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Updated: June 9, 2025
The captains of the fishing-boats reported their craft to be better than half laden when the Richard arrived alongside. The fish were still running strong. In another hour, without interference, they might be loaded. At Gregory's direction the albacore fishermen began cruising toward the north channel. The next thing to do was to marshal the fleet to withstand Mascola's attack from the rear.
In a frenzy of mingled fear and rage, Mascola whipped out his dagger and leaped to the cockpit to battle with the hurtling figure that sprang from the other boat as the two hulls scraped. Gregory caught Mascola's knife arm and twisted it backward, crowding the Italian to the rail. For an instant the two men were locked in a swaying, bone-racking embrace.
The cool rush of air revived Gregory's senses and he found himself leaning weakly against the coaming of the speed-boat. Then he heard the girl calling from the wheel. "Mascola's broken through." He gulped in the moist sea air and groped his way forward. Far astern the wreck burned fiercely, bringing into bold relief the frowning peaks which fringed the shore-line of El Diablo.
The man in uniform whirled about decisively. "Then I'll get one of them. Will you show me where they are?" "It would be no use. They wouldn't go. You see " "Let's try." With some reluctance Blair consented. "We haven't been getting along any too well with Mascola's outfit lately," he explained as they walked along. "I'll stop at Lang's wharf first. Maybe some of the boats are back."
Gregory watched the fleet embark, marveling at the manner in which the burly fishermen took orders from a mere slip of a girl. How it must go against their grain, he thought, to be bossed about by a woman. The last of the boats had cleared before the youthful commodore prepared to follow. "Let's go," she exclaimed impatiently. "We're late now. Mascola's outfit cleared two hours ago."
Locking his knees about Mascola's waist-line in a scissors-grip, Gregory began to squeeze. Lashing the water with his feet the Italian jerked his head backward and forced it against Gregory's chin. Then he freed his left arm and the fingers slid upward to his enemy's throat. Under the steady pressure of the sturdy legs about his waist Mascola felt his strength going from him.
Before his left end defense was complete, Mascola was bearing down upon his center. Mascola's boats advanced warily, spreading out and covering off the defending fleet as they came. It would be a boat to boat, man to man fight in the darkness. Head-on, the opposing fleets collided with a crash which twisted their keels and racked their timbers.
The island was narrowest there and it was generally in that vicinity that things had happened oftenest in the past. That was where the Gray Ghost put in, the place too where his father and Bill Lang had met their death. With the fishing fleet fighting Mascola's boats on the north side the opposite shore of the island might not be held in such rigid surveillance.
The effect of Mascola's defeat was far-reaching, and, magnified by Hawkins' publicity, gave to the Legonia Fish Cannery a place of prominence in the public eye. Taking immediate advantage of the growing popular interest, Winfield & Camby entered into an extensive advertising campaign on behalf of Gregory's product.
Before the echoes of the two shots had died away Mascola's body slid from the seat and fell in a heap upon the floor. Dickie drew her revolver and sprang to the rail. Sweeping the darkness of the Fuor d'Italia's cockpit with the rays of her light, she drew back. "Bandrist," she whispered to Gregory through whitening lips.
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