"Better beat it," he suggested.
Dickie Lang shook her head stubbornly. "No," she said. "We'll leave that man here and the rest of us will get aboard. The Petrel's on tide land and I'll be damned if any one's going to bluff me out."
CHAPTER XII
A WARNING
From the Petrel's sloping deck they saw the horsemen appear in bold silhouette against the sky-line. Swinging from their saddles they walked to meet a white-shirted rider who galloped over the ridge and drew rein among them.
The newcomer remained astride his horse. Resting an arm on the horn of his saddle, he stared into the little cove through his binoculars. Satisfied apparently by what he saw, he dismounted and walked rapidly toward the trail leading to the beach, the men following after him. As they took their way down the cliff Gregory noticed that some of the men carried rifles. When they reached the beach the white-shirted man walked on alone, and without a backward glance, traversed the rocks in the direction of the wreck.
"He walks like a king," commented Dickie Lang. "I wonder if that is Bandrist."
Gregory noted the clean-cut figure of the stranger carefully. The man was about his own height though of slighter build, the spareness of his figure being emphasized by the close-fitting riding-trousers and the thin silk shirt which fluttered about him as he