CHAPTER X
SALVAGE
Dickie Lang was nonplussed. Her best bet was thrown into the discard.Her pride and independence had been at stake. For her most valuedpossessions, she had risked her all, and "stood pat" on the turn-up atthe devil-island. Her cards were all on the table. Now she had lost.Leaning against the sagging rail she watched the _Curlew_ draw alongsidethe float. Her slender fingers gripped the hand-rail and the sharpsplinters bit into her hands. But what was that to the pain which gnawedat her heart? She hadn't made good. The taste of failure was a new andstrange sensation. She had made her fight, done her best. But it wasn'tgood enough. But why was it necessary to take the little _Petrel_? WasDiablo to beat her as it had beaten others? No, she must buck up. Shewas Bill Lang's daughter.
"It's all in the game," she exclaimed to Gregory. "As I told you, thesea plays no favorites."
Before the young man could answer, she had turned from him to meet themen who were climbing from the incoming vessel.
"Hello, boys. Tough luck. But we can't help it. Tell me what happened.Make it short. I've got a lot to do."
The fishermen grouped themselves about her as the quivering figure of alittle Mexican lunged through the circle and began to speak:
"_Dios, Senorita_, it was very bad," he quavered. "We were lying closeto shore. The fog was everywhere. We could not see. And the anchor, itwould not hold. I was at the chain as you say I must when I hear a boatcoming. _Jesus de mi alma_, but she is coming fast. I can not leave aswe are drifting and I say to Pedro that he make a noise with thewhistle. But he does not get a chance. As he jumped for the engine-housea big boat she come right out of the fog and before we can move, shesmash us all to hell. I fall into the water with Pedro and loose thedory. For a time we drift. Then we are picked up by _Senor_ Jones."
"Did the _Petrel_ sink right away?" Dickie interrupted.
Another man crowded forward and answered the question.
"She didn't sink at all, miss. She wasn't far from the shore and shedrifted in with the tide that was settin' in strong. Then she piled upon the rocks. She's layin' there now, high and dry on the beach."
"Didn't the boat that smashed them, lay to?" volleyed the girl.
Again the Mexican began to speak excitedly: "_Sangre de Christo_, no,"he chattered, "The boat, she was very big, _Senorita_, and she did notstop."
"Nonsense, Manuel. You were crazy with fright. Don't talk like a fool.Go home and go to bed. When you've had a good sleep, I'll talk with youagain."
Stung into action by Jones's statement that the hull of the _Petrel_ wasstill on the beach, she turned suddenly to the wharf.
"Tom Howard," she called sharply. When a voice answered, she ordered:"Fill up the _Pelican_ with oil and stock her with grub. You can get itfrom Swanson. Throw in a couple of deep-sea hooks and a lot of goodhauser. Mind it's new. Be ready to pull out in an hour." She turnedagain to the men before her. "Jones, I want you to get the _Curlew_ready. We may need two boats to pull her off. You know where they wentashore. Take Johnson and Rasmussen with you. We've got to move lively. Aboat won't hang together long out there."
"Rasmussen's sick. How about Pete Carlin? He was with me coming over."
"Don't want him, Jones. Got to have men who know the game round Diabloin a fog. Take Sorenson."
The fisherman nodded and lumbered up the gangway followed by others.Dickie Lang jammed her hands deep down into her pockets and shrugged hershoulders as she turned to Gregory.
"If it isn't one thing, it's another," she said quietly. "Can you beatit? Manuel saying he was run down? He was scared to death. I don'tbelieve a thing touched him. He just went to sleep and drifted in on therocks and made up that story to save his job. Well, we'll know when Isee the hull."
Gregory listened, scarcely hearing the girl's words. At her announcementof going to the island he began to make tentative plans to accompanyher. There might be a lot he could do. And she sure needed help. Hewondered if he could offer his assistance without again antagonizingher.
"I'd like to go with you," he said bluntly. "I don't know much about thesea yet, but maybe I can do some of the strong-arm stuff and learnsomething. Besides, I want to have a look at Diablo."
Dickie regarded him approvingly.
"How about the cannery?" she asked. "My boats will go on fishing justthe same."
"McCoy can take care of things all right until I get back. I'll learn alot more over there than sticking around here."
"You're the boss of that," she replied. Then she added as anafterthought. "I'd be glad to have you."
As they walked to the wharf Gregory encountered McCoy and explained thesituation.
"So I'm going out there," he concluded. "While I'm away it's up to you."
McCoy, he noticed, did not enthuse over the idea.
"Diablo's a dangerous place to be fooling around at this time of theyear," he said.
"If she can take the risk, I surely can," Gregory answered promptly.
"You're needed here," objected McCoy. "Everything's new and there'sliable to be something come up I don't know about."
"Then do the best you can. I'll back you up. You know a lot more aboutit anyway than I do."
McCoy lapsed into silence while Gregory hurried away to make ready forthe trip. When they were ready to shove off, McCoy watched the two boatsslide out into the fog with conflicting emotions. Dick knew how to takecare of herself all right. She could handle a boat in bad weather withthe best of them. But, was that good enough? He reflected suddenly thatBill Lang _had_ been the best of them. And it was on just such a day asthis that Bill Lang had met his death on Diablo with Gregory's father.
Leaning against the dripping rail, he cursed the circumstances whichprevented his being at the girl's side if anything went wrong. He likedthe boss or he would have told him to look for another man. AndGregory's banking on him, tied him up. His inability to join theexpedition gave to another the chance which should have been his. Tornby anxiety for the girl's welfare and another emotion he was slower inanalyzing, he listened to the faint gulping of the _Pelican's_ exhaustuntil it was no longer audible.
* * * * *
The sun rose sullenly from a fog-spotted sea and glared wrathfully atthe wreaths of low-lying mist which obscured his vision of thesaw-toothed peaks of El Diablo. Under the warmth of his gaze, thewhite-fleeced clouds wavered, shifting about uncertainly. As if loath toleave the devil-island they had guarded throughout the long night, theycontracted slowly, niggardly exposing a line of rugged cliffs whichshone bleak and gray in the strengthening light of early morning.
"It's breaking up at last. Look!"
Dickie Lang pointed to the dark blot on the horizon.
"Can't. If I take my eyes from this needle for a second the boat'll runall over the ocean."
Gregory continued to stare at the compass while the girl smiled at hisearnestness.
"Tom will take her now," she said, nodding to Howard to relieve him atthe wheel. Then she added: "You've done fine. We've been going all nighton dead reckoning and we're not far off."
Gregory surrendered the wheel with a sigh of relief and followed thedirection of the girl's extended arm.
"That's Diablo," she announced. "I'm mighty glad the fog is shifting.Wouldn't have needed to have started so early if we had known. Butthat's the fun of the sea. You never know. There is no use trying tomake it in there in a fog," she added. "It is bad enough when you cansee."
While she talked with Johnson concerning the location of the wreck,Gregory found time to note the towering cliffs which rose precipitouslyfrom the blue-green sea. Somewhere along that rock-crusted coast, hereflected bitterly, Diablo had claimed another of the Lang boats only afew months ago. Somewhere among the white-crested rocks his father andBill Lang had met their death. He wondered where, but did not ask.Perhaps the girl would speak of it.
For some time he watched the mist-clouds flee before the brighteningrays of the rising sun. Then he noticed that Di
ckie was standing by hisside. Her eyes too were held by the rugged coast.
"The devil dumped it there," he heard her say in a low voice. "And whenhe saw what a hellish coast it was, he named it for himself. That's whatdad used to say." She flung out her arm in the direction of a toweringpeak. "At the base of that highest cliff was where the _Gull_ went onthe rocks. They call it 'Hell-Hole.'"
Staring in silence at the saddle-backed mountain, their minds traveledinto the past. Then Gregory asked: "Does any one live on the island?"
"It's a sheep-ranch. A man by the name of Bandrist has it leased on longtime from the government. He's Swiss, I think. He farms a little of theland that isn't too rocky and runs his sheep over the rest. The islandis about twenty miles long and over ten in the widest place."
"Is fishing good out here?"
"Fine," the girl answered. "Only it's dangerous. Fogs in spring andsummer, and storms the rest of the time. Lots of albacore and tuna. Butit costs boats and sometimes men to get them. Dad used to fish out here,but something was always sure to happen about the time he got wellstarted. Just like yesterday. Diablo's a place," she said slowly, "wherea man just can't make a mistake. If he does, he never lives to tell whathappened." She pointed to the frowning cliffs which guarded the shoreand extended far out into the water in a series of white-capped reefs."No anchorage," she explained. "And a strong inshore current. When youget weather out here, it's nasty, and it hits you all in a bunch."
As they neared the island the _Pelican_ slowed down to wait for the_Curlew_ which had been lagging astern.
"Jones must be having engine-trouble," commented Dickie Lang. "Or elseDiablo's got him buffaloed too."
"What do you mean?" Gregory asked.
Lowering her voice so that it would not reach the two fishermen on the_Pelican_, she said: "They all give Diablo a wide berth. The fishermenare scared to death of the island. If you want to hear a lot of wildtales, just talk to some of my men at Legonia. Look at Manuel. Wentclean out of his head and the funny part of it is the others allbelieved him. What's the matter, Jones? Having trouble?"
She addressed the skipper of the _Curlew_ as he brought his craftalongside.
"Been havin' it all the way over," the man replied. "Compression'sgettin' worse all the time." He drew a grimy hand across his blackenedforehead and squinted in the direction of the island. "No place to befoolin' round with a cripple either, I can tell you," he growled."Reckon I'd better lay to until I can get patched up."
The girl's brow wrinkled.
"All right, Jones. I'll go on. Follow when you can. We'll be around thatnext point. Can you beat that?" she exclaimed in a low voice to Gregory."His feet are getting cold too, and he's one of the best men I have."
Keeping well off the headland they rounded the point and turnedshoreward.
"In there."
Johnson jerked his head in the direction of a small cove which layalmost hidden beneath the brow of an overhanging cliff.
"She lays just beyond that arch."
Dickie ordered a halt.
"Can't chance it in there with the big boat. Throw out the hook and keepyour motor warm, Johnson. We may have to get out of here in a hurry.Keep a good eye on the chain for if she starts to drift you'll be on therocks before you can snub her up. Put the dory over, Tom, and we'll goashore and take a look."
Under the powerful sweep of Tom Howard's oars, the small boat dartedfrom the shadow of the launch and sped away toward the cove. Roundingthe natural arch by which the point projected itself into the sea, theyentered the little cove which nestled at the base of the overhangingcliff. Bisecting the cove, a rugged ledge of rock jutted out into thesea. Dickie shaded her eyes with her hand and half rose from her seat.Cradled between two jagged rocks at the extreme end of the ledge, herbow angling sharply, her stern washed by the lapping waves, bruised andbroken, lay all that was left of her favorite vessel. Only the girl'seyes mirrored her emotion as she stared at the wreck.
"Looks as if they made a clean job of it," she observed quietly. "Landright in here, Tom. We'll climb up on the ledge and walk over."
Pulling the dory up on the rocks they stumbled over the slipperyeel-grass and approached the ill-fated craft. Dickie Lang examined thehull.
"Looks like Manuel wasn't dreaming, at that," she ejaculated, pointingto the jagged hole in the _Petrel's_ side.
"Somebody bumped him all right and it must have been almost in the coveor he would never have drifted in here."
The further examination of the wreck went on in silence. The engine washalf-submerged, Gregory noticed, and the water poured from thesplintered hull and splashed to the rocks in a series of tiny cataracts.
"Not much of a chance to save anything but the motor and the shaft,"Dickie observed. "And we'll have to work lively to do that on this ebb.She'll break up on the flood if there's any sea."
As Howard jerked his head in acquiescence with the girl's diagnosis, ashower of loose rocks rattled from the overhanging cliff. Dickie walkedaround the _Petrel's_ bow and scrambled to the ledge.
"Looks as if we were going to have company," she announced, pointing inthe direction of the bluff, where three men were descending the trail tothe beach. Reaching the ledge the strangers walked steadily toward thewreck and halted within a few feet of the salvage party. As theyjabbered in a French dialect, Gregory listened intently.
Dickie's hand stole to the pocket of her coat. The men seemed bent onmaking trouble. It was best to take no chances. Her fingers sought thehandle of the Colt in vain. Cursing her negligence in leaving theautomatic aboard the _Pelican_, she stepped forward for a parley withthe strangers. Gregory and Howard placed themselves about her as the menmoved closer.
"No sabe," exclaimed Dickie Lang. "What kind of lingo are they talkinganyway."
Gregory was dividing his attention between the man with the red beardand the weasel-faced stranger who was gesticulating so wildly with hislong arms.
"Red-beard says nobody's allowed here, or words to that effect," heinterpreted. "Weasel-face backs him up in it and says for us to beatit."
"Tell them what we're here for. And that when we get the boat strippedwe'll go, and not before."
The red-bearded man shook his heavy head with slow comprehension.Weasel-face shuffled closer, his small eyes blinking malevolently. Thethird member of the party, a thick-set man with a face pitted by scars,motioned threateningly in the direction of the dory.
Dickie brushed forward.
"I'll try them in dago," she said.
Gregory watched the strangers move closer to their leader as the girlbegan to speak; heard his low-voiced words, uttered in a harsh guttural;saw his arm flash out and grasp the girl roughly by the shoulder.
Leaping forward, Gregory found his way blocked by Weasel-face. Theislander's hand was fumbling at his belt. Gregory's fist snapped hishead backward. The man's hands flew up, but not in time to block thevicious blow which caught him full on the chin.
Weasel-face's legs collapsed. Without a sound he fell in a heap upon therocks. Holding Dickie Lang in his great arms, the red-bearded man sawhis companion fall by his side. With a snarl he released the strugglinggirl and shoved her from him. Before he could draw his knife KennethGregory was upon him.
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