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The speed-craft dipped, then raised and bumped the Fuor d'Italia beam to beam as she raced by. The shock of the collision threw Mascola half from his seat and had a decidedly sobering effect upon his senses. He had noted his boat tremble at the impact and crowd away from the stranger; had felt the straining of her timbers. Now he noticed that his motor was missing badly. A loose wire probably.
Tugging harder at the nets, he worked doggedly on, listening to the staccato bark of the speed-craft as Mascola drew close. They were hauling at the last string when he came within hailing distance. "What's the matter?" he called. "You're pulling my nets." "Don't pay any attention to him," admonished Dickie Lang. "I'm not going to hollow my head off.
Gregory turned about to see the black waters to the sternward were rippled with sparkling threads of silver-white. From out the darkness came a swiftly moving gray shadow. One glance astern caused Bronson to slash the anchor-rope which held the Richard. Then he started the auxiliary motor and threw the speed-craft forward with a jerk.
Climbing again into the Richard, Bronson threw in the clutch and the speed-craft zigzagged her way through the fishing fleet and headed away from Black Point. At the same time one of the faster of the alien boats detached itself from the others and trailed along in their wake. "Better slip that fellow," advised the girl. "We don't want him tagging.
Some were already grazing the reef. A line from the speed-craft pulled them again to safety and launched them around Mascola's rear. Fighting their way through the press of the alien craft they circled and renewed the attack from the opposite flank. Mascola's fleet was caught broadside between the Americans. The din of the battle mingled with the roar of the wind. Again men met over the rail.
To a man the various crews made light of their injuries and proudly maintained that they had left their mark on many a dark-skinned member of Mascola's aliens. Bronson had partly recovered and was anxiously inquiring concerning the behavior of the speed-craft in the storm.
For the time being Dickie Lang was content to rest upon her oars. Bronson was ready. In response to a night letter from Gregory he had arrived on time with the Richard, bringing with him a full equipment of heavy gear. Tuned to the minute, the speed-craft waited impatiently at the cannery float for the signal to be under way. Jack McCoy was ready.
If we keep well in he won't be able to see us long." Gregory gave Bronson the necessary orders, and the Richard bounded away from her pursuer and raced into the shadows of the cliff. When they arrived at the point near the Hell-Hole Isthmus, the speed-craft motor began to miss and Bronson guided the Richard in the lea of the promontory and threw out an anchor.
Most of the boats were being navigated carefully, but now and then a small, fast speed-craft would shoot out from behind another so suddenly that Betty would be forced to swerve sharply to one side, fairly grazing the stern of the racing boat. On one of these occasions, when it had seemed impossible to avoid a collision, Amy called out sharply: "Oh, Betty, don't you think we had better go back?"
It was one-thirty already. Not much chance of reaching Legonia in time to accomplish much to-day. "Tell McCoy I'll be at the cannery before four o'clock." Dickie flashed a glance at the clock on the Richard's dash at Gregory's words. Every minute was going to count. It was up to the speed-boat to show what she could do. Opening the cut-out, the girl began to get the speed-craft under way.
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