ning
rays of the rising sun. Then he noticed that Dickie was standing by his
side. Her eyes too were held by the rugged coast.

"The devil dumped it there," he heard her say in a low voice. "And when
he saw what a hellish coast it was, he named it for himself. That's what
dad used to say." She flung out her arm in the direction of a towering
peak. "At the base of that highest cliff was where the _Gull_ went on
the rocks. They call it 'Hell-Hole.'"

Staring in silence at the saddle-backed mountain, their minds traveled
into the past. Then Gregory asked: "Does any one live on the island?"

"It's a sheep-ranch. A man by the name of Bandrist has it leased on long
time from the government. He's Swiss, I think. He farms a little of the
land that isn't too rocky and runs his sheep over the rest. The island
is about twenty miles long and over ten in the widest place."

"Is fishing good out here?"

"Fine," the girl answered. "Only it's dangerous. Fogs in spring and
summer, and storms the rest of the time. Lots of albacore and tuna. But
it costs boats and sometimes men to get them. Dad used to fish out here,
but something was always sure to happen about the time he got well
started. Just like yesterday. Diablo's a place," she said slowly, "where
a man just can't make a mistake. If he does, he never lives to tell what
happened." She pointed to the frowning cliffs which guarded the shore
and extended far out into the water in a series of white-capped reefs.
"No anchorage," she explained. "And a strong inshore current. When you
get weather out here, it's nasty, and it hits you all in a bunch."

As they neared the island the _Pelican_ slowed down to wait for the
_Curlew_ which had been lagging astern.

"Jones must be having engine-trouble," commented Dickie Lang. "Or else
Diablo's got him buffaloed too."

"What do you mean?" Gregory asked.

Lowering her voice so that it would not reach the two fishermen on the
_Pelican_, she said: "They all give Diablo a wide berth. The fishermen
are scared to death of the island. If you want to hear a lot of wild
tales, just talk to some of my men at Legonia. Look at Manuel. Went
clean out of his head and the funny part of it is the others all
believed him. What's the matter, Jones? Having trouble?"

She addressed the skipper of the _Curlew_ as he brought his craft
alongside.

"Been havin' it all the way over," the man replied. "Compression's
gettin' worse all the time." He drew a grimy