speed sometimes was everything. If he was going to oppose
Mascola he would have to get there first. Dickie was speaking again.

"Joe Barrows built her up at Port Angeles. Mascola hasn't had her very
long and he won't have her much longer if he pounds her like that. I
wonder what he's going out to Diablo for in such a hurry."

Gregory could not answer. But he made up his mind if he was ever going
to find out, he would have to have a faster boat than the _Fuor
d'Italia_. Perhaps Joe Barrows could help him out.

Through the long night the _Pelican_ crept into the thickening fog with
the disabled _Curlew_. Daybreak found them at the entrance to Crescent
Bay. When they reached the Lang docks the masts of the fishing-fleet
could be dimly discerned through the shifting mist like a forest of
bare-trunked trees.

Dickie frowned.

"The boys are late getting out," she observed. "I wonder what's the
matter."

As they drew alongside the wharf it was evident that something unusual
was in the air. The pier was thronged with fishermen, gathered together
in little groups, leaning idly against the empty fish-boxes. At the
landing party's approach the low hum of conversation died away into a
faint murmur. A solitary figure, standing apart from the others, hurried
forward to meet the girl as she walked up the gangway.

"Hello, Jack. What's the trouble?"

McCoy nodded in the direction of the silent fishermen. "Trouble enough,"
he whispered. "I'm mighty glad you've come, Dick. There's a strike on.
Carlin's got them all riled up and there's hell to pay."

CHAPTER XIII

THE STRIKE

A strike at this of all times! And Pete Carlin at the bottom of it! With
her nerves frayed raw by two nights of sleepless vigil and the memory of
the _Curlew's_ disabled motor rankling within her, Dickie Lang brushed
by a group of men and confronted a bullet-headed man in a loose gray
sweater.

"Carlin," she said clearly in a voice which all could hear, "you're
fired. You're a crook. If you'd work the clock around I wouldn't have
you on the job."

Turning to the fishermen she rapidly related the incident of the finding
of the emery-dust in the _Curlew's_ motor.

"It's a lie," Carlin interrupted, "I don't----"

"It's the truth, Pete Carlin, and you know it."

Dickie moved closer to Carlin and her eyes met his. "You can't look me
in the eye and deny it," she challenged. As the man said nothing, she
flashed: "Get off my dock while you're s