he motor."

"No," Bandrist whispered. "You'd be a fool to do that. The cave was
filled with revenue men. That means there's a cutter lying in around
here somewhere. Perhaps at the goose-neck. She would spot you in a
minute with her search. We must row the launch around the next point at
least."

Mascola growled his resentment at Bandrist's air of authority.
Nevertheless he saw the wisdom of the suggestion and hastily brought out
the long ash oars and fastened them in the brass locks. Bandrist pulled
the anchor and took his place at one of the sweeps. For some moments the
two men rowed silently into the fog. Then the islander ceased his labor
at the oar abruptly.

"Head out," he whispered. "There's a launch ahead."

Mascola's eyes sought to pierce the fog where the dim outline of a
motor-boat loomed dark across their course. Then he swung the _Fuor
d'Italia_ about and skirting the point rowed doggedly away from the
darkened stranger.

The Italian's ugly temper was not bettered by the physical exercise.
There was no need to row the launch as far as this. If Bandrist was
going with him, he must learn he was to be only a passenger. The _Fuor
d'Italia_ did not belong to Rock and the islander. She was his own
property. He would run her where he pleased and as he pleased. As he
labored, he formulated his plans.

He would head straight for the Mexican line, keeping well out to escape
the patrol off San Juan. Daybreak would put him in the little lagoon
beyond Encinitas. There he would be among friends. He reflected
suddenly that he had but little money. American gold in Lower California
would buy much. Without it, even his friends would give him but scant
comfort. Bandrist, he remembered, never trusted his money to banks, but
paid his bills in yellow gold which he carried in the coin belt about
his waist.

The observation gave Mascola comfort. Bandrist had enough for them both.
He would see that he received his share.

He ceased rowing.

"Far enough," he muttered.

"No."

Bandrist's reply was sharp and decisive.

"Your exhaust can be heard for miles," he said. "The wind is blowing in
our faces. We must keep at the oars. Then they will think us still on
the island. If you start the motor now you'll bring pursuit."

Mascola's hatred of Bandrist increased with the quiet tone of command
with which the islander spoke.

"There is no boat that can catch mine with this lead," he bragged.

"Mr. Gregory's boat is fast