were already parting from the strain. Then the knife slipped from his
blistered fingers and fell into the water.

Mascola witnessed the explosion of the _Florence's_ first oil tank with
a grim smile. The vessel was already clear of the fleet. She could do no
damage now save to the _Richard_ and her crew. With his eyes fixed on
the fire, Mascola prayed to his saints that the second and larger tank
might explode before Gregory could sever the tow-line. Fascinated by the
sight, he moved farther to windward and watched.

Kenneth Gregory's bleeding fingers tore at the straining fiber of the
quivering line which bound the _Richard_ to destruction. One by one the
threads snapped and curled in the heat radiated from the burning vessel.

Dickie Lang huddled in the driver's seat and jerked the hull of the
speed-craft frantically against the strain of the tow-line. For an
instant death held them by a single strand. Then the line parted and the
_Richard_ leaped to safety. The cool rush of air revived Gregory's
senses and he found himself leaning weakly against the coaming of the
speed-boat. Then he heard the girl calling from the wheel.

"Mascola's broken through."

He gulped in the moist sea air and groped his way forward. Far astern
the wreck burned fiercely, bringing into bold relief the frowning peaks
which fringed the shore-line of El Diablo. As he caught at the rail for
support he saw the flames leap skyward, blackened by smoke and bits of
timber. The waves burned brightly about the settling hull. Then came the
sound of the explosion of the _Florence's_ second tank.

"Mascola's broken through. Can't you hear me? Are you hurt?"

Gregory staggered to the seat and dropped beside the girl.

"I'll be all right in a minute," he said. "Keep going. I can't see very
well yet. You say he got through?"

"Yes. He's trying to crowd the fishing fleet to the rocks. Look!"

In the light that the burning vessel astern cast upon the waters ahead,
Gregory saw a confused jumble of boats crowded close against the
saw-toothed reef.

"Damn him!" he grated. "We'll beat him yet. Slow down. Give me the
wheel."

Dickie relinquished the steering-wheel with reluctance.

"We ought to be putting to sea," she observed as a sudden gust of wind
and rain assailed them. "This is a bad place to be caught napping."

Gregory's eyes glowed with the lust of battle. "No," he gritted. "We're
going to stay and fight. Mascola's not going to win on a fluke