CHAPTER XXVIII
THE ISLAND'S PRISONER
Diablo was steeped in moonlight. For miles about the sea gleamed like amirror. The grim mountains which guarded the shore were robed in saffronand checkered with black by the dark shadows of the towering peaks asthey fell athwart the hillsides and mingled with the darkness whichhugged the canyons.
From a small cave high up on a rocky canyon wall the figure of a manemerged and crept silently into the shadows. Picking his way with greatcaution along a winding sheep-trail, he reached the summit of the hilland looked about. The damp sea air fanned his long hair and caused himto look in the direction of the fleecy white clouds which were creepingupward from the horizon. Soon there would be fog. Then he could continueon his way to the brackish spring on the bluff-side overlooking thesouth shore. From there it was only a stone's throw to the beach wherethe mussels and abalones clung so thickly to the rocks.
The thought of the raw shellfish sickened him. For days he had hadnothing else to eat. Shrinking closer into the shadows of the sage andcactus, he waited for the fog. Then he could go on on his nightlyjourney. How many months had he been a prisoner on El Diablo? He hadlost all track of time. But what did it matter? Soon he would be dead.For warm food and a drink of pure water he would almost give himself upnow.
Borne on the fog-wind came cries and shouts from the other side of theisland. Perhaps help was coming at last. But no, it was only thefishermen fighting among themselves off the Hell-Hole. He had heard themmany times before across the narrow isthmus. They would only go away asthey had always done and leave him to starve. The faint pulsing of amotor launch directed his attention to the sea.
In the paling moonlight, a gray blot clouded the water, moved slowlyamong the rocks and merged with the shadows. It was the same boat he hadseen so often in the past. Always it came to the island at night,running dark. Once in the bright moonlight he had seen men land on therocks and walk up the beach to a large cave which extended far into thecliff. As he had huddled closer into the scant shadows of therock-mottled ledge, other men had come down the trail from the islandand he had been forced to slide into the chilling waters of agrass-grown pool to escape detection. Mother of God, it had been anarrow escape.
The fog thickened and he continued on his way to the spring. Creepingnoiselessly through the brush he reached the trail which led downward tothe beach. Then he stopped and listened. The soft grating of a mutedchain caused him to drop lower in the grass and draw back. Silently heretraced his steps until he reached the cover of the heavier brush whichfringed the hillside.
The strange vessel was dropping anchor again in the little cove. Hedared not run the risk of going farther down the trail. There weremussels and abalones around the next point. He would get them. By thattime perhaps the men would be gone and he could return by the spring.The fog settled close about him, blinding his eyes and clinging to hisshivering body. For a moment he stopped and sucked thirstily at the wetgrass. Then he crawled on.
* * * * *
Planing high on the glistening waves, the _Richard_ sped onward acrossthe moonlit sea in the direction of El Diablo. At the wheel, KennethGregory strove to concentrate his mind upon the quest which lay beforehim. But another thought obtruded with ever recurring frequency. Why hadhe permitted Dickie Lang to accompany the party to the island? Therewould be danger. There was always danger at El Diablo. Landing upon theisland would be an added risk if Hawkins' suspicions had any grounds forfact. The girl's threat that she would withdraw her support from thecannery if not permitted to go with the expedition, was only a bluff:Why had he not remained firm? He knew the answer. There was a look inthe girl's eyes which he could not withstand. Something in her voicewhich left him powerless to refuse as she had said:
"Our fathers were not afraid. They died in one boat to learn Diablo'ssecret. We've fought together from the start. Don't leave me at thefinish." She might have added: "If they get you, they might as well getme too."
But her eyes told him that. Well, it was too late now to change hismind. The girl was here and it was up to him to leave her in a place ofsafety if such could be found upon the island. While Hawkins conferredwith his two friends, Gregory laid his plans.
He would leave Dickie with the _Richard_. She had her automatic and arifle. They would lay in close to shore on the south shore, opposite theHell-Hole. The island was narrowest there and it was generally in thatvicinity that things had happened oftenest in the past. That was wherethe _Gray Ghost_ put in, the place too where his father and Bill Langhad met their death. With the fishing fleet fighting Mascola's boats onthe north side the opposite shore of the island might not be held insuch rigid surveillance.
His thoughts turned again to the girl by his side. The rock-shadowedcoves would afford a fair anchorage for the _Richard_, even on such anight as this. There Dickie could see without being seen. Should dangerthreaten while the landing party were ashore, she must put to sea. Hemust make that perfectly clear to her at once.
As he expected, he encountered stubborn resistance from Dickie Lang. Ifthere was anything to be found out, she wanted to be there to see it.She was not afraid. She could shoot as well as a bunch of newspapermen.What was the idea of leaving her clear out of it? Gregory smiled at herslurring reference to Hawkins' two friends. Then he reflected that whatthe girl did not know concerning the real object of the mission toDiablo would cause her no worry. Until the party landed at least, he wasin command of the expedition. And orders must be obeyed.
"You'll have to do as I say," he concluded. "Whether you like it ornot."
Dickie's lip curled and she turned her head away to hide her face. "Allright," she answered. "I'll stay on the _Richard_." To herself, sheadded: "But I'll use my own judgment when it comes to running away."
* * * * *
In the silence of the fog the prisoner of El Diablo crept warily on.Deep ravines laced his path and yawned close about the trail. A misstepwould hurl him to the bottom of the rock-lined gorge which was swallowedup in the mists at his feet. Suddenly he stopped and threw himself tofull length on the ground. Far above him the solid whiteness of the fogwall was broken by irregular flashes of blue. To his ears came the soundof snapping spluttering flames.
Covering his head with his arms, he crossed himself. The devil wasspeaking from the hilltop. On two other occasions he had heard thecrackling of the flames near the old sheep-herder's shack on the crestof the hill. He had taken the wrong trail. Had gone too far. Worming hisway down the path he fled from the flashes of blue light.
For some time he retraced his steps in silence, thanking his saints thatthe devil had spoken to warn him from the spot. Then the soft breathingof a motor-launch caused him to stop and listen. He was again at thebluff-side. Soon he would reach the rocks. The echoes of the motor-boatdied suddenly away and he groped his way to the edge of the cliff andscrambled down the trail.
* * * * *
"You'd better take her now. The fog's getting pretty thick and I don'tknow the shore-line along here."
Dickie Lang took the wheel.
"I don't know it any too well myself," she admitted. "We'll have to gomighty slow and feel our way along."
Throttling to quarter-speed they skirted the south shore of the islandand nosed their way along the coast. At length the girl suggested ahalt.
"We ought to be nearly up to the Hell-Hole Isthmus by now," shewhispered. "On the beach along here there should be a lot of tide-watercaves if we're where I think. Around the next point is the goose-neck.We'd better go ashore and have a look. We may be too far down already."
Gregory agreed.
"I'll take Hawkins and Slade and row ashore," he said. "Billings canstay with you on the launch."
Dickie's objections were quickly overruled and the canvas-wrapped anchorchain was lowered into the water while the dory was pulled alongside.
"Look along the base of the cliff for the caves,
" cautioned the girl ina low voice. "And watch out for your oars. Keep them in the water and besure the wrappings fit tight in the locks."
Gregory nodded and took his place in the skiff.
"We'll be back in five minutes," he said. Then he shoved the dory outinto the fog.
* * * * *
From the ledge of rock which bordered the cove, the half-starved manpulled the razor-backed mussels from the sea-grass and broke them openwith his pocket-knife. For some time he ate rapidly. Then he ceasedpulling at the shellfish and listened. A boat was coming to anchor inthe cove. He could hear the soft slip of the chain through the chaulks.Perhaps they would land on the beach. Then he would be trapped on theledge until they had gone.
Picking his way over the barnacled rocks he started for the beach. As heclimbed from the ledge, he stopped suddenly and clung to the rocks. Onthe beach at his feet, and only a few feet away, he heard the pebblesgrate beneath the bow of a boat. The men were already landing. Staringinto the opaque wall of white, he saw it clouded by three dark blots.Followed the rattle of stones, the soft crunch of the sand dying slowlyaway into silence. The men had gone on up the beach.
The man who clung to the rocks climbed noiselessly to the sand, hisbrain burning with one great idea. While the visitors were gone from theplace he would steal their boat. In the fog no one could find him. Hecould row about the island and be picked up at sea in the morning bysome fishing-boat. The great chance had come to him at last.
Perhaps the men had left another to guard the boat. The thought causedhim to draw his pocket-knife. Grasping it tightly in his shakingfingers, he crawled silently over the wet sand, feeling for the sides ofthe dory with his extended arm.
Hope danced brightly before his eyes as he touched the boat. Weakened byhunger, he rubbed his shriveled limbs and tottered to his feet, wavinghis knife. Then he chuckled aloud. There was no one in the boat.
Throwing the knife upon one of the seats, he leaped again to the sandand began to shove. Mother of God, he had no strength. The bottom gratednoisily on the pebbles. Then the dory slid into the water. Laughing tohimself, he threw his body over the rail and felt about for the oars.
Men were running down the beach. He had not a second to lose. His handclosed upon the oars. He was saved. Tugging feebly at the heavy sweeps,he drew them through the water with all his might and the dory movedslowly forward. Again his weakened muscles responded to the feveredcall of his brain. Suddenly he felt the dory strike a heavy objectahead. Thrown half from his seat by the impact he dropped an oar,regained it on the instant and pushed the skiff away from the launch ashands reached out to grasp it. Then he heard the low murmur of voicesfrom the motor-boat. As he headed close in to the rocks he felt thestern of the dory dip sharply.
* * * * *
Gregory whirled at the sharp rattle of oars and raced down the beach inthe direction of the dory. Some one was meddling with their boat. Whenhe reached the place where they had left the skiff, he found it gone.From the waters of the little cove came the creak of oar-locks. Plunginginto the water, Gregory swam rapidly in the direction of the launch.Whoever had taken the boat was heading straight for the _Richard_.
A sharp bump sounded close ahead and Gregory redoubled his efforts toreach the side of the launch. Then he narrowly escaped being run down bythe small boat which had turned and was heading in for the rocks.Grasping the stern of the dory as it moved by him, he hung for a momentwhile he regained his wind, striving vainly to ascertain how manypassengers the skiff carried.
Suddenly he noticed that the oars no longer disturbed the water and theskiff had lost its way. Then he heard the sound of shuffling footstepscoming toward the stern. Releasing his hold, he swam along the side andcaught the bow, dragged his body from the water and tumbled into theboat. The same instant a heavy oar crashed against the seat close to hishead and a dark figure flung itself upon him.
It was but the work of a moment for Gregory to overpower the thief ofthe small boat and bind him with the dory's painter. The man had foughtdesperately only for a moment, then collapsed, and gibbering with fearhad allowed himself to be bound without a struggle.
Turning the skiff about, Gregory started for the launch. Had the manlanded others on the _Richard_? Surely he had reached the speed-boat andhad put about. Was he bent only upon stealing the boat or was he onlyone of many who would be down upon them any minute?
Arriving alongside the _Richard_ Dickie hailed him softly.
"Some fellow tried to steal our boat," he explained to the girl. "Ifyou'll get Billings to help me get him aboard I'll go back and pick upthe boys."
Dickie's companion in the launch assisted him in lifting the prisoner tothe _Richard's_ darkened cockpit where he lay huddled in a heap.
As Gregory rowed away in the direction of the shore, Billings veiled anelectric torch and allowed its tiny ray to fall full upon the face ofthe quivering prisoner.
"A greaser," he whispered to the girl. "Look. He's scared to death."
Dickie looked quickly at the crumpled little figure. Then she fell onher knees close beside the man and peered intently into his shriveledface. For an instant she remained motionless staring into the face ofthe trembling captive.
"My God!" she whispered. "It's Mexican Joe."
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