he would be dead.
For warm food and a drink of pure water he would almost give himself up
now.

Borne on the fog-wind came cries and shouts from the other side of the
island. Perhaps help was coming at last. But no, it was only the
fishermen fighting among themselves off the Hell-Hole. He had heard them
many times before across the narrow isthmus. They would only go away as
they had always done and leave him to starve. The faint pulsing of a
motor launch directed his attention to the sea.

In the paling moonlight, a gray blot clouded the water, moved slowly
among the rocks and merged with the shadows. It was the same boat he had
seen so often in the past. Always it came to the island at night,
running dark. Once in the bright moonlight he had seen men land on the
rocks and walk up the beach to a large cave which extended far into the
cliff. As he had huddled closer into the scant shadows of the
rock-mottled ledge, other men had come down the trail from the island
and he had been forced to slide into the chilling waters of a
grass-grown pool to escape detection. Mother of God, it had been a
narrow escape.

The fog thickened and he continued on his way to the spring. Creeping
noiselessly through the brush he reached the trail which led downward to
the beach. Then he stopped and listened. The soft grating of a muted
chain caused him to drop lower in the grass and draw back. Silently he
retraced his steps until he reached the cover of the heavier brush which
fringed the hillside.

The strange vessel was dropping anchor again in the little cove. He
dared not run the risk of going farther down the trail. There were
mussels and abalones around the next point. He would get them. By that
time perhaps the men would be gone and he could return by the spring.
The fog settled close about him, blinding his eyes and clinging to his
shivering body. For a moment he stopped and sucked thirstily at the wet
grass. Then he crawled on.

* * * * *

Planing high on the glistening waves, the _Richard_ sped onward across
the moonlit sea in the direction of El Diablo. At the wheel, Kenneth
Gregory strove to concentrate his mind upon the quest which lay before
him. But another thought obtruded with ever recurring frequency. Why had
he permitted Dickie Lang to accompany the party to the island? There
would be danger. There was always danger at El Diablo. Landing upon the
island would be an added risk if Hawki