In silence the launch tied up to the fleet. In silence two bare-footed fishermen lifted one of the bundles and carrying it carefully between them, stepped out upon the gently rocking float. The salt-stiffened canvas unrolled as the men laid their burden down, exposing the body of a huge fisherman. His face was
battered and bruised and Gregory noticed that his hair was red.
Blair's hand on Gregory's arm tightened.
"Good God!" he exclaimed. "It's Lang."
Kenneth Gregory looked down into the face of the big fisherman. Then he remembered the other bundle. Blair sought to deter him. But he was too late to check the onward rush of the young man across the float. Already he was boarding the boat. Blair watched him raise the flap of canvas. Saw his eyes searching the folds beneath. At length came voices. A man was speaking.
"Found them off Diablo. Went on the rocks at Hell-Hole in the fog. Boat was smashed. Bu'sted clean in two."
Gregory scarcely heard them as he knelt on the hatch looking down into the face of the one he had traveled seven thousand miles to see.
Blair led him away. As the little procession moved silently down the dock the crowd parted respectfully. Eyes that were hard, softened. Fishermen took off their hats, holding them awkwardly in their red hands. Fisherwomen looked down at the rough boards and crossed themselves devoutly.
The cortège passed on. Turning from the dock they threaded their way down the narrow street leading to the town. As they neared the alien docks, the dusky fishermen uncovered and drew together, awed by the presence of the great shadow.
Gregory's arm brushed against a man leaning care