El Diablo

by Brayton Norton

  CHAPTER IV

  THE WORK OF THEIR FATHERS

  "Drop it, Mascola."

  The sharp command drew the eyes of the laborers to the door and theystopped fingering their knives. Shuffling closer together they looked totheir leader for guidance.

  Mascola's eyes darted about the floor, coming to rest upon a big vatonly a few feet away. For an instant he hesitated. A faint metallicclick from the doorway caused him to make up his mind. His bodystraightened as his hands traveled upward to the level of his shoulders.The palm of his right hand opened and a thin two-edged blade rattled tothe floor.

  Gregory took a step forward and shoved the knife away with his foot.Keeping one eye fixed warily upon Mascola, he shot a glance over hisshoulder to determine the author of the interruption.

  He turned to see a trim little figure in loosely-fitting outing clothesstriding across the floor. Facing the light which streamed in from theopen door, he could not distinguish the newcomer's face. He only notedthe ease of the stranger's movements, the poise of the uptilted head andthe nervous manner with which the Italians fell away before theadvancing figure.

  "What's the trouble?"

  Gregory stared. It was a girl. She had turned into the light and wasfacing him. As he formed an answer to her question he saw that hersun-bronzed cheeks were flushed with red and her clear brown eyes werelooking into his inquiringly. In her hand she held an automaticrevolver.

  Gregory strove to make his explanation brief.

  "These men refused to work. I told them to go. Mascola and I had sometrouble. He drew his knife. Then you came."

  The girl nodded, dislodging a lock of red-gold hair from under herknitted cap. Turning quickly to Mascola, she commanded: "Get out."

  Mascola made no sign that he intended to comply with the order. Withfolded arms he looked insolently at the speaker.

  "When my men are paid, I will go. But first, I must have my knife."

  His eyes roved longingly in the direction of the dagger.

  The girl took a quick step backward and covered Mascola's waist-linewith the automatic.

  "You'll go now," she said. Turning to Gregory she added: "Tell himyou'll pay him down-town."

  Gregory picked up the Italian's knife before replying:

  "I'll be at the bank at two," he said, making no move to comply withMascola's request for his weapon.

  Mascola clenched his hands. His face grew red with passion. For aninstant he glared from Gregory to the girl. Then the color faded.Turning to his men he spoke rapidly to them in their own tongue. Theworkmen retired sullenly and picking up their coats followed theirleader to the door. Mascola hesitated for a moment on the threshold.Then, checking the angry threat which rose to his lips, he went out.

  Gregory watched him go in silence. Then he turned to the girl.

  "My name is Gregory," he said. "You happened along just about right forme."

  The tense lines about the girl's mouth disappeared slowly as she passeda small brown hand across her forehead and replaced a truant lock.

  "I am Dickie Lang," she announced simply. Shoving the automatic into hercoat pocket, she extended her hand. "I knew your father well. I am gladto meet you."

  The frankness of the words was strengthened by the look of sincerity inthe brown eyes as she stood calmly looking him over.

  Gregory curbed his surprise with an effort which left him staring at thegirl in awkward silence. When he had thought of Lang's daughter at all,it had been only in the most abstract way. He had regarded her only apossible and very probable source of trouble, scarcely as a flesh andblood woman at all. Never a girl like this.

  He wakened to the fact that he was a very stupid host. Barnes, afterstaring at Dickie Lang for a moment, had retired to his work, leavingGregory alone with his guest in the middle of the receiving floor.

  "Won't you come into the office?"

  The words came hesitatingly. He nodded in the direction of thescreen-door.

  "Yes. I would like to talk with you."

  Again the direct straightforward manner of speaking. Dickie Lang startedat once for the office, walking across the floor with quick impatientsteps. Gregory held the door open and as the girl brushed by him, he sawher flash a glance to the door of his father's office beyond. He led theway in silence to the room where he had been working and waited for hisvisitor to be seated.

  Dickie Lang's eyes roved swiftly about the room, taking in the familiardetails. Nothing had been changed. She could see her father leaningagainst the desk, his great shoulders hunched forward, his big handsnervously toying with the glass paper-weight, his blue eyes fixed uponthe silent figure in the swivel-chair. Again she could hear the voice ofRichard Gregory:

  "All right, Bill. I'll see you through. Go ahead and get the boats."

  Dickie realized with a start that the square-jawed, black-eyed young manbefore her was Richard Gregory's son. The past faded away. With simpledirectness she plunged into the object of her visit.

  "I've brought the money due on the boats. Got into a squabble with themarkets and they tied me up for a few days. Otherwise I would have beenhere sooner."

  Thrusting her hand into her pocket, she drew out a roll of bills andbegan to count them.

  Gregory watched her as she thumbed the bank-notes. The dark browncorduroy was simply, if mannishly cut, and in a way it became her. Hersmall feet and rounded ankles would have appeared to better advantage inhigh-heeled shoes and silk stockings than those blunt-nosed boots andcanvas leggings. And why in the name of common sense would any womanwith hair like that want to keep it tucked away under a close-fittingcap? She would have been beautiful in---- He roused himself from hisexamination of the girl's attire and strove to fix his mind on theobject of her visit. He reached for the receipt-book as she finishedcounting the money.

  "Tenth payment," she exclaimed. "Five hundred. Makes twelve thousandeven. That right?"

  Gregory ran over the money, consulting his notebook to verify thefigures.

  "Right," he answered.

  While he wrote the receipt she studied him. So this was the man whomRichard Gregory had designated as a red-blooded American. The father'spraise of his absent son, she was forced to admit, had slightlyprejudiced her against the young man. No single individual could possessall the sterling traits of character attributed to him by the latecannery owner. That was impossible. He would fall down somewhere.

  Gregory handed the girl her receipt.

  "And now," he began, somewhat uncertain as to just how to proceed, "whatdo you intend to do about the boats?"

  Dickie Lang paused in the act of folding the paper and looked upquickly. For some reason she felt herself irritated by the question. Herirritation crept into her voice as she answered:

  "I'm going to run them, of course."

  Gregory straightened in his chair and faced about.

  "You're going to run them?" he repeated. "You don't mean yourself?"

  "Sure. What else would I do with them?" she asked coldly.

  The man was caught for the moment unawares by the suddenness of thequestion.

  "I thought perhaps you would want to sell them," he answered bluntly.

  "Why?" Her voice had a belligerent ring and he noticed that her eyeswere snapping. As he did not immediately reply, she flashed: "I knowwhy. It's because I'm a woman. You think I can't make good. Isn't thatit?"

  Gregory felt his cheeks burn at the feeling she threw into her words.He hadn't meant to make it quite so plain but if she insisted on thetruth, why not? Perhaps it was the best way.

  "You've guessed it," he answered slowly. "You may call it prejudice ifyou like, but that is just the way I feel."

  Tapping the floor angrily with her foot, she interrupted:

  "It's worse than prejudice. It's just plain damn-foolishness. Honestly,after all I've heard of you, I gave you credit for having more sense.Your father wouldn't have said that. He believed there wasn't a thing inthe world a man or woman couldn't do, if they tried hard enough. And hegav
e them the chance to make good. But I'll tell you right now, you'vegot a lot to learn before you'll be able to wear his hat."

  Gregory sank deeper into his chair as Dickie Lang proceeded with hisarraignment. Nothing could be said until she was through. His silencegave the girl a free rein to express her feelings.

  "You think I don't know my game because I'm a woman. Why, I've been onthe sea since I was a kid. If my father hadn't made me go to school, Iwould have lived with him on the water. And don't you suppose in fishingwith a man like Bill Lang, a person learns something? Doesn't that morethan make up for the handicap of being a woman?"

  The young man waited for a chance to put in a word but none came.Becoming angrier each minute, she hurried on:

  "There isn't a man in Legonia but you who would have said that. Not evenMascola. He hates me only because I do know my business. And you, astranger, come down here and tell me----"

  "I didn't say you didn't know your business," Gregory interjected as shedrew a long breath.

  "No, but you thought it just the same. And what right have you to thinkthings like that? What do you know about things here? You never saw theplace until just a few weeks ago. And you've been gone ever since. I'llbet you were never in a fish cannery before in your life. I'll bet rightnow you don't know what you're going to do next. You're waiting forBlair to get well and tell you. Suppose he doesn't. He's a mighty sickman and it's a cinch if he does come back it won't be for a long time.What are you going to do in the meantime besides tell me I don't----"

  Gregory held up his hand to check a further outburst.

  "Listen," he said. "There is no use going on like this. Our fathers werethe best of friends. Why can't we be the same? I'm willing to admitthere is a lot of truth in what you say about my not knowing just whatI'm going to do right now. I didn't select the position I'm in, but I'mgoing to make the best of things as they are and finish up the workwhich was begun by my father. And I want to say right now that I'm goingto finish it.

  "In a way," he went on slowly, "our positions are somewhat similar. Weeach have a job to finish. I didn't think yours meant as much to you asmine does to me, though of course I might have, if I hadn't beenthinking so much of myself. Our fathers worked together and got alongfine. It may be that we can do the same thing."

  The fire died slowly from the girl's eyes. In its place there came anexpression, more wistful perhaps than anything else. When she spokeagain the irritation was gone from her voice.

  "No," she answered. "There isn't any reason why we can't be friends. Andthere are a lot of reasons why we should be. I'm willing to do my partand I'll show you, Mr. Gregory, that I do know my business. It alwaysmakes me mad when any one thinks I don't know the sea. When dad wantedto tease me he always called me a 'land-lubber.' And even when a kid Iwould always fight at that."

  She paused a moment. Then went on:

  "I'd like to do what I can for you for two reasons. Your father did alot for mine. He was one of my few friends. I'd like to give his son ahand if it would help. In the second place, it is to my interest in abusiness way to see your cannery succeed. It is a market for my fish. Iwon't sell to the Golden Rule and the dealers won't pay the express oncanning fish. The sooner you start up the better it will be for me. Ican tell you right now you have a lot to do."

  Again she paused and looked down at her feet. When she spoke again itwas with some hesitation.

  "If I were you I'd get hold of Jack McCoy. He can do more for you thanany one else. I wouldn't count too much on Blair. I heard from him thismorning and they didn't hold out much hope. He's completely run down andthat's the kind pneumonia hits hard."

  Gregory nodded.

  "I know," he said. Then he asked: "McCoy was the foreman, wasn't he?"

  "Yes. He's still in town. Blair gave him a letter of recommendation butJack won't look for another job until he knows what Blair is going todo. He says Blair taught him all he knows and he's going to stick to himbecause he always treated him white."

  Gregory wrote McCoy's address which the girl supplied and she continued:

  "One of the first things to be done, of course, will be to go all overthe machinery. That won't take long. Then the supplies and material willhave to be checked over and the new stuff ordered. That will take a weekfor two men."

  Gregory looked at the girl with more respect. Apparently she knewsomething of his business as well as her own. Doubtless her associationwith her father had brought her into close touch with the cannery. Asshe went on, Dickie Lang divulged the source of her information.

  "Jack and I have talked you over a lot," she said soberly. "We are bothanxious to see you get going."

  While she talked on concerning the re-opening of the cannery, Gregorywondered to what extent her opinion of McCoy's ability was based bypersonal prejudice. Of course it was nothing to him what Dickie Langthought of McCoy or of himself either, for that matter. He decided tolook McCoy up at once.

  "Then you have to get your labor," she went on. "And that isn't as easy,I have found, as it seems. You see Mascola has the bulge on the laborsituation around here. He has the riff-raff of the world on hispay-roll. They speak in a dozen different languages. Everythingalmost--but English. They are practically all aliens and there isnothing they won't do to keep a decent man out. Blair had hard work toget a crew, I know, and harder work to keep it. He was always hiring andfiring. Things would go all right for a while. Then there would come arow with Mascola's outfit and a lot of the boys would get disgusted andleave."

  Gregory interrupted:

  "I understand from my father's attorney, that one of the biggest thingshe had to contend with was the matter of getting fish."

  "I'm coming to that in a minute. Let's finish up the labor questionwhile we're on it. You've got to get a certain number of skilled men whocan handle the machines. With a few others who have worked in a fishcannery you can go ahead, for the biggest percentage of your labor isunskilled anyway and has to be broken in. Men like that are the hardestto get," she concluded, "they are mostly tramps. Here to-day and goneto-morrow. You can't depend on them. If you can get a bunch to stick,you're mighty lucky."

  She paused and moved her chair nearer. Then she broached the importantsubject.

  "About the fish, you can do one of three things. Or rather two things,"she corrected, "for I hardly think you'll tie up with Mascola. You canfix up your own boats, try to man them and get your own fish. You havetwenty-five boats. That's not enough even if they were all in goodshape, which they're not."

  "What do you mean by trying to man my boats?"

  The girl smiled.

  "Just what I say," she answered. "Fishermen are scarce. My father was inbusiness here for twenty years and most of the time he was runningshort-handed. You can get plenty of men to ride on your boats but theyare not fishermen."

  Noting the direction in which the conversation was drifting, Gregoryresolved to hasten the climax.

  "Do you think you could furnish me with enough fish?" he asked bluntly.

  "I don't think anything about it. I know I could."

  "How do you know it?"

  She hesitated as she cast about in her active brain for a tangibleargument to convince the obstinate, square-jawed man before her. Ofcourse she could get him the fish. But how could she make him believeit?

  "My fishermen know the coast for one thing," she began. "That's a wholelot around here. It's a treacherous shore-line and a man who doesn'tknow it can lose a boat mighty easy. Then, I have ten new boats, justthe kind you have to have for albacore and tuna. As a general ruleyou've got to go way out to sea to get them. Sometimes as far as Diablo.And that means trouble. If you've ever been out to that God-forsakenisland you'll understand that it takes real men and boats. I have both."

  Gregory said nothing, but waited for the girl to finish:

  "I know my game," she concluded, with no spirit of bravado, but merelyas if it was only a plain statement of fact. "My men are used to holdingtheir own against Mascola. And I can te
ll you that is worth a lot."

  Gregory nodded. Then he said quietly:

  "Your father was never able to supply mine with enough fish to keep thiscannery going. Isn't that right?"

  Dickie Lang was forced to admit the truth of the statement. Then shequalified: "He hadn't had the big boats but a few months and they had arun of bad luck from the start."

  Gregory considered her words carefully.

  "Would you be willing to enter into a contract with me to keep thecannery supplied with fish?" he asked, watching her closely. For thefirst time he saw her show signs of receding from her original position.

  Dickie Lang hesitated. Her fear of legal entanglements was hereditary.Bill Lang had settled his differences out of court and had warned hisdaughter on more than one occasion of the dangers which lurked in acontract. She shook her head. What did she know of this man, save thefact that he bore his father's name?

  "No," she answered, feeling, however, that she had weakened her previousstatement by refusing to make it legally binding.

  "Why not?"

  The girl realized that their positions were becoming reversed. It wasshe now who was on the defensive.

  "Because," she answered slowly, "I wouldn't." Ashamed that she had giventhe proverbial reason for feminine change of mind, she added quickly:"You see you may be all right. And then again you may not. I'd like achance to size you up first."

  Gregory smiled. "That was what I thought about you at the beginning ofour talk," he said. His face became instantly serious. "We'll just haveto size each other up before we can actually get down to cases. Isn'tthat the truth?"

  She nodded. "Yes. You think I can't make good."

  "And you just don't know about me," Gregory finished for her. Then headded: "How are we going to find out about each other?"

  Dickie regarded him gravely.

  "The ocean is the best test for a man or a woman that I know. It doesn'tplay any favorites. When a girl goes out there all 'dolled-up' it washesoff the paint and powder and shows her up for just what she is. And itshows a man up too. It's always waiting for him to make some mistake.When he does, he has to think and act at the same time. He can't hedgeor make excuses. He's got to pay or play. A quitter has no chance withthe sea."

  Observing him closely, she concluded: "I could tell more about you onthe sea in a minute than I could find out in here in a month."

  "And I could find out whether or not I thought you knew your business."

  They laughed together.

  "I'll be ready any time."

  Dickie was on her feet at his words.

  "To-morrow morning then, at four o'clock. Meet me at our dock and I'llshow you I know what I'm talking about."

  Gregory promised and the girl hurried out.

  For some time the young cannery owner scratched busily at the pad ofpaper before him, jotting down the substance of his interview withDickie Lang. Passing through the cannery he came upon the solitaryremnant of his floor force whom he had forgotten for the time being.

  "I'm going down-town for a few minutes, Barnes. If anybody asks for me,tell them I'll be back in half an hour."

  The ex-soldier's eyes brightened at the sight of his employer.

  "Say, Mr. Gregory, you took me on quick and stayed by me, and I don'twant you to think I don't appreciate it, for I do. Now that you'vecanned the other gang, I wonder if there'd be any chance for a couple ofmy pals. We've been drifting around together and their shoes is worn outsame as mine."

  "What can they do?"

  "One of them's a chauffeur. He ain't afraid of nothin'. And he can driveanything on wheels. The other one's a steam-fitter by trade, but he'llbe glad to nurse a broom or anything else right now."

  Gregory was on the point of telling Barnes to wait until he hadconferred with McCoy when he noticed the peculiar manner with which hisemployee held his broom.

  "What's the matter with your arm?" he asked quietly.

  Barnes tapped the member in question and regarded him somewhatdoubtfully.

  "Nothin'," he said.

  Gregory stepped nearer and examined the shoulder carefully.

  "Why didn't you tell me your arm had been hurt?" he asked in a lowvoice.

  Barnes met his eyes squarely.

  "Because I was afraid it would queer me for a job," he said. "You see,Gregory, when a man hires a fellow he figures he's all there. He kind ofrents him all over and when he's shy on somethin', he kind of figuresthe fellow's holding back on him. I didn't want to slip anything over onyou. Because you were white to me from the start. But I was afraid whenyou saw my pin was faked you might change your mind."

  Gregory's eyes were fixed intently on the soldier as he went on:

  "You see I got my insurance. But that ain't enough. My old man diedwhile I was away. And my mother ain't any too well. So I just lets herhave the money. But that ain't all there is to it. You see when afellow's worked and hit the ball, he don't want to lay round and loaf."

  Still Gregory said nothing, and Barnes, misconstruing his silence,continued:

  "It's wonderful what a fellow can do with what the doctors leave himwhen they get through cuttin'. You ought to go up to Port Angeles andsee what the Bureau's teaching the poor blind devils. It kind of seemslike their eyes goes into their arms and legs, for they can do more withthem now than they ever thought of doing before they lost their lamps."

  He extended his good arm and flexed the muscles until they stood outlike lumps of whip-cord. "Look at that," he exclaimed. "They's twice thepep in that one since they hacked up the other one. You don't need to beafraid of me not doing a day's work. I----"

  "Are there many of the boys out of work?" Gregory found his voice atlast.

  Barnes nodded.

  "Scads of 'em. Some of them went back to their old jobs. Some of themfound 'em gone and they was others that couldn't cut it like they usedto. The government's tryin' to land 'em all jobs. But it's slow."

  Gregory turned slowly about and retraced his steps in the direction ofthe office. Then he remembered Barnes's request.

  "You can tell your friends to come along," he said.

  Barnes ran after him.

  "Say," he exclaimed, "I forgot to tell you. One of 'em's leg's a littlestiff and the other one's shy an eye."

  Gregory whirled about.

  "They've got brains and hearts left, haven't they?" he challenged. "Tellthem to come along."

  Walking rapidly to the office he entered and closed the door. WhenBarnes came in at quitting time the room was thick with smoke. In thecenter of the smoke-screen Gregory sat at a small table, hammering awayat a typewriter. On a near-by chair, the ex-soldier caught a glimpse ofa colored poster, glaringly captioned:

  JOBS FOR SOLDIERS

  Shutting the door softly behind him he withdrew, smiling to himself.