.
The girl acknowledged his words with a curt nod.
"Here come the boys from theCurlew," she announced.
When the landing party reached thePetrel'sside, Jones and Sorenson stared in silence at the white-shirted man leaning against the rail.
"Got things fixed up, Jones? You were a long time coming."
The skipper of theCurlewclimbed aboard beforereplying. Drawing the girl to one side, he said quietly: "Thing's pretty well shot, miss. Took her down and found this."
He extended a blackened handkerchief covered with fine dust. Dickie Lang examined it carefully, rubbing the particles of black grit between her fingers.
"Emery dust?"
Jones nodded. "She's full of it," he answered. "Don't dare and start her up. She'd cut herself to pieces."
Silently regarding the blackened particles, the girl asked: "Carlin was with you yesterday you said, didn't you?"
"Yes. Him and Jacobs."
"Carlin's enough. I knew he was a dub. But I didn't think he had brains enough to be a crook. I know now. Well, we've got enough trouble right here for a while without bothering about your boat. You rip up the motor and Sorenson and Mr. Gregory can strip the deck. We've got to hustle. It will begin to rough up soon. Then we'll have to run with what we have. She'll break up on the flood by the looks of things."
Pausing for a moment to partake of a meager lunch which Dickie discovered had been overlooked by the robber of thePetrel, all hands turned again to the work of salvaging the motor.
Through the long afternoon they worked in silence. As Gregory stripped the iron chaulks from the deck and removed the stays, he noticed that Bandristleaned idly against the rail with his blue eyes following the movements of Dickie Lang with great interest. Once, before Gregory could surmise his purpose, he sprang to the girl's side and assisted her with a piece of shaft and the ease with which he handled the heavy brass caused the young man to marvel.
A queer specimen of man was Bandrist, he reflected, to be marooned in such a spot as this. Gregory's work gave him a chance to study the islander without being observed. He was a figure who merited more than a passing glance. He would challenge attention in any environment. While he twisted the galvanized turn-buckles, rusted by the salt-air, Gregory appraised the man carefully.
Trained to the minute and hard as nails, he catalogued the slender figure. The long smooth-lying muscles were those of an athlete. He could see them rippling at the open-throat and on the islander's wrist when he raised his arm. The features too were worthy of notice. Line by line he studied them. From the high forehead which bulged over the clear blue eyes, to the delicately ovaled chin. The face was emotionless. Only the curve of the thin lips showed the man beneath the mask. The lips were cruel as death.
The tall crags cast their irregular shadows athwart the cove and a sudden puff of wind, which had freshened as the day wore on, ruffled the quiet waters and caused them to slap angrily at the base of the ledge.Dickie Lang cast a weather-eye to seaward and shook her head.
"Time we were getting in the clear, boys," she said. "The tide's beginning to set in strong and the breeze is freshening. We've got about all we dare fool with. I want to get clear of the Diablo coast before the fog drifts any closer."
The fishermen issued from the engine-house at her words and began to gather up the parts of the dissembled motor and carry them to the waiting skiffs. Then they assisted Howard to the dory. In a few moments they were ready to shove off. Dickie stepped into the dory of thePelicanwhich Jones shoved into the water.
"I want to get Tom to the launch and have her ready to get under way," she explained to Gregory. "Will you stay and help Sorenson load the rest of the motor?"
Gregory nodded and set to work. Bandrist's eyes followed the departing skiff until it disappeared around the point. Then he motioned Gregory to one side and began to speak: "Do not let her come out here again," he said in a low voice. "Diablo is not a safe place for fishermen, much less a woman. My men will not forget you. I was able to control them to-day. The next time I might not be so fortunate."
However well meant the warning might have been, it rankled in Gregory's breast. He felt his instinctive dislike of Bandrist grow with the man's words. Meeting the islander's eyes squarely, he said in a voice which only Bandrist could hear:
"If it is necessary for us to come to Diablo again, Mr. Bandrist, we will come. If you are unable to handle your men, that will be up to you."
For a moment the two men appraised each other in silence. Then Gregory turned and walked to the waiting dory.
In the purpling dusk they embarked from Diablo and sped across the rippling water to the launch which lay in the offing. Looking back from the stern-seat, Gregory saw the man on the ledge gazing after them with folded arms.
On the deck of thePelicanthe girl was issuing hasty orders for the return to the mainland.
"Kick her over, Jones. Johnson, stand by the hook. Here comes the other skiff. Get your stuff aboard, Sorenson, as quick as you can," she called to the approaching dory, "and swing the boat on deck. We'll beat it out of here and take theCurlewin tow. Make it lively, boys. We've got to be under way."
Swinging wide of the headland thePelicanplunged into the trough of the swell and skirting the coast raced on to pick up the disabledCurlew. Dickie Lang looked back at the dim outline of the cliffs as they shadowed the sea.
"Poor littlePete," she exclaimed softly. "It's tough. But it can't be helped."
Gregory alone heard her words.
"It sure is," he said, feeling that the words were wholly inadequate. "And I'm mighty sorry," he added.
The girl started. "I guess I was thinking aloud," she said. "I didn't know you heard." She set her lips together. "It's all in the game, I know," she went on, "but no one but me knows how I hate to lose the littlePetrel."
When they picked up theCurlewthe fitful wind died suddenly and the air grew heavy with moisture. The white clouds which scurried across the face of the heavens dropped lower and massing themselves together obscured the stars. Piloting thePelicanand her tow safely to the high seas, the girl relinquished the wheel to Johnson with a sigh of relief.
"I'll rustle something to eat, Bill," she said. "We'll stand two-hour watches. I'll take her next. I want to see if there is anything I can do for Tom. I'll be in the cabin. Call me if you sight anything or it gets thicker."
Turning to Gregory, she exclaimed: "The next thing is to eat. I'm starved myself, and I'll bet you're worse."
Repairing to the cabin where the big fisherman was already asleep on the bunk, they ate their first real meal of the day in silence. There was much that they could have talked about, but one does not follow the sea long without learning that opportunities to eat are sometimes golden, and not lightly to be passed over or interfered with by conversation. It was not until the last morsel of food had been consumed, therefore, that Gregory made an effort to voice his thoughts.
"What do you think of Bandrist?" he asked suddenly.
The girl started, surprised that they should both be thinking of the same man. Her forehead wrinkled slowly as she answered:
"I think he's a crook. I don't know why exactly, but I just do. He's too smooth. Too well educated for a sheep-man. He's up to something at Diablo. Don't know what. Don't know that it is any of my business at that. But I don't like him."
"Neither do I," Gregory admitted. "I sized him up as a mighty clever man. He has a hard outfit out there and he pretends he can't control them. That's the bunk. Did you notice how they took orders from him without even talking back?"
"Yes. And he had most of them armed. With orders to keep people off of the island. Why?" she asked suddenly. "I don't believe it's on account of the sheep."
Gregory shook his head emphatically.
"That was bunk too," he said. "They knew we were not trying to hunt. I suppose they did get pretty sore when we roughed it with them, but that didn't give them any license to pull their knives and try to carve us up. That crazy fool would have had me in another minute if it hadn't been for you."
Dickie sought to minimize her part in the affair.
"I didn't do much," she said. "I was just lucky. You did all of the hard work. I thought you were never coming up."
"You were dead game," Gregory cut in. "You saved me from that fellow's knife and you know it."
Dickie Lang made no reply but sat with her arms resting on the cabin-table, looking off into space. Again she saw herself huddled against the rocks, looking down into the sunlit water of the cove, waiting for the men to come to the surface. What a fight Gregory must have had to have freed himself from that strangle-hold and save the life of the other man as well as his own. How skilfully he had worked over Howard. He seemed to know just what to do. She raised her head sharply. Not given to living in the past, she wondered why her mind had gone wool-gathering. Perhaps it was because she was beginning to realize that this man was a man among men. And real men were scarce. He was speaking again.
"There's something wrong at Diablo. I'd give a lot to find out what it is."
"It would cost a lot," she answered soberly. "And what business is it of ours? Dad used to say that monkeying with other people's affairs was a luxury he never could afford."
"But if they interfere with fishing, it is some of our business."
"Yes, but do they?"
"I don't know. That is, not yet," he was forced to admit.
"Neither do I. Until I do, I'm not looking for any more trouble than I can see ahead right now."
Silence for several moments. Then, from the girl:
"Besides, you couldn't find out anything. The fishermen are scared stiff of Diablo as it is. When this gets around, they'll be even worse. They're not looking for more excitement. They have enough."
To Gregory's mind recurred his plan of manning the girl's boats. Here was an opportunity to justify it.
"The bunch I'm figuring on wouldn't be afraid of it," he said. "In fact I think they would kind of enjoy finding out."
Dickie smiled. "Aren't you speaking two words for yourself?" she asked.
He smiled too. "I'll admit I have some curiosity," he answered.
The girl laughed. "You've got into the habit of fighting," she retorted. "But the war is over now."
"Maybe you're right. But at Legonia I've an idea it has just begun."
It was just what she would have had him say. What she would have said herself if she had spoken her mind. She liked a man who wasn't afraid. They were the kind one could tie to. Gregory's proposal again assailed her. It had its advantages. She would think it over while she was at the wheel.
"Boat off starboard quarter," a gruff voice announced from the doorway.
Dickie Lang sprang to her feet and hurried on deck with Gregory following close behind. From the gray gloom came the sharp exhaust of a high-powered motor, running at top speed. As they looked in thedirection of the sound, which was fast changing to an angry roar, the shifting wall of filmy fog was pierced by a flash of green.
"Mascola!"
Gregory was barely able to catch the girl's words above the uproar of the gatlin-like exhaust. The next instant the green light flashed by and was swallowed up in the gloom.
"I wonder what he's doing out here running like that?" Dickie mused.
"How do you know who it was?"
She laughed. "There's only one boat anywhere around here with an exhaust like that," she answered. "That's theFuor d'Italia. She's the fastest craft in southern waters of her kind. And no one ever runs her but Mascola."
Gregory continued to listen to the rapid-fire exhaust as it died away in the distance. Then he pictured himself driving the trim craft, plunging through the waves and hurling the spray into his face as he raced on. Recalled to himself by the slow-movingPelicanburdened by her tow, he reflected that speed sometimes was everything. If he was going to oppose Mascola he would have to get there first. Dickie was speaking again.
"Joe Barrows built her up at Port Angeles. Mascola hasn't had her very long and he won't have her much longer if he pounds her like that. I wonder what he's going out to Diablo for in such a hurry."
Gregory could not answer. But he made up hismind if he was ever going to find out, he would have to have a faster boat than theFuor d'Italia. Perhaps Joe Barrows could help him out.
Through the long night thePelicancrept into the thickening fog with the disabledCurlew. Daybreak found them at the entrance to Crescent Bay. When they reached the Lang docks the masts of the fishing-fleet could be dimly discerned through the shifting mist like a forest of bare-trunked trees.
Dickie frowned.
"The boys are late getting out," she observed. "I wonder what's the matter."
As they drew alongside the wharf it was evident that something unusual was in the air. The pier was thronged with fishermen, gathered together in little groups, leaning idly against the empty fish-boxes. At the landing party's approach the low hum of conversation died away into a faint murmur. A solitary figure, standing apart from the others, hurried forward to meet the girl as she walked up the gangway.
"Hello, Jack. What's the trouble?"
McCoy nodded in the direction of the silent fishermen. "Trouble enough," he whispered. "I'm mighty glad you've come, Dick. There's a strike on. Carlin's got them all riled up and there's hell to pay."
A strike at this of all times! And Pete Carlin at the bottom of it! With her nerves frayed raw by two nights of sleepless vigil and the memory of theCurlew'sdisabled motor rankling within her, Dickie Lang brushed by a group of men and confronted a bullet-headed man in a loose gray sweater.
"Carlin," she said clearly in a voice which all could hear, "you're fired. You're a crook. If you'd work the clock around I wouldn't have you on the job."
Turning to the fishermen she rapidly related the incident of the finding of the emery-dust in theCurlew'smotor.
"It's a lie," Carlin interrupted, "I don't——"
"It's the truth, Pete Carlin, and you know it."
Dickie moved closer to Carlin and her eyes met his. "You can't look me in the eye and deny it," she challenged. As the man said nothing, she flashed: "Get off my dock while you're still able to walk. If I was a man I'd knock you down."
The man grinned but did not move.
"But you ain't," he retorted. "I reckon I ain'tgoin' to have no fool girl tell me where to head in at. I reckon I——"
A heavy hand fell on his shoulder and his sentence remained unfinished. Gregory's eyes were snapping close to Carlin's.
"Beat it," he said, "while the trail's open."
Carlin flashed a glance over his shoulder at the fishermen who stood looking on in stoical silence. Then he decided to go. Mumbling to himself, he turned sullenly from the men about him and walked slowly down the dock.
Dickie Lang faced the silent fishermen.
"Now, boys, what is it? I'll hear what you've got to say. But I won't have any dealings with a crook."
The men about her shuffled their feet and drew closer. Then a man in a faded plaid jumper detached himself from the others and began to speak.
"We ain't got nothin' against you, Miss Lang," he began uncertainly. "But we've all got to look out for ourselves. We got families and folks dependin' on us. Livin' 's out of sight. So is clothes and everything. We——"
"What's your proposition, Blagg?"
The fisherman hesitated at the directness of the question. Then he recited: "Straight time. Eight-hour day for six dollars. Double money for overtime and Sundays."
Dickie started at the demand. Carlin had done his work well to set such a limit as that. She wonderedhow far the seeds of discontent had spread among the others. As her eye traveled over the silent groups, Blagg went on:
"You see, miss, as I say we got families and the women-folks——"
"Don't blame the women, Joe," interrupted the girl. "If they got half of what the saloons leave they'd have no kick coming. I'll bet they're not back of this. You've been listening to a half-baked fool who couldn't make a living if dollars grew on trees. All Pete Carlin can do is talk. You boys know he isn't a fisherman."
She stepped closer and her voice dropped to a conversational tone. "It just isn't in the business, boys. If I promised to pay those wages I couldn't do it. I'd be broke with the first run of bad luck and you know it as well as I do, if you'd stop to think. The man doesn't live who can pay that around here and get out."
Blagg smiled knowingly at the fishermen.
"You're wrong, miss," he said. "We've already got the offer for a job at them terms."
"Not here?"
He nodded. "Right here in town. We won't have to move nor nothin'." Watching the effect of his words upon the girl, he went on, carried away by the importance of his announcement. "That's why we're puttin' it up to you. You've always shot pretty square with us. But money talks, and we all got to look out for Number One. I reckon none of the boys is honein' to go to work for a furrinor, but we allknows his money's good as yours and that's what counts."
"You mean you're going to ditch me for Mascola?"
Blagg dropped his eyes to the planks of the wharf before the girl's steady gaze.
"We don't aim to ditch nobody," he said awkwardly. "But we got to live. The dago's offered us six day straight with double for overtime and Sundays. We ain't decided yet. We waited to give you a chance."
Dickie Lang listened quietly, her eyes roaming among the knots of silent fishermen. Some she noticed stood close and as their spokesman went on, shuffled closer. Others held aloof. When Blagg had concluded, she began to speak in a voice which carried to the detached groups of men standing in the back row.
"I'm not going to say much. But what I do say I want it to sink in. Come up closer all of you where we can see one another."
When the fishermen ranged themselves about her, she looked hard into their weather-beaten faces and went on earnestly: "Boys, you've known me since I was a kid. Most of you knew my dad. If you did, you knew a man. He had to fight hard for a living. But he shot square every foot of the way. Some of you were here when he came."
She singled out a few of the older men and spoke directly to them: "Do you think you'd be here now if it hadn't been for Bill Lang? What were the Russians and Austrians doing to you when he came? You were all down on your uppers and didn't know where your next meal was coming from. Who was it that took up your fight? Who backed you with boats and gear and taught you how to fish so you could hold your own against the outsiders? You know without my telling you."
Some of the older fishermen dropped their eyes to the rough board planks at the girl's words. There was no doubt that Lang had been square. But as Blagg had pointed out, a man had to look out for himself.
"You think that hasn't anything to do with your quitting me to get more money? All right. I'll show you that it has. Let me ask you some questions. What is Mascola paying his own fishermen? Why should he pay you fellows twice that much? Does he think you'll rob more traps, lay round more nets and run more men off the beach with his seine? Why should he pay you six dollars when he can load up with a gang that'll do what he says for three? Is that business?"
She paused and her lips compressed in a straight line as she went on: "You can answer those questions just as well as I can. You know what Mascola's game is. He thinks he's going to put me out of business. He's trying to crowd me off the sea. What do you suppose will become of you if he makes good? How long will you get that six dollars a day with the Lang fleet out of commission? You've been fighting his men for a square deal ever since you came here. Andnow you're figuring on helping them run you out of your own town."
Blagg noticed that several of the men were falling back and whispering among themselves. Scenting signs of a break among his ranks, he felt it was up to him to say something. Well, he had his trump card yet to play.
"We ain't such fools as you think," he said. "We ain't gone at this thing without considering pretty careful and gettin' good advice. Last night some of us had a meetin' and talked things over. Mr. Rock was there and he give us some mighty good advice. He says to the boys that it was every feller for himself and——"
"Rock's got a mortgage on your house, hasn't he, Joe?"
Blagg flushed beneath his tan.
"I reckon that ain't got nothing to do with it if he has," he challenged. "And you understand I ain't even sayin' he has. But he's a business man."
"And a hypocrite," supplemented Dickie Lang. "Nobody knows that any better than I. He lied to me and tried to flim-flam me out of my boats before my dad was buried a week. If I'd fallen for it he would have had me right where he's got you, Joe. But I didn't. And when he found out I was going to stick to you boys, he called me a fool and said no white man could compete against Mascola's men."
As she paused for breath, Gregory saw TomHoward hobbling through the crowd, speaking in low tones with the fishermen.
"One minute more and I'm through," the girl concluded. "We're up against a hard fight here at Legonia. A fight for Americans to fish their own waters. Sounds foolish, but you know it's the truth. When my father and Mr. Gregory were drowned off Diablo, Mascola thought he had us beaten. Rock thought so, too. But I'm telling you we're going to fool them both. There's something wrong around here, boys, when we can't get a fifty-fifty break on our own coast. And we're going to find out what it is."
Seeing that she had the ear of the men at last, she walked closer.
"Listen, boys, I've got a big proposition to offer you. One that will beat Mascola's like an ace beats a deuce. Because this one is on the square."
The fishermen crowded closer while she went on:
"You know what we've been up against here for years to get good help. You boys have been working short-handed most of the time. Doing more work than it was up to you to do. I've got a plan now to get all the men you want. Good men too. Fellows who have been tried out, red-blooded men. Fighters! I want you men to train them. Show them how to fish. In a little while they'll be doing all the work and I'll pay you four dollars a day straight time with a dollar a day more if you stick through the season. But better than that I'll give you a share in the profitsof not only my own business, but the Legonia Fish Cannery as well."
Gregory gulped. It was Dickie's voice all right. But the words were his own. There was some mistake somewhere. He strove to regain control of his scattered senses as Blagg burst out:
"You're figurin' to start somethin' you can't finish, ain't you? You ain't bought the cannery already, have you?"
"Don't you worry about that, Blagg. I know what I'm talking about. Mr. Gregory and I are partners on this deal."
Blagg was taken back by the girl's announcement. Almost as much so as Gregory himself.
"Suppose there ain't no profits?" put in another fisherman.
"That's your lookout as well as mine." Again the girl took Gregory's words and went on: "But there will be. I'm going to get a bunch of ex-navy men down here that mean business. They won't let Mascola, Rock or anybody else bluff them off the sea. All they want is a chance to learn the game. You boys can teach it to them right."
Blagg stepped back and began to whisper to the men about him. The other fishermen looked at one another and listened for Bill Lang's girl to go on:
"You fellows all know the advantage it gives you to have enough boats and men. If you break down and get into any trouble, it's pretty good to havesomebody standing by to give you a hand. And you know that Mascola knows how to make trouble."
Turning to the older men, some of whom had already begun to feel their joints stiffening with rheumatism, she said: "Fishing's a hard game, boys, for the best of us. And it doesn't get any easier as we get older. There's a lot of you who will have to go into dry-dock before long and get patched up. And there's some that can't afford to lay up. You've been working with your hands too long. You've got to ease up and use your brains. That's what I want to hire now. These young fellows are eager to help you. It will be up to you to show them what to do."
Could this be the girl who had angrily announced that she intended to run her business in her own way? Gregory could only stare at Dickie Lang. So far, she had not even included him as being a partner to the idea, save by her pledge of the profits of his cannery. Surely she would explain her sudden change of heart. Listening intently, he heard her conclude:
"Think it over, boys. It's a chance that may never come again. If there are any questions you'd like to ask, shoot."
Blagg noted that her words were having a marked effect upon the silent fishermen. Seeking to stem the tide of the reaction which he felt was setting in against him, he began to make objections.
Dickie Lang met his arguments with painstaking explanations and the objections gradually became fewer, simmering down into more or less intelligentquestions. Gregory noticed that the fishermen began to retire and clustered together in little groups while they talked earnestly among themselves. Still there came no explanation from the girl. She was championing his ideas as if they had been her own cherished plans.
At length the various knots of men drew further apart and faced each other in two well-marked divisions. To the left stood Joe Blagg, about him clustering the younger and more radical element of the fishing colony. On the right the property-owners and heads of families for the most part, drew closer to Big Jack Stuss, their acknowledged leader.
Dickie Lang regarded the two factions carefully, striving to count their ranks. Each was about evenly divided, she figured, with Big Jack's constituency slightly in the lead.
Blagg stepped forward and began to speak: "It's six straight for me and mine," he said. "Them's our terms. The boys can't see your new-fangled proposition at all."
"It's up to you," the girl replied coolly. "If that's the way you feel, you can get your money. But before you do, I'd advise you to talk it over at home. Don't forget that I'm fighting for you—not against you. It might be pretty nice to remember some time that you tried to help yourselves. Think it over before you get your checks."
As she finished speaking, Big Jack got slowly under way. Elbowing a path through the crowd he shuffledcloser, hitching at the straining suspender to which was entrusted the task of holding in place his two pairs of baggy canvas trousers. Shifting from one bowed knee to the other, he contemplated his great bare toes in silence while he drew in a deep breath which filled his huge lungs to the bursting point and caused the muscles of his neck to stand out in purpled knots.
Dickie waited, knowing full well that it was Big Jack's invariable preface for speech. When the big fisherman had secured enough compression to proceed, he boomed forth in a fog-horn voice:
"Me and my fellers has decided to stick. Youse fellers can count on us if you shoot square. We's willin' to take a chanct."
"Me and my fellers has decided to stick"
"Me and my fellers has decided to stick"
His sentences were interpolated with great gusts of surplus breath. As he finished speaking he lumbered away to rejoin his companions.
"That's the stuff, boys. It's the way I like to hear men talk. It shows you've got the sand. Take it from me, you'll never be sorry you stuck."
She walked forward and passed familiarly among them while the Blagg faction melted slowly away and straggled down the dock in the direction of the town.
Gregory stood with McCoy while the excitement quieted down and Dickie despatched the fishing-boats on their accustomed morning cruise.
"Well, I'll say you've done wonders," McCoy was saying. "Who would ever have thought that Dick would have given in?"
Gregory nodded weakly. "I was rather surprised myself," he admitted.
McCoy looked at his watch. "I must go," he said. "It's almost time to blow the whistle. Coming up soon?"
Gregory promised to be on hand as soon as he got his breakfast and McCoy hurried off. When the last of her remaining men had left the dock, Gregory noticed the girl coming toward him. Now he would learn the reason for her sudden change of mind. He listened eagerly for the explanation.
Dickie Lang passed a slim brown hand slowly over her forehead and replaced a tousled lock of red-brown hair.
"Now," she said calmly, "when can you get me my men?"
Everything was coming his way. Kenneth Gregory glanced again at his first balance-sheet. The cannery had been in operation but a single month and already the business was exceeding his fondest expectations. He glanced at the chart which hung by his side. Forty-two completely equipped fishing-boats in the water and every one fully manned. He smiled as he thought of Dickie Lang's astonishment at the manner in which the ex-navy men had taken hold of the work.
His smile broadened too as he noted the receipts from the fresh fish and the canned product. Fishing had sure been good. And there had been little or no interference from Mascola. Since the day when Dickie had accepted his proposition all had gone smoothly. Gregory attributed his success to the carrying out of an idea. It had worked. It had to work. And it washisidea.
On the floor of the cannery, Dickie Lang was also analyzing the phenomenal success of the Legonia Fish Cannery while she waited for the owner to accompany her on their daily cruise to the fishing grounds.
"I'll tell you, Jack, it gets my goat how things began to pick up the very minute I threw up my contract. He's had nothing but luck ever since."
"I wouldn't say that, Dick," McCoy objected. "The boss's idea was worth something. Of course I——"
"Oh, rats! I'm sick of hearing everybody talking about an idea. All these fellows in here think that Kenneth Gregory can't make a mistake. They think that nobody else could have done what he did."
"That's what you want fellows to think who are working for you, isn't it?" ventured McCoy.
Dickie gasped. Had McCoy too fallen a victim to hero-worship? McCoy, who had been her loyal friend, and servant? She determined to find out to what extent he had transferred his allegiance.
"Do you think Mr. Gregory did any more than I could have done?" she flashed.
McCoy endeavored to temporize. "Well, in a way he didn't," he said, "and then again he did. You see——"
But Dickie refused to see. Whirling angrily, she walked rapidly toward the office. Anything to get away from hearing Gregory's praises chanted from every lip. Better be with the idol himself than his devout followers. She flung open the door and entered the office. Gregory faced her with a smile. A self-satisfied smile, the girl thought. In his hand was a paper.
"Look at that," he exclaimed. "My idea has worked out a lot better than I anticipated."
Dickie glanced coldly at the sheet but made no effort to take it from his hand. Looking him full in the eye, she observed:
"I'm about caught up with that idea of yours. I don't see that there is anything in it to cause any one to get the swelled-head."
"Who's getting the swelled-head?" demanded Gregory, the smile passing from his face.
"Well, I'm not," retorted the girl, laying special stress on the pronoun. "I've seen too much of this game to have my head turned by a little luck."
Gregory overlooked the implication and admitted soberly:
"Yes, we sure have had luck. There's no denying that. I never had any idea the boys would take to the game the way they have."
"They wouldn't if it hadn't been for my fishermen taking all the trouble they did with them. Why, a lot of those fellows were seasick when they first came down here. They were 'rocking-chair sailors.' My men made them what they are. I don't see any luck in that."
Gregory smiled provokingly.
"No, I don't suppose there was," he said. "What I meant was I was lucky in getting hold of men who really wanted to learn. You've admitted several times that they got along faster than you had any idea they would."
"Anybody could catch fish the way they've been running the last few weeks," evaded Dickie. "I never saw anything like it before. Nearly every boat comes in with a good haul. And when the local market was glutted at Port Angeles, you shot them up north and just tumbled on to a good market as Frisco was out of fish. That was nothing but luck," she challenged.
"And now we have orders for all canned stuff we can turn out," Gregory put in.
"Sure you have. From the Western outfit. I wouldn't trust them out of sight with a case of fish. They'll eat the stuff up as long as you can throw it to them in big lots. That gives them a chance to beat you down on the price. The first bad run of luck you have, they'll drop you cold. I know. They did the same thing with your father the very first timehebegan to fall down on his output."
"Yes, but——"
"You're not going to fall down." She took the words from his mouth and hurried on: "That is just what I was afraid of. Your luck has gone to your head. You have an idea things are always going to be like this. I know better. And you'll know before you get through. The fish are liable to head out to sea any day."
"You guessed wrong about what I was going to say," Gregory announced. "I was going to tell you I had an order from Winfield & Camby for a shipment of albacore if we can get them out right away.Suppose the fish do run to sea," he went on. "I'll back you to find them if any one can. And we're well equipped now to follow them up."
Dickie was somewhat mollified but she took care not to show it.
"You're not figuring on Mascola either," she began.
"Mascola," Gregory repeated. "Why, he's been decent enough the last two or three weeks."
"I know it," she interrupted. "That's what has me guessing. It isn't like Mascola to be that way. He's been checking up on us right along, but he hasn't bothered any of our boats since he lost theRoma. It's about time he showed his hand."
"We have nearly as many boats as he has now," Gregory observed. "Maybe he thinks——"
Again the girl anticipated his words.
"Get that out of your head," she snapped. "If you think Mascola's quit, you're wrong. The more boats dad got, the harder Mascola fought him. It's only when an outfit gets big enough to make a showing that he begins to get busy."
"We'll have the rest of the cannery boats out the last of the week," Gregory announced. "I'll have the boys rush them. We won't start anything, but just get good and ready. It's Mascola's move. I've made it perfectly clear to all the men that we are not looking for trouble."
Dickie was silent for a moment. Then she said:
"I have an idea that Rock gave Mascola a 'bumsteer' and that both of them are just beginning to find out their mistake."
"What do you mean?"
"I mean that Rock guessed wrong. He told a lot of people around town when you opened up that you'd be broke in thirty days. He and Mascola are pretty thick and the chances are he told Mascola the same thing and the dago believed him. Now they're beginning to find out they slipped up in not trying to cripple you before you got your men broken in. I've just got a hunch it won't be long before we hear from Mascola. He's bringing more boats in here every day from down the coast and the islands."
Seeing they were getting nowhere by their talk, Gregory tossed the balance sheet to the desk and got to his feet.
"We'd better be on our way," he said.
With Dickie following, he lead the way out into the cannery where he stopped for a moment to speak to McCoy. "I'm going outside for a while, Mac. If the Western people call up, tell them we're shipping the last of those sardines to-day. Sound them out on albacore prices in job lots."
Dickie turned away at the mention of the jobbers. Gregory evidently thought very little of her advice. Biting her lips, she walked to the door to wait on the receiving platform. McCoy watched his employer follow after her. Dick was sore at him. He'd have to go up to the house this evening and try to squarehimself. She was evidently sore at Gregory, too. And in that thought, McCoy derived some consolation.
With the crisp sea air fanning their faces as they headed out to sea, Dickie's irritability vanished. Desirous of starting conversation after a protracted silence, she began: "Who do you think I saw down-town the other day?"
Gregory could not guess. "I was in the bank," she began after a moment, hoping Gregory would not notice that at times she did frequent Rock's institution. "And that crazy fool, Boris, was in there trying to borrow some money. He's been hanging round town ever since Mascola fired him. When I've seen him he's been drunk on Japanesesake. He has it in for me because all the fishermen kid him about being run on the rocks by a girl. When I stepped back from the teller's window, Boris lunged against me and started to mumble something. But before he had hardly opened his mouth, a well-dressed man came from somewhere and threw him half across the room. And who do you think it was?"
Again Gregory shook his head.
"Bandrist."
As Gregory voiced his surprise, the girl went on:
"You wouldn't have known him. He was all dolled-up and looked like a different man. He knew me all right and he had the nerve to ask me if he could come to see me," she concluded.
Gregory's dislike of Bandrist increased.
"What did you tell him?" he asked.
Dickie laughed.
"I told him I wasn't any more anxious to receive callers at my home than he was at his."
Gregory wondered if the caustic answer to Bandrist might have been retailed for his own benefit. He reflected suddenly that Dickie Lang had never so much as intimated that he would be a welcome guest at her home. Well, there was no use dwelling on it now. He had never bothered the girl, and never would.
"Bandrist is no ordinary sheep-man," she went on. "And I know it. He's working some kind of a game over there that he doesn't want people to butt in on." She paused abruptly and her eyes narrowed. "I wonder," she began, but left her sentence unfinished as she noticed that Gregory was regarding her curiously.
"What?" he prompted.
"Nothing," she said. "Maybe some day I'll tell you. But not now."
Gregory knew her well enough to know that nothing could be gained by urging. During the silence that fell upon them the minds of both were working in parallel grooves, groping for a way of light to lighten the darkness of an unsolved mystery. When they reached the albacore banks and sighted the vanguard of the fishing fleet, both came back sharply, back from the maze of doubt and intangible suspicions which clouded their brains as the fog had clouded the island that held their thoughts.
Making the rounds of the albacore fishermen the truth of the girl's pessimistic prophecy became strikingly apparent. The fish had undoubtedly taken to sea. Laying-to to check one of the last of the few remaining boats which rode at anchor, Dickie consulted her tally-sheet and shook her head.
"Not much in this," she averred. "It's a losing game so far. And there's only Big Jack with theAlbatrossyet to hear from. We ought to find him cruising off the seal rocks. He's generally the first out and the last to come in. He never gives up while there's a chance left. I've seen him 'chumming' for albacore all day and then bring in a bunch hours after everybody else had given up."
As they drew near theAlbatrossshe hailed the fisherman: "How are the fish, Jack?"
Big Jack continued throwing the live bait from the tanks into the water. Then he straightened up and hitched at his suspender.
"They're beginnin' to come in like hell," he bellowed.
The fisherman was right. Gregory looked over the rail and gasped with wonderment. The sea about them was literally alive with fish. The lines which flashed over the side of theAlbatrossscarcely touched the water before the fish struck.
Dickie's eyes snapped at the sight.
"Put her about," she cried to Gregory. "And beat it as fast as you can for home. We'll make a killing if we can just overhaul enough of the boys to get in on the run. Load up, Jack," she called as the vessel swung about. "Cruise up and down and keep'chumming' so we won't lose them. We're going after the fleet. Pound her for all she'll stand," she instructed Gregory. "Every minute means money."
They had been running only a few minutes when they sighted Mascola's speed-boat astern. The girl frowned as theFuor d'Italiaroared by in a swirl of white water.
"This is where speed counts," she exclaimed. "If Mascola tumbles on to Big Jack he'll have his gang around theAlbatrossbefore we can get within hailing distance of our nearest boat."
Gregory watched the rapidly disappearing speed-boat anxiously. It was on his tongue to tell the girl of the launch Joe Barrows was building for him at Port Angeles, a craft which the boat-builder guaranteed in the contract would beat the boat he had built for the Italian.
"Keeping in close touch is everything in this business," Dickie observed. "Fish come in bunches. The ocean's spotted like a checker-board. You may have one boat loading up and another right around the next point doing nothing. That's where Mascola wins out," she exclaimed. "He scouts round and tips his fleet off if you've anything good. Then they're down on you like a flock of gulls."
Before they caught up with the stragglers of the cannery fleet they sighted the alien fishing-boats coming in their direction. Dickie's brow was overcast.
"Just what I was afraid of," she cried. "He's tipped them off. We're going to lose a lot to-day onaccount of not being able to keep closer together and being shy on a fast boat. You might as well get the idea of filling that albacore order out of your head right now."
As they overhauled the cannery boats and headed them back to the seal rocks, Gregory considered the girl's words about keeping in closer touch. If he was going to beat Mascola, he'd have to get there first. The speed-launch which Barrows was building for him would serve as a signal boat, but even that would not serve to keep the other boats in constant touch with one another. Before they reached the last of the available boats they met Mascola coming back. While the girl stormed at their helplessness to cope with the situation, Gregory spoke in monosyllables and wrestled with his problem.
He considered the methods of communication employed by the army in connecting the various units. One by one he discarded them. The semaphore would serve only for short distances and then only when the boats were within sight of each other. The same argument would apply against the wig-wag. The heliograph would be useless in stormy weather or in fog. A fast launch would help out, but even that would not completely solve the difficulty. How did boats keep in touch with one another? The answer came at once. Why hadn't he thought of it before?
When they came in sight of the seal rocks they saw the masts of the two fleets clustered thickly about theAlbatross.
"Look at that," snapped the girl. "Now, maybe you'll believe I know what I'm talking about. We were asleep and Mascola's beat us to it. It won't take him long to fish them out with an outfit like that. He's got our boats on the outside now, taking what's left."
Gregory saw that she was right. Mascola's boats were crowded closely about theAlbatrossand his own fleet was completely fenced off.
"What did I tell you? He's got them already. Look! He's ready to move. While we've been crawling along in this old tub, he's cleaned up."
The alien fleet began to get under way as she spoke and headed about. Darting past his boats came Mascola. Noting the tardy arrival of the oncoming launch, he made straight for them. Slowing down, he drifted by with his white teeth flashing in an insolent smile. Then he opened the throttle and theFuor d'Italialeaped forward and raced away with an angry roar.
When they reached theAlbatross, Big Jack was apoplectic with rage. It was some minutes before he could master his speech sufficiently to explain the situation. Mascola had arrived when they were hardly out of sight, had watched them pulling in the fish and had gone at once to summon his boats. The aliens had come upon him from around the point in ever-increasing numbers. Had hedged him and taken his school. When the cannery boats arrived the albacore quit biting and took to other waters.
Dickie Lang issued orders for the return of the fleet to Legonia. Then she vented her wrath on Kenneth Gregory.
"So you thought you had Mascola beaten, did you? What did I tell you? Didn't I say he'd come back at the first chance? Albacore fishing is where he's always been strong. And that's about all there is from now on. We've got to come alive and forget these ideas and get down to brass tacks. Mascola beat us hands down and we couldn't lift a finger to stop him. What are you going to do about it? That's what I want to know."
Gregory curbed his rising anger and answered quietly:
"Before I tell you what I'm going to do, I'd like to ask you a question. What could we have done legally to break through Mascola's fence?"
"Nothing. That's where he had us. He got there first. To get in to the fish we'd have had to ram his boats and he'd have you up before the local inspectors in no time if you had done that. If he had laid his nets around ours it would have been different. You could demand sea-way and run through them if he didn't move. But this way he had us over a barrel. And he knew it. It's a trick no white man would do. But I guess even you will admit now that there isn't a drop of white blood in that dago's body."
"Then about the only way we could have beaten him," pursued Gregory, "would have been to have got there first and covered our own boats. Is that right?"
"Yes. But that is not so easy as it sounds."
"It is not so hard either," Gregory went on. "I have an idea that I think will work out all right."
Dickie's eyes flashed.
"Forget your ideas!" she snapped. "You've got to have a whole lot more than ideas when you start out to beat Mascola."
Gregory felt his patience oozing from him at her words. It was bad enough to lose an order from a firm he hoped to get in strong with, without the girl rubbing it in.
"You haven't done anything yet but find fault," he said. "You have been at this game a lot longer than I have. Maybe you have something to suggest."
Something in his voice caused Dickie to quiet down. She began to cast about in her mind for an answer.
"You've got to keep your boats in closer touch," she began. "So Mascola can't work this same deal on us again."
"That is exactly what I am going to do."
"You'll have to show me."
"I will. I'm going to show you and Mascola both. By wireless."
Before she could interrupt, he hurried on: "Listen. Half of these navy men know the International code. The others can learn easy enough with some one to teach them who has worked at a radio key. I have several who have done that and can rig the sets."
"You must think you're a millionaire. You aren't running a line of steamships. Come down to——"
"The sets won't cost much," Gregory went on calmly. "If they did all these kids along the shore wouldn't have them. A fifty or one-hundred-mile radius would be enough for us. And it wouldn't take them long to pay for themselves. If we had had the boats equipped with radio outfits to-day we could have beaten Mascola at his own game. When Big Jack 'chummed' up the albacore the rest of our boats would have known it before Mascola got there. The fish he caught to-day would pay for quite a few sets."
"It would pay for itself in another way if it would work," supplemented Dickie, much to Gregory's surprise. "Lots of times a boat breaks down and drifts on to a reef. If she could get word to some one close by they could take her in tow or even pull her off before she was hurt much."
Discussing the pros and cons of the new idea, they took their way toward Legonia. When they arrived at the Lang wharf the girl grudgingly admitted that the plan might work. At least it might justify a trial. Leaving Dickie at her own dock Gregory was about to proceed up the bay to the cannery wharf when she came over to the rail and exclaimed in a low voice:
"Oh, yes. Another thing. I didn't have a chance to look at that statement you had this morning. If you're not too busy to-night, you might bring it up to the house."