fog.

Huddled in the bow, Mexican Joe waited by the anchor-chain, his eyes
searching the little cove. For a long time he sat thus, not even daring
to light a cigarette. Once his straining ears caught the muffled exhaust
of a motor-launch. It came very close but the fog guarded him well and
he heard it pass on. What the two men were doing upon the island
concerned Mexican Joe not at all. The devil-isle was filled with
secrets. Why should he try to fathom them? He was paid to obey and Senor
Lang had twice saved his life.

A sound from the shore caused Joe to struggle to his feet and begin
hauling on the chain. Then he looked again, stopped and straightened up.

There were three men coming along the beach, four,--five.

Joe dropped behind the rail and watched them climb over the rocks and
halt by the empty dory. Then he heard the sound of low voices in a
foreign tongue, and shivered. The voices of the men on the beach grew
fainter. They were minutely examining the dory. One lifted his arm and
pointed seaward in the direction of the _Sea Gull_.

The Mexican crept to his sawed-off shotgun loaded with buck-shot.
Securing the weapon he made his way again to the bow and waited. The
rock-bound cove was silent. The dory was still on the beach. But the men
were gone.

At length came the rattle of loose stones mingled with the sound of
low-pitched voices. _Gracious a Dios_. It was Senor Lang and Senor
Gregory. Joe's hand leaped to the anchor-chain. There would be need to
hurry. He tugged hard at the heavy cable, then he stopped, straightened
and screamed a warning.

Gregory and Lang whirled about only a few feet from the dory. From the
shadowed crevices in the rocks, men leaped forward and hurled themselves
to the beach. About the skiff bright jets of flame cut the fog. Came the
sharp report of an automatic, twice,--three times.

Mexican Joe watched the unequal struggle, huddled against the rail. His
eyes brightened with fear. Twice he raised his gun, but his hand shook.
At the distance the shot would scatter. There would be no use. He saw
the two men fight their way to the dory. Saw Lang reach it, shove it
into the water. The Senor was safe. _Gracious a Dios_. But no, he was
going back for Senor Gregory. _Sangre de Christo_, they would all be
killed.

The fog thickened. The struggling forms merged, grotesquely intermingled
and became indistinct. From behind the gray curtain came the sound of
heavy blows, muttered imprec