y to his
ears came the shouts of the posse fighting their way into the cave. Soon
the vaulted walls reverberated with the rattle of firearms and the
darkness was faintly illumined by the light of the signal flares burning
at the entrances.

Brought into bold relief by the weird glow from the sputtering candles,
a number of darting figures could be seen leaping to cover behind the
rocks. From the shadows came bright jets of flame. Bullets whined
through the cavern, clipping the walls and rattling the pebbles to the
stone floor. Flattening his body against the slimy fish, Gregory
wriggled foot by foot in the direction of the big rock which sheltered
Mascola.

* * * * *

The game was up. Bandrist emptied his revolver in the direction of the
advancing deputies and drew cautiously away from Mascola. The _Fuor
d'Italia_ lay at anchor in the cove beyond the goose-neck. The
tunnel-like passage, which only himself knew, would lead him to the
beach. While the Italian delayed the attacking party would be his chance
to take to the boat. In the fog he could make his escape. By daybreak he
could make the Mexican coast. Then he would be safe. Of Mascola he
thought but little, save as a means to an end. It would serve the
Italian right.

Mascola faced about a few minutes later to find himself fighting alone.
Then he heard the rattle of loose stones dropping from the cavern wall.
Bandrist was leaving him. The Italian's blood warmed at the islander's
treachery. Did Bandrist think he was the only one who knew the way out?
His anger mounted as he climbed the wall and wormed his way through the
narrow opening. So Bandrist thought to give him the slip, did he? Well,
he'd show him.

When Bandrist reached the end of the tunnel he crawled out into the fog
and listened intently. Some one was following from the cave. Jamming a
fresh clip into his automatic he waited. Then he silently replaced his
revolver. A shot would only draw pursuit. Perhaps there were men already
guarding the secret exit. Huddling close to the cavern tunnel he waited
for the figure of the man behind him to emerge.

When Mascola reached the end of the tunnel he felt himself grasped
roughly by the arm and twisted to the rocks. Bandrist recovered his
wits quickly when he recognized the Italian.

"Quiet," he whispered. "You were a long time coming. There may be men on
the beach already. Where is your boat?"

Mascola nodded his head in th