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Updated: June 11, 2025
"You have seen nothing of the speed-boat from Legonia?" Mascola shook his head in answer to the question and reached for the bottle which stood on the table in Bandrist's ranch-house. Bandrist jerked it away. "Cut that out," he said sternly. "You've had enough. To-night you have work to do. You must keep sober." Mascola scowled, glaring angrily at the islander as he went on: "Mr.
If we send in a lot of fish to-morrow it will mean a straight run over Sunday. Keep a man at the key day and night. And don't forget that we are low on cash. If you get any orders that look at all good, grab them until we can get 'out of the woods. We're going up against a mighty stiff proposition. It's make or break, and the sooner we get down to cases with Mascola the better it will be."
She noted the lifeless tone of Gregory's voice as she made haste to comply with the order. Saw the fingers of the two men clutch the rail while they waited for strength to pull their bodies from the water. Kenneth Gregory pulled himself weakly over the coaming. In silence he assisted the girl in dragging Mascola from the water.
And in the meantime, Mascola was escaping. For an instant love and hate fought for possession of the heart of Dickie Lang. Then the chain slipped through her fingers and the anchor dropped again to the bottom. Silently she returned to the wheel and sat down to wait. It was the hardest part of all to play. And it always fell to a woman.
"I was going to tell you I had an order from Winfield & Camby for a shipment of albacore if we can get them out right away. Suppose the fish do run to sea," he went on. "I'll back you to find them if any one can. And we're well equipped now to follow them up." Dickie was somewhat mollified but she took care not to show it. "You're not figuring on Mascola either," she began.
Bandrist, he remembered, never trusted his money to banks, but paid his bills in yellow gold which he carried in the coin belt about his waist. The observation gave Mascola comfort. Bandrist had enough for them both. He would see that he received his share. He ceased rowing. "Far enough," he muttered. "No." Bandrist's reply was sharp and decisive. "Your exhaust can be heard for miles," he said.
It was some time before the truth leaked out through the lips of a newspaperman who was aboard the Bennington. Even then there were some who doubted. Mascola killed by Bandrist? Impossible. Bill Lang and Richard Gregory murdered at El Diablo and Mexican Joe who had been with them, found on the island? Silvanus Rock a smuggler? Why the very thought was absurd.
With his eyes fixed on the fire, Mascola prayed to his saints that the second and larger tank might explode before Gregory could sever the tow-line. Fascinated by the sight, he moved farther to windward and watched. Kenneth Gregory's bleeding fingers tore at the straining fiber of the quivering line which bound the Richard to destruction.
Tom Howard had arrived with the Pelican when Gregory and Dickie Lang returned to the Curlew. The fisherman brought the news that the men of the alien fleet were in a high state of intoxication. Moreover, they appeared to be completely out of live bait. Dickie smiled grimly. "That means that if Mascola does send them down here, he'll just be looking for trouble.
Gregory turned again to his work, but found it hard to keep his mind from the Italian's veiled threat. It angered him. Mascola had appeared so sure of his ground. His irritation grew as his eye fell again on the Lang contract. If he only had some one with whom he could talk. Some one who knew something about fishing or running a cannery. Some one who would understand what he was up against.
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