dn't have risked my best boats at Diablo in a fog." As Gregory
said nothing in the way of argument, she challenged: "Do you think you
could do any better?"

"Yes," he answered without any hesitation, "I think I could. That is if
you would help me. I think if we would pull together on this proposition
we could do a whole lot. Right now you are threatened with labor
trouble."

"You don't know what you're talking about. My men are loyal to me and
always have been. They'll stick from start to finish."

Gregory related the conversation he had overheard a few minutes before.
As he finished, he noted that a worried expression crept to the girl's
eyes, though she said:

"What's that amount to? There are always some who are dissatisfied and
try to cause trouble. I'm well rid of a bunch like that anyway. There
are not many of them."

It was on Gregory's tongue to broach his proposal when he saw the girl
looking eagerly past him into the wall of fog. Through the veil he
caught the dim outline of an approaching fishing-boat.

"Here comes the _Curlew_ back from Diablo. Before you say anything more
wait until you see what luck they've had. If I don't miss my guess we'll
have fish enough for you now all right."

Together they walked down the steep gangway to the swaying float.

"If I can't get them at Diablo, I can't get them anywhere," exclaimed
Dickie Lang. Then she shouted to the captain of the _Curlew_: "What
luck, Jones?"

From the gray void of fog a deep voice floated back:

"Diablo luck. Never got nothin' and the _Petrel_ was smashed to hell."

CHAPTER X

SALVAGE

Dickie Lang was nonplussed. Her best bet was thrown into the discard.
Her pride and independence had been at stake. For her most valued
possessions, she had risked her all, and "stood pat" on the turn-up at
the devil-island. Her cards were all on the table. Now she had lost.
Leaning against the sagging rail she watched the _Curlew_ draw alongside
the float. Her slender fingers gripped the hand-rail and the sharp
splinters bit into her hands. But what was that to the pain which gnawed
at her heart? She hadn't made good. The taste of failure was a new and
strange sensation. She had made her fight, done her best. But it wasn't
good enough. But why was it necessary to take the little _Petrel_? Was
Diablo to beat her as it had beaten others? No, she must buck up. She
was Bill Lang's daughter.

"It's all in the game," she exclaimed to Gregory. "As