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Updated: June 9, 2025
Bronson was communicative in the extreme and regaled him of many evidences of Mascola's prosperity, chief among which was the Italian's recent order to a firm of Norwegian boat-builders at Port Angeles of twenty large fishing launches of the most improved pattern. These boats, according to Bronson, were of sufficient tonnage and fuel capacity to enable them to cruise far down into Mexican waters.
Why, I've lost more through your carelessness since you've been on the job than I could make on you in six months. The first shot out of the box you let a piece of barracuda-webbing go adrift and Mascola's gang picked it up right before your eyes and you never cheeped. Then you put one of my motors on the blink because you were too lazy to watch the oil-feed. Where do you think I get off?
The cannery to agree, under bonds, to hire no men who are not members of the fishermen's union. Gregory looked up to meet Mascola's dark eyes regarding him intently. "That is all," said the Italian boss. "It's enough," commented Gregory tersely, striving to hold his temper in check at the impudence of Mascola's proposal.
"I'll have the boys rush them. We won't start anything, but just get good and ready. It's Mascola's move. I've made it perfectly clear to all the men that we are not looking for trouble." Dickie was silent for a moment. Then she said: "I have an idea that Rock gave Mascola a 'bum steer' and that both of them are just beginning to find out their mistake." "What do you mean?"
In a few minutes the last of Mascola's fleet, leaking badly and settling low in the water, lumbered by with rapidly pulsing motor in the direction of Northwest Harbor. "We beat him at his own game." Kenneth Gregory repeated the words again and again. Blood flowed from a jagged cut in his cheek. His face and hands were raw and blistered, but his eyes were shining with the light of victory.
"Do as I tell you," he ordered quietly. "And do it quick." Mascola's face purpled. Still he made no move to do Bandrist's bidding. "Don't forget," he said thickly, "that there are others who know besides you and me. If anything happens to me at Diablo there is one who will tell what he knows. I have seen to that." Bandrist's fingers tightened on the revolver.
Only two in fact," she added. "Mascola's speed-boat and Rossi's fleet-tender." "Who is Rossi?" "Mascola's fishing captain. Next to his boss and old Rock, one of the biggest crooks in town. He knows his business though," she supplemented half-admiringly, "and is a good man for Mascola." "Who's Rock?" asked Gregory. The girl faced about suddenly. "Rock's the big man of a little town.
An instant later they were on their way to round up the fleet. Injuries were few among the crews of the defending vessels. Bruises and cuts summed up the physical damage done by Mascola's men. One of the boats was leaking, but Sorenson was holding the water easily with the pumps. The Falcon's shaft was sprung but the propeller was still turning.
The engagement was now general. Mascola's boats were trying to smash their way through. But the V was as yet unbroken. That, he could tell by the solid formation of the boats in reserve. They had not found it necessary to separate. The night was enlivened with the shrill cries of the aliens. Gregory noticed that there was congestion of lights on his left wing.
Dickie relinquished the steering-wheel with reluctance. "We ought to be putting to sea," she observed as a sudden gust of wind and rain assailed them. "This is a bad place to be caught napping." Gregory's eyes glowed with the lust of battle. "No," he gritted. "We're going to stay and fight. Mascola's not going to win on a fluke if it costs me every boat I have."
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