"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 hand across his blackened forehead and squinted in the direction of the island. "No place to be foolin' round with a cripple either, I can tell you," he growled. "Reckon I'd better lay to until I can get patched up."
The girl's brow wrinkled.
"All right, Jones. I'll go on. Follow when you can. We'll be around that next point. Can you beat that?" she exclaimed in a low voice to Gregory. "His feet are getting cold too, and he's one of the best men I have."
Keeping well off the headland they rounded the point and turned shoreward.
"In there."
Johnson jerked his head in the direction of a small cove which lay almost hidden beneath the brow of an overhanging cliff.