erked roughly from the
seat.

"There's nothing you can do now. Lie still. Keep your head covered." The
tone was gruff, the words commanding, spoken by a man. A man who thought
of the safety of others and placed it before his own. A man who was not
afraid to take chances. Dickie's heart glowed with pride as she huddled
in the _Richard's_ cockpit. It was worth while to know a man like that.

Mascola watched the progress of the burning _Florence_ from the deck of
the _Lura_. His blood-shot eyes gleamed red in the glow from the burning
vessel and the lust of destruction surged into his heart. He was losing
one of his best boats. Somebody must pay.

In the light of the fire he saw the vessels of the defense scattered.
Now would be his chance to crowd through to the fishing fleet. With the
wind and sea at his back he would pile them up on the rocks. Jumping to
the _Fuor d'Italia_ he sped away to direct the attack upon the heavily
laden fishing-boats.

Clear the fishing fleet and shunt the _Florence_ to the rocks with the
wind and current. For the space of a few seconds it was Gregory's only
thought. The rising wind at his back was hot with the fevered breath of
the burning tow. What did it matter if the heat was scorching his neck?
Only a few boats remained ahead. Then he would be in the clear. If the
tanks of the _Florence_ exploded he must crawl to the stern and cut the
tow-line. The crested waves began to slap angrily at the speed-boat's
hull. Then the _Richard's_ motor began to miss.

"She's all right. Keep down. I can----"

A muffled roar interrupted his words. The hull of the _Florence_ bulged.
A jet of flame mounted upward from the deck. The engine-house tottered
and collapsed in a shower of glowing sparks which filled the air and
rained down into the _Richard's_ cockpit. A stream of burning oil surged
up from the hull of the derelict and tumbled into the sea, blazing
fiercely on the crest of the waves.

"Take the boat."

Before the girl could gain the wheel Gregory was fighting his way to the
stern. As Dickie's fingers closed on the steering-wheel he was slashing
at the rope spliced to the chain. With blistered hands and burning lungs
he hacked at the tough strands of hemp with his pocket-knife. The
threads of the line snapped and crinkled from the heat. The water about
the speed-craft's stern was on fire. Tottering drunkenly, he bent low
and held his breath. The rope was more than half severed. The threads