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El Diablo By: Brayton Norton |
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EL DIABLO By
BRAYTON NORTON ILLUSTRATED BY
DAN SAYRE GROESBECK
INDIANAPOLIS
THE BOBBS MERRILL COMPANY
PUBLISHERS
Copyright 1921
SUNSET MAGAZINE, INC. Copyright 1921
THE BOBBS MERRILL COMPANY
Printed in the United States of America
PRESS OF
BRAUNWORTH & CO.
BOOK MANUFACTURERS
BROOKLYN, N.Y.
To
MY WIFE
"STERLING"
CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE I FORBIDDEN WATERS 1 II JETSAM OF THE SEA 10 III TANGLED THREADS 18 IV THE WORK OF THEIR FATHERS 30 V THE WAY OF THE GULL 48 VI THE LAW OF THE FISHERMEN 63 VII YOU'LL HAVE TO SHOW ME 72 VIII A DECLARATION OF INDEPENDENCE 77 IX DIABLO LUCK 83 X SALVAGE 93 XI REFUSING TO BE BLUFFED 105 XII A WARNING 118 XIII THE STRIKE 133 XIV THE MOTHER OF INVENTION 145 XV BUSINESS AND PLEASURE 160 XVI THE BAITED PAWN 169 XVII THE FANGS OF MASCOLA 180 XVIII THE COST OF DEFEAT 186 XIX ROCK FOLLOWS UP 196 XX PLANS FOR A SHOW DOWN 211 XXI THE GRAY GHOST 222 XXII STRICTLY ON THE DEFENSIVE 237 XXIII BATTLE OF NORTHWEST HARBOR 245 XXIV A FIGHTING CHANCE 253 XXV THE BANKER AT THE HELM 264 XXVI THE VALUE OF PUBLICITY 280 XXVII TO SOLVE THE MYSTERY 291 XXVIII THE ISLAND'S PRISONER 304 XXIX UNDER ORDERS 315 XXX THE FIGHT IN THE CAVE 325 XXXI BENEATH THE WATERS 340 XXXII FOR ALL THE WORLD TO KNOW 352
EL DIABLO
CHAPTER I FORBIDDEN WATERS
Richard Gregory stirred restlessly in his sleep vaguely aware of an
unfamiliar sound, a faint tapping, insistent, disturbing. He wakened
sharply and sat bolt upright, conscious of the fact that he was fully
dressed. Then he remembered. "All right, Bill," he called softly. "Coming." It took but a minute to shove his automatic into his pocket and secure
his rifle from the corner. Groping his way to the door he stood
shivering on the threshold, staring into the thick gray fog which
enveloped him. A hand touched his shoulder. Strong fingers tightened on his arm. "This way," a low voice directed. "Careful, don't scuff." Gregory started to speak but a warning pressure of the big fingers
restrained him. His companion led the way. He followed in silence.
Through the winding streets of the little fishing village they went,
the familiar landmarks about them looming grotesque and mystical in the
low hanging fog. At length the acrid air of the sea assailed their
nostrils and the silence of the night was broken by the noisy splashing
of a marsh loon. Bill Lang stopped suddenly. Faintly through the gray void came the
muffled gulping of an under water exhaust. Huddled together they stood
listening. To Richard Gregory the sound indicated only the slow approach
of a motor boat. To the trained ear of the fisherman it meant that
Mexican Joe was on time with the Sea Gull . Lang led on down the loosely boarded wharf piled high with ill smelling
fish boxes and paused at the head of a narrow gangway, looking back,
listening. Close by the dock Gregory discerned the outline of a
fishing boat, magnified by the fog into whimsical proportions.
Descending cautiously, he followed Lang aboard and groped his way into
the protecting shelter of the engine house. The cold mist clung to his
flesh and he drew his coat closer about him. The soft breathing of the
heavy duty motor became more pronounced, more labored... Continue reading book >>
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