dodge
us, running dark."

Bronson had already slackened speed at sight of the disappearing lights
ahead. Then he put the _Richard_ hard over, and the speed-craft swerved
with a jerk which left her passengers crowding close against one
another.

"Give her the gun," shouted Gregory. "Head back. Don't let him slip us."

As the boatman complied and the _Richard_ began to lift her hull from
the sea, the dark waters ahead were brightened by a phosphorescent
flash. Directly across their course lay the _Fuor d'Italia_. Twisting
the steering wheel with only the slightest pressure of his fingers to
avoid turning the _Richard_ over, Bronson opened the cut-out and stepped
hard on the throttle. The speed-craft dipped, then raised and bumped the
_Fuor d'Italia_ beam to beam as she raced by.

The shock of the collision threw Mascola half from his seat and had a
decidedly sobering effect upon his senses. He had noted his boat tremble
at the impact and crowd away from the stranger; had felt the straining
of her timbers. Now he noticed that his motor was missing badly. A loose
wire probably. He made haste to repair the trouble and switched on his
running lights. The _Fuor d'Italia_ was too light to take chances of
roughing it in the dark. As he worked, he heard a voice hail him.

"What do you want?" he demanded angrily. "Damn you, you hit my boat."

The lights of the returning motor-boat drew alongside before Gregory
answered:

"Listen, Mascola. If you're looking for trouble, this is the place to
find it. If you're not, you can move out to sea and get as many fish as
we are. We'll not bother you. There's plenty of albacore over here
to-night for everybody. If you try to break through us, it will be up to
you."

Mascola's anger came in a torrent of Italian words. Then he composed
himself sufficiently to speak in broken English: "This Mr. Bandrist's
island. He tell me I fish here. He say you go. You stay, you like
trouble. My men like fight any time."

"Go to it, then," Gregory answered quietly. "And when you see your
friend Bandrist, tell him for me that he hasn't bought Diablo. He's only
leasing the land. If he has any more claim to the water than we have,
he'll have to show us."

Mascola completed his repairs, started his motor and raced away in the
direction of his fleet with the _Richard_ running close at his side. But
when he came abreast of the cannery fishing-boats, he made no effort to
head in.

"He don't want to ro