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Updated: June 2, 2025
Mascola faced about a few minutes later to find himself fighting alone. Then he heard the rattle of loose stones dropping from the cavern wall. Bandrist was leaving him. The Italian's blood warmed at the islander's treachery. Did Bandrist think he was the only one who knew the way out? His anger mounted as he climbed the wall and wormed his way through the narrow opening.
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.
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."
"Otherwise, he would never have talked like that. It's a wonder Bandrist ever mixed up with him." She turned about and confronted Gregory. Behind him were Hawkins, Bronson and the crew of the Curlew. "This means we've got to move," she exclaimed. "We'd better round up the bunch, give them their positions and start fishing."
"But it is only natural that they should come here. Their boats have been fishing along the north shore of the island. Your men failed to drive them off." Mascola flushed. "My men did drive them off," he contradicted hotly. "Only a few minutes ago they returned with other boats. I will drive those off too." Bandrist smiled insultingly. "Why don't you do it?" he challenged.
It did me, though I might have known it if I had remembered the federal statute which prohibits any but American-owned fishing vessels from operating in American waters. "Rock and Bandrist own the alien fleet. Mascola, you see, is an alien. Bandrist apparently is not. I wish by the way you'd tell me all you can of that bird. I'm looking up Silvanus myself.
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.
"I want you to move," Mascola said thickly. "My men were here first. Plenty of fish at San Anselmo. Many as here. If you go to the other island there will be no trouble." "And if we stay?" Mascola's passenger looked up quickly at Gregory's words, and the light fell full upon his face. It was Bandrist. "I hope you will not decide to stay," he said slowly.
His mind flashed again to Bandrist. What brought the man to Rock's bank? Business, no doubt. But what kind? Was Rock backing Bandrist? Were the two men in cahoots with Mascola's gang? If so, for what purpose? The questions multiplied with astonishing rapidity. When Gregory arrived at the cannery he had decided upon a definite course of action.
So Bandrist thought to give him the slip, did he? Well, he'd show him. When Bandrist reached the end of the tunnel he crawled out into the fog and listened intently. Some one was following from the cave. Jamming a fresh clip into his automatic he waited. Then he silently replaced his revolver. A shot would only draw pursuit. Perhaps there were men already guarding the secret exit.
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