MORAN OF THE LADY LETTY

by Frank Norris

 DEDICATED TO Captain Joseph Hodgson UNITED STATES LIFE SAVING SERVICE

I. SHANGHAIED

This is to be a story of a battle, at least one murder, and severalsudden deaths. For that reason it begins with a pink tea and among themingled odors of many delicate perfumes and the hale, frank smell ofCaroline Testout roses. 

There had been a great number of debutantes "coming out" that season inSan Francisco by means of afternoon teas, pink, lavender, and otherwise. This particular tea was intended to celebrate the fact that JosieHerrick had arrived at that time of her life when she was to wear herhair high and her gowns long, and to have a "day" of her own quitedistinct from that of her mother. 

Ross Wilbur presented himself at the Herrick house on Pacific Avenuemuch too early upon the afternoon of Miss Herrick's tea. As he made, his way up the canvased stairs he was aware of a terrifying array ofmillinery and a disquieting staccato chatter of feminine voices in theparlors and reception-rooms on either side of the hallway. A single highhat in the room that had been set apart for the men's use confirmed himin his suspicions. 

"Might have known it would be a hen party till six, anyhow, " hemuttered, swinging out of his overcoat. "Bet I don't know one girl intwenty down there now--all mamma's friends at this hour, andpapa's maiden sisters, and Jo's school-teachers and governesses andmusic-teachers, and I don't know what all. "

When he went down he found it precisely as he expected. He went up toMiss Herrick, where she stood receiving with her mother and two of theother girls, and allowed them to chaff him on his forlornness. 

"Maybe I seem at my ease, " said Ross Wilbur to them, "but really I amvery much frightened. I'm going to run away as soon as it is decentlypossible, even before, unless you feed me. "

"I believe you had luncheon not two hours ago, " said Miss Herrick. "Comealong, though, and I'll give you some chocolate, and perhaps, if you'regood, a stuffed olive. I got them just because I knew you liked them. Iought to stay here and receive, so I can't look after you for long. "

The two fought their way through the crowded rooms to theluncheon-table, and Miss Herrick got Wilbur his chocolate and hisstuffed olives. They sat down and talked in a window recess for amoment, Wilbur toeing-in in absurd fashion as he tried to make a lap forhis plate. 

"I thought, " said Miss Herrick, "that you were going on the Ridgeways'yachting party this afternoon. Mrs. Ridgeway said she was counting onyou. They are going out with the 'Petrel. '"

"She didn't count above a hundred, though, " answered Wilbur. "I gotyour bid first, so I regretted the yachting party; and I guess I'd haveregretted it anyhow, " and he grinned at her over his cup. 

"Nice man, " she said--adding on the instant, "I must go now, Ross. "

"Wait till I eat the sugar out of my cup, " complained Wilbur. "Tellme, " he added, scraping vigorously at the bottom of the cup with theinadequate spoon; "tell me, you're going to the hoe-down to-night?"

"If you mean the Assembly, yes, I am. "

"Will you give me the first and last?"

"I'll give you the first, and you can ask for the last then. "

"Let's put it down; I know you'll forget it. " Wilbur drew a couple ofcards from his case. 

"Programmes are not good form any more, " said Miss Herrick. 

"Forgetting a dance is worse. "

He made out the cards, writing on the one he kept for himself, "Firstwaltz--Jo. "

"I must go back now, " said Miss Herrick, getting up. 

"In that case I shall run--I'm afraid of girls. "

"It's a pity about you. "

"I am; one girl, I don't say, but girl in the aggregate like this, " andhe pointed his chin toward the thronged parlors. "It un-mans me. "

"Good-by, then. "

"Good-by, until to-night, about--?"

"About nine. "

"About nine, then. "

Ross Wilbur made his adieu to Mrs. Herrick and the girls who werereceiving, and took himself away. As he came out of the house and stoodfor a moment on the steps, settling his hat gingerly upon his hair so asnot to disturb the parting, he was not by any means an ill-looking chap. His good height was helped out by his long coat and his high silk hat, and there was plenty of jaw in the lower part of his face. Nor was histailor altogether answerable for his shoulders. Three years before thistime Ross Wilbur had pulled at No. 5 in his varsity boat in an Easterncollege that was not accustomed to athletic discomfiture. 

"I wonder what I'm going to do with myself until supper time, " hemuttered, as he came down the steps, feeling for the middle of hisstick. He found no immediate answer to his question. But the afternoonwas fine, and he set off to walk in the direction of the town, with ahalf-formed idea of looking in at his club. 

At his club he found a letter in his box from his particular chum, whohad been spending the month shooting elk in Oregon. 

 "Dear Old Man, " it said, "will be back on the afternoon you receive this. Will hit the town on the three o'clock boat. Get seats for the best show going--my treat--and arrange to assimilate nutriment at the Poodle Dog--also mine. I've got miles of talk in me that I've got to reel off before midnight. Yours. "JERRY. "

"I've got a stand of horns for you, Ross, that are Glory Hallelujah. "

"Well, I can't go, " murmured Wilbur, as he remembered the Assembly thatwas to come off that night and his engaged dance with Jo Herrick. Hedecided that it would be best to meet Jerry as he came off the boat andtell him how matters stood. Then he resolved, since no one that heknew was in the club, and the instalment of the Paris weeklies had notarrived, that it would be amusing to go down to the water-front and loafamong the shipping until it was time for Jerry's boat. 

Wilbur spent an hour along the wharves, watching the great grain shipsconsigned to "Cork for orders" slowly gorging themselves with wholeharvests of wheat from the San Joaquin Valley; lumber vessels for Durbanand South African ports settling lower and lower to the water's level asforests of pine and redwood stratified themselves along their decks andin their holds; coal barges discharging from Nanaimo; busy little tugscoughing and nuzzling at the flanks of the deep-sea tramps, while haybarges and Italian whitehalls came and went at every turn. A StocktonRiver boat went by, her stern wheel churning along behind, like ahuge net-reel; a tiny maelstrom of activity centred about an AlaskaCommercial Company's steamboat that would clear for Dawson in themorning. 

No quarter of one of the most picturesque cities in the world had moreinterest for Wilbur than the water-front. In the mile or so of shippingthat stretched from the docks where the China steamships landed, downpast the ferry slips and on to Meiggs's Wharf, every maritime nationin the world was represented. More than once Wilbur had talked tothe loungers of the wharves, stevedores out of work, sailorsbetween voyages, caulkers and ship chandlers' men looking--not tooearnestly--for jobs; so that on this occasion, when a little, undersizedfellow in dirty brown sweater and clothes of Barbary coast cut askedhim for a match to light his pipe, Wilbur offered a cigar and passedthe time of day with him. Wilbur had not forgotten that he himself wasdressed for an afternoon function. But the incongruity of the businesswas precisely what most amused him. 

After a time the fellow suggested drinks. Wilbur hesitated for a moment. It would be something to tell about, however, so, "All right, I'll drinkwith you, " he said. 

The brown sweater led the way to a sailors' boarding-house hard by. Therear of the place was built upon piles over the water. But in front, onthe ground floor, was a barroom. 

"Rum an' gum, " announced the brown sweater, as the two came in and tooktheir places at the bar. 

"Rum an' gum, Tuck; wattle you have, sir?"

"Oh--I don't know, " hesitated Wilbur; "give me a mild Manhattan. "

While the drinks were being mixed the brown sweater called Wilbur'sattention to a fighting head-dress from the Marquesas that was hung onthe wall over the free-lunch counter and opposite the bar. Wilbur turnedabout to look at it, and remained so, his back to the barkeeper, tillthe latter told them their drinks were ready. 

"Well, mate, here's big blocks an' taut hawse-pipes, " said the brownsweater cordially. 

"Your very good health, " returned Wilbur. 

The brown sweater wiped a thin mustache in the hollow of his palm, andwiped that palm upon his trouser leg. 

"Yessir, " he continued, once more facing the Marquesas head-dress. "Yessir, they're queer game down there. "

"In the Marquesas Islands, you mean?" said Wilbur. 

"Yessir, they're queer game. When they ain't tattoin' theirselves withScripture tex's they git from the missionaries, they're pullin' outthe hairs all over their bodies with two clam-shells. Hair by hair, y'understan'?"

"Pull'n out 'er hair?" said Wilbur, wondering what was the matter withhis tongue. 

"They think it's clever--think the women folk like it. "

Wilbur had fancied that the little man had worn a brown sweater whenthey first met. But now, strangely enough, he was not in the leastsurprised to see it iridescent like a pigeon's breast. 

"Y' ever been down that way?" inquired the little man next. 

Wilbur heard the words distinctly enough, but somehow they refused tofit into the right places in his brain. He pulled himself together, frowning heavily. 

"What--did--you--say?" he asked with great deliberation, biting off hiswords. Then he noticed that he and his companion were no longer inthe barroom, but in a little room back of it. His personality divideditself. There was one Ross Wilbur--who could not make his hands go wherehe wanted them, who said one word when he thought another, and whoselegs below the knee were made of solid lead. Then there was another RossWilbur--Ross Wilbur, the alert, who was perfectly clear-headed, and whostood off to one side and watched his twin brother making a monkey ofhimself, without power and without even the desire of helping him. 

This latter Wilbur heard the iridescent sweater say:

"Bust me, if y' a'n't squiffy, old man. Stand by a bit an' we'll have aball. "

"Can't have got--return--exceptionally--and the round table--pull outhairs wi' tu clamsh'ls, " gabbled Wilbur's stupefied double; and Wilburthe alert said to himself: "You're not drunk, Ross Wilbur, that'scertain; what could they have put in your cocktail?"

The iridescent sweater stamped twice upon the floor and a trap-door fellaway beneath Wilbur's feet like the drop of a gallows. With the eyes ofhis undrugged self Wilbur had a glimpse of water below. His elbow struckthe floor as he went down, and he fell feet first into a Whitehall boat. He had time to observe two men at the oars and to look between the pilesthat supported the house above him and catch a glimpse of the bay anda glint of the Contra Costa shore. He was not in the least surprised atwhat had happened, and made up his mind that it would be a good idea tolie down in the boat and go to sleep. 

Suddenly--but how long after his advent into the boat he could nottell--his wits began to return and settle themselves, like wild birdsflocking again after a scare. Swiftly he took in the scene. The bluewaters of the bay around him, the deck of a schooner on which he stood, the Whitehall boat alongside, and an enormous man with a face likea setting moon wrangling with his friend in the sweater--no longeriridescent. 

"What do you call it?" shouted the red man. "I want able seamen--I don'tfigger on working this boat with dancing masters, do I? We ain't exactlydoing quadrilles on my quarterdeck. If we don't look out we'll step onthis thing and break it. It ain't ought to be let around loose withoutits ma. "

"Rot that, " vociferated the brown sweater. "I tell you he's one of thebest sailor men on the front. If he ain't we'll forfeit the money. Comeon, Captain Kitchell, we made show enough gettin' away as it was, andthis daytime business ain't our line. D'you sign or not? Here's theadvance note. I got to duck my nut or I'll have the patrol boat afterme. "

"I'll sign this once, " growled the other, scrawling his name on thenote; "but if this swab ain't up to sample, he'll come back by freight, an' I'll drop in on mee dear friend Jim when we come back and give him areel nice time, an' you can lay to that, Billy Trim. " The brown sweaterpocketed the note, went over the side, and rowed off. 

Wilbur stood in the waist of a schooner anchored in the stream well offFisherman's wharf. In the forward part of the schooner a Chinaman inbrown duck was mixing paint. Wilbur was conscious that he still wore hishigh hat and long coat, but his stick was gone and one gray glove wasslit to the button. In front of him towered the enormous red-faced man. A pungent reek of some kind of rancid fat or oil assailed his nostrils. Over by Alcatraz a ferry-boat whistled for its slip as it elbowed itsway through the water. 

Wilbur had himself fairly in hand by now. His wits were all about him;but the situation was beyond him as yet. 

"Git for'd, " commanded the big man. 

Wilbur drew himself up, angry in an instant. "Look here, " he began, "what's the meaning of this business? I know I've been drugged andmishandled. I demand to be put ashore. Do you understand that?"

"Angel child, " whimpered the big man. "Oh, you lilee of the vallee, youbright an' mornin' star. I'm reely pained y'know, that your vally can'tcome along, but we'll have your piano set up in the lazarette. It givesme genuine grief, it do, to see you bein' obliged to put your lileewhite feet on this here vulgar an' dirtee deck. We'll have the Wiltoncarpet down by to-morrer, so we will, my dear. Yah-h!" he suddenly brokeout, as his rage boiled over. "Git for'd, d'ye hear! I'm captain of thishere bathtub, an' that's all you need to know for a good while to come. I ain't generally got to tell that to a man but once; but I'll stretchthe point just for love of you, angel child. Now, then, move!"

Wilbur stood motionless--puzzled beyond expression. No experience he hadever been through helped in this situation. 

"Look here, " he began, "I--"

The captain knocked him down with a blow of one enormous fist upon themouth, and while he was yet stretched upon the deck kicked him savagelyin the stomach. Then he allowed him to rise, caught him by the neck andthe slack of his overcoat, and ran him forward to where a hatchway, nottwo feet across, opened in the deck. Without ado, he flung him down intothe darkness below; and while Wilbur, dizzied by the fall, sat on thefloor at the foot of the vertical companion-ladder, gazing about himwith distended eyes, there rained down upon his head, first an oilskincoat, then a sou'wester, a pair of oilskin breeches, woolen socks, anda plug of tobacco. Above him, down the contracted square of the hatch, came the bellowing of the Captain's voice:

"There's your fit-out, Mister Lilee of the Vallee, which the same ourdear friend Jim makes a present of and no charge, because he loves youso. You're allowed two minutes to change, an' it is to be hoped as howyou won't force me to come for to assist. "

It would have been interesting to have followed, step by step, themental process that now took place in Ross Wilbur's brain. The Captainhad given him two minutes in which to change. The time was short enough, but even at that Wilbur changed more than his clothes during the twominutes he was left to himself in the reekind dark of the schooner'sfo'castle. It was more than a change--it was a revolution. What he madeup his mind to do--precisely what mental attitude he decided to adopt, just what new niche he elected wherein to set his feet, it is difficultto say. Only by results could the change be guessed at. He went downthe forward hatch at the toe of Kitchell's boot--silk-hatted, melton-overcoated, patent-booted, and gloved in suedes. Two minuteslater there emerged upon the deck a figure in oilskins and a sou'wester. There was blood upon the face of him and the grime of an unclean shipupon his bare hands. It was Wilbur, and yet not Wilbur. In two minuteshe had been, in a way, born again. The only traces of his former selfwere the patent-leather boots, still persistent in their gloss andshine, that showed grim incongruity below the vast compass of theoilskin breeches. 

As Wilbur came on deck he saw the crew of the schooner hurrying forward, six of them, Chinamen every one, in brown jeans and black felt hats. Onthe quarterdeck stood the Captain, barking his orders. 

"Consider the Lilee of the Vallee, " bellowed the latter, as his eye fellupon Wilbur the Transformed. "Clap on to that starboard windlass brake, sonny. "

Wilbur saw the Chinamen ranging themselves about what he guessed wasthe windlass in the schooner's bow. He followed and took his place amongthem, grasping one of the bars. 

"Break down!" came the next order. Wilbur and the Chinamen obeyed, bearing up and down upon the bars till the slack of the anchor-chaincame home and stretched taut and dripping from the hawse-holes. 

"'Vast heavin'!"

And then as Wilbur released the brake and turned about for the nextorder, he cast his glance out upon the bay, and there, not a hundredand fifty yards away, her spotless sails tense, her cordage humming, herimmaculate flanks slipping easily through the waves, the waterhissing and churning under her forefoot, clean, gleaming, dainty, andaristocratic, the Ridgeways' yacht "Petrel" passed like a thing of life. Wilbur saw Nat Ridgeway himself at the wheel. Girls in smart gownsand young fellows in white ducks and yachting caps--all friends ofhis--crowded the decks. A little orchestra of musicians were reeling offa quickstep. 

The popping of a cork and a gale of talk and laughter came to hisears. Wilbur stared at the picture, his face devoid of expression. The"Petrel" came on--drew nearer--was not a hundred feet away from theschooner's stern. A strong swimmer, such as Wilbur, could cover thedistance in a few strides. Two minutes ago Wilbur might have--

"Set your mains'l, " came the bellow of Captain Kitchell. "Clap on toyour throat and peak halyards. "

The Chinamen hurried aft. 

Wilbur followed. 

II. A NAUTICAL EDUCATION. 

In the course of the next few moments, while the little vessel was beinggot under way, and while the Ridgeways' "Petrel" gleamed off into theblue distance, Wilbur made certain observations. 

The name of the boat on which he found himself was the "Bertha Millner. "She was a two-topmast, 28-ton keel schooner, 40 feet long, carryinga large spread of sail--mainsail, foresail, jib, flying-jib, twogaff-topsails, and a staysail. She was very dirty and smelt abominablyof some kind of rancid oil. Her crew were Chinamen; there was no mate. But the cook--himself a Chinaman--who appeared from time to time at thedoor of the galley, a potato-masher in his hand, seemed to have somesort of authority over the hands. He acted in a manner as a go-betweenfor the Captain and the crew, sometimes interpreting the former'sorders, and occasionally giving one of his own. 

Wilbur heard the Captain address him as Charlie. He spoke pigeon Englishfairly. Of the balance of the crew--the five Chinamen--Wilbur could makenothing. They never spoke, neither to Captain Kitchell, to Charlie, nor to each other; and for all the notice they took of Wilbur he mighteasily have been a sack of sand. Wilbur felt that his advent on the"Bertha Millner" was by its very nature an extraordinary event; but theabsolute indifference of these brown-suited Mongols, the blankness oftheir flat, fat faces, the dulness of their slanting, fishlike eyesthat never met his own or even wandered in his direction, was uncanny, disquieting. In what strange venture was he now to be involved, towardwhat unknown vortex was this new current setting, this current that hadso suddenly snatched him from the solid ground of his accustomed life?

He told himself grimly that he was to have a free cruise up the bay, perhaps as far as Alviso; perhaps the "Bertha Millner" would even makethe circuit of the bay before returning to San Francisco. He mightbe gone a week. Wilbur could already see the scare-heads of the dailypapers the next morning, chronicling the disappearance of "One ofSociety's Most Popular Members. "

"That's well, y'r throat halyards. Here, Lilee of the Vallee, give acouple of pulls on y'r peak halyard purchase. "

Wilbur stared at the Captain helplessly. 

"No can tell, hey?" inquired Charlie from the galley. "Pullum disa lope, sabe?"

Wilbur tugged at the rope the cook indicated. 

"That's well, y'r peak halyard purchase, " chanted Captain Kitchell. 

Wilbur made the rope fast. The mainsail was set, and hung slatting andflapping in the wind. Next the for'sail was set in much the same manner, and Wilbur was ordered to "lay out on the ji'boom and cast the gasketsoff the jib. " He "lay out" as best he could and cast off the gaskets--heknew barely enough of yachting to understand an order here andthere--and by the time he was back on the fo'c'sle head the Chinamenwere at the jib halyard and hoisting away. 

"That's well, y'r jib halyards. "

The "Bertha Millner" veered round and played off to the wind, tugging ather anchor. 

"Man y'r windlass. "

Wilbur and the crew jumped once more to the brakes. 

"Brake down, heave y'r anchor to the cathead. "

The anchor-chain, already taut, vibrated and then cranked through thehawse-holes as the hands rose and fell at the brakes. The anchor camehome, dripping gray slime. A nor'west wind filled the schooner's sails, a strong ebb tide caught her underfoot. 

"We're off, " muttered Wilbur, as the "Bertha Millner" heeled to thefirst gust. 

But evidently the schooner was not bound up the bay. 

"Must be Vallejo or Benicia, then, " hazarded Wilbur, as the sails grewtenser and the water rippled ever louder under the schooner's forefoot. "Maybe they're going after hay or wheat. "

The schooner was tacking, headed directly for Meiggs's wharf. She camein closer and closer, so close that Wilbur could hear the talk of thefishermen sitting on the stringpieces. He had just made up his mind thatthey were to make a landing there, when--

"Stand by for stays, " came the raucous bark of the Captain, who hadtaken on the heel. The sails slatted furiously as the schooner cameabout. Then the "Bertha Millner" caught the wind again and lay overquietly and contentedly to her work. The next tack brought the schoonerclose under Alcatraz. The sea became heavier, the breeze grew stiff andsmelled of the outside ocean. Out beyond them to westward openedthe Golden Gate, a bleak vista of gray-green water roughened withwhite-caps. 

"Stand by for stays. "

Once again as the rudder went hard over, the "Bertha Millner" frettedand danced and shook her sails, calling impatiently for the wind, chafing at its absence like a child reft of a toy. Then again shescooped the nor'wester in the hollow palms of her tense canvases andsettled quietly down on the new tack, her bowsprit pointing straighttoward the Presidio. 

"We'll come about again soon, " Wilbur told himself, "and stand overtoward the Contra Costa shore. "

A fine huge breath of wind passed over the schooner. She heeled iton the instant, the water roaring along her quarter, but she kept hercourse. Wilbur fell thoughtful again, never more keenly observant. 

"She must come about soon, " he muttered uneasily, "if she's going tostand up toward Vallejo. " His heart sank with a sudden apprehension. Anervousness he could not overcome seized upon him. The "Bertha Millner"held tenaciously to the tack. Within fifty yards of the Presidio camethe command again:

"Stand by for stays. "

Once more, her bows dancing, her cordage rattling, her sails flappingnoisily, the schooner came about. Anxiously Wilbur observed the bowspritas it circled like a hand on a dial, watching where now it would point. It wavered, fluctuated, rose, fell, then settled easily, pointing towardLime Point. Wilbur felt a sudden coldness at his heart. 

"This isn't going to be so much fun, " he muttered between his teeth. Theschooner was not bound up the bay for Alviso nor to Vallejo for grain. The track toward Lime Point could mean but one thing. The wind wasfreshening from the nor'west, the ebb tide rushing out to meet the oceanlike a mill-race, at every moment the Golden Gate opened out wider, andwithin two minutes after the time of the last tack the "Bertha Millner"heeled to a great gust that had come booming in between the heads, straight from the open Pacific. 

"Stand by for stays. "

As before, one of the Chinese hands stood by the sail rope of the jib. 

"Draw y'r jib. "

The jib filled. The schooner came about on the port tack; Lime Pointfell away over the stern rail. The huge ground swells began to comein, and as she rose and bowed to the first of these it was precisely asthough the "Bertha Millner" were making her courtesy to the great grayocean, now for the first time in full sight on her starboard quarter. 

The schooner was beating out to sea through the Middle Channel. Onceclear of the Golden Gate, she stood over toward the Cliff House, then onthe next tack cleared Point Bonita. The sea began building up in deadlyearnest--they were about to cross the bar. Everything was battened down, the scuppers were awash, and the hawse-holes spouted like fountainsafter every plunge. Once the Captain ordered all men aloft, just in timeto escape a gigantic dull green roller that broke like a Niagara overthe schooner's bows, smothering the decks knee-deep in a twinkling. 

The wind blew violent and cold, the spray was flying like icysmall-shot. Without intermission the "Bertha Millner" rolled and plungedand heaved and sank. Wilbur was drenched to the skin and sore in everyjoint, from being shunted from rail to mast and from mast to rail again. The cordage sang like harp-strings, the schooner's forefoot crusheddown into the heaving water with a hissing like that of steam, blocksrattled, the Captain bellowed his orders, rope-ends flogged the hollowdeck till it reverberated like a drum-head. The crossing of the bar wasone long half-hour of confusion and discordant sound. 

When they were across the bar the Captain ordered the cook to give themen their food. 

"Git for'rd, sonny, " he added, fixing Wilbur with his eye. "Git for'rd, this is tawble dee hote, savvy?"

Wilbur crawled forward on the reeling deck, holding on now to a mast, now to a belaying-pin, now to a stay, watching his chance and going onbetween the inebriated plunges of the schooner. 

He descended the fo'c'sle hatch. The Chinamen were already there, sitting on the edges of their bunks. On the floor, at the bottom of theladder, punk-sticks were burning in an old tomato-can. 

Charlie brought in supper--stewed beef and pork in a bread-pan and awooden kit--and the Chinamen ate in silence with their sheath-knives andfrom tin plates. A liquid that bore a distant resemblance to coffee wasserved. Wilbur learned afterward to know the stuff as Black Jack, andto be aware that it was made from bud barley and was sweetened withmolasses. A single reeking lamp swung with the swinging of the schoonerover the centre of the group, and long after Wilbur could remember thegrisly scene--the punk-sticks, the bread-pan full of hunks of meat, the horrid close and oily smell, and the circle of silent, preoccupiedChinese, each sitting on his bunk-ledge, devouring stewed pork andholding his pannikin of Black Jack between his feet against the rollingof the boat. 

Wilbur looked fearfully at the mess in the pan, recalling the chocolateand stuffed olives that had been his last luncheon. 

"Well, " he muttered, clinching his teeth, "I've got to come to it sooneror later. " His penknife was in the pocket of his waist-coat, underneathhis oilskin coat. He opened the big blade, harpooned a cube of pork, and deposited it on his tin plate. He ate it slowly and with savagedetermination. But the Black Jack was more than he could bear. 

"I'm not hungry enough for that just now, " he told himself. "Say, Jim, "he said, turning to the Chinaman next him on the bunk-ledge, "say, whatkind of boat is this? What you do--where you go?"

The other moved away impatiently. 

"No sabe, no sabe, " he answered, shaking his head and frowning. Throughout the whole of that strange meal these were the only wordsspoken. 

When Wilbur came on deck again he noted that the "Bertha Millner" hadalready left the whistling-buoy astern. Off to the east, her sailsjust showing above the waves, was a pilot-boat with the number 7 on hermainsail. The evening was closing in; the Farallones were in plain sightdead ahead. Far behind, in a mass of shadow just bluer than the sky, hecould make out a few twinkling lights--San Francisco. 

Half an hour later Kitchell came on deck from his supper in the cabinaft. He glanced in the direction of the mainland, now almost out ofsight, then took the wheel from one of the Chinamen and commanded, "Easeoff y'r fore an' main sheets. " The hands eased away and the schoonerplayed off before the wind. 

The staysail was set. The "Bertha Millner" headed to southwest, bowlingeasily ahead of a good eight-knot breeze. 

Next came the order "All hands aft!" and Wilbur and his mates betookthemselves to the quarterdeck. Charlie took the wheel, and he andKitchell began to choose the men for their watches, just as Wilburremembered to have chosen sides for baseball during his school days. 

"Sonny, I'll choose you; you're on my watch, " said the Captain toWilbur, "and I will assoom the ree-sponsibility of your nauticaleddoocation. "

"I may as well tell you at once, " began Wilbur, "that I'm no sailor. "

"But you will be, soon, " answered the Captain, at once soothing andthreatening; "you will be, Mister Lilee of the Vallee, you kin lay toit as how you will be one of the best sailormen along the front, as ourdear friend Jim says. Before I git throo with you, you'll be a sailormanor shark-bait, I can promise you. You're on my watch; step over here, son. "

The watches were divided, Charlie and three other Chinamen on the port, Kitchell, Wilbur, and two Chinamen on the starboard. The men troopedforward again. 

The tiny world of the schooner had lapsed to quiet. The "Bertha Millner"was now clear of the land, that lay like a blur of faintest purplesmoke--ever growing fainter--low in the east. The Farallones showed buttheir shoulders above the horizon. The schooner was standing wellout from shore--even beyond the track of the coasters and passengersteamers--to catch the Trades from the northwest. The sun was settingroyally, and the floor of the ocean shimmered like mosaic. The seahad gone down and the fury of the bar was a thing forgotten. It wasperceptibly warmer. 

On board, the two watches mingled forward, smoking opium and playinga game that looked like checkers. Three of them were washing down thedecks with kaiar brooms. For the first time since he had come on boardWilbur heard the sound of their voices. 

The evening was magnificent. Never to Wilbur's eyes had the Pacificappeared so vast, so radiant, so divinely beautiful. A star or twoburned slowly through that part of the sky where the pink began to fadeinto the blue. Charlie went forward and set the side lights--red onthe port rigging, green on the starboard. As he passed Wilbur, who wasleaning over the rail and watching the phosphorus flashing just underthe surface, he said:

"Hey, you go talkee-talk one-piecey Boss, savvy Boss--chin-chin. "

Wilbur went aft and came up on the poop, where Kitchell stood at thewheel, smoking an inverted "Tarrier's Delight. "

"Now, son, " began Kitchell, "I natch'ly love you so that I'm goin' todo you a reel favor, do you twig? I'm goin' to allow you to berth aft inthe cabin, 'long o' me an' Charlie, an' beesides you can make free ofmy quarterdeck. Mebbee you ain't used to the ways of sailormen justyet, but you can lay to it that those two are reel concessions, savvy?I ain't a mush-head, like mee dear friend Jim. You ain't no water-frontswine, I can guess that with one hand tied beehind me. You're a toff, that's what you are, and your lines has been laid for toffs. I ain'taskin' you no questions, but you got brains, an' I figger on gettin'more outa you by lettin' you have y'r head a bit. But mind, now, you getgay once, sonny, or try to flimflam me, or forget that I'm the boss ofthe bathtub, an' strike me blind, I'll cut you open, an' you can lay tothat, son. Now, then, here's the game: You work this boat 'long withthe coolies, an' take my orders, an' walk chalk, an' I'll teach younavigation, an' make this cruise as easy as how-do-you-do. You don't, an' I'll manhandle you till y'r bones come throo y'r hide. "

"I've no choice in the matter, " said Wilbur. "I've got to make the bestof a bad situation. "

"I ree-marked as how you had brains, " muttered the Captain. 

"But there's one thing, " continued Wilbur; "if I'm to have my head alittle, as you say, you'll find we can get along better if you put meto rights about this whole business. Why was I brought aboard, why arethere only Chinese along, where are we going, what are we going to do, and how long are we going to be gone?"

Kitchell spat over the side, and then sucked the nicotine from hismustache. 

"Well, " he said, resuming his pipe, "it's like this, son. This shipbelongs to one of the Six Chinese Companies of Chinatown in Frisco. Charlie, here, is one of the shareholders in the business. We go downhere twice a year off Cape Sain' Lucas, Lower California, an' fish forblue sharks, or white, if we kin ketch 'em. We get the livers of thesean' try out the oil, an' we bring back that same oil, an' the Chinamensell it all over San Francisco as simon-pure cod-liver oil, savvy?An' it pays like a nitrate bed. I come in because it's a Custom-houseregulation that no coolie can take a boat out of Frisco. "

"And how do I come in?" asked Wilbur. 

"Mee dear friend Jim put a knock-me-out drop into your Manhattancocktail. It's a capsule filled with a drug. You were shanghaied, son, "said the Captain, blandly. 

*****

About an hour later Wilbur turned in. Kitchell showed him his bunk withits "donkey's breakfast" and single ill-smelling blanket. It was locatedunder the companionway that led down into the cabin. Kitchell bunkedon one side, Charlie on the other. A hacked deal table, covered withoilcloth and ironed to the floor, a swinging-lamp, two chairs, a rack ofbooks, a chest or two, and a flaring picture cut from the advertisementof a ballet, was the room's inventory in the matter of furniture andornament. 

Wilbur sat on the edge of his bunk before undressing, reviewing theextraordinary events of the day. In a moment he was aware of a movementin one of the other two bunks, and presently made out Charlie lying onhis side and holding in the flame of an alcohol lamp a skewer on whichsome brown and sticky stuff boiled and sizzled. He transformed the stuffto the bowl of a huge pipe and drew on it noisily once or twice. Inanother moment he had sunk back in his bunk, nearly senseless, but witha long breath of an almost blissful contentment. 

"Beast!" muttered Wilbur, with profound disgust. 

He threw off his oilskin coat and felt in the pocket of his waistcoat(which he had retained when he had changed his clothes in the fo'c'sle)for his watch. He drew it out. It was just nine o'clock. All at once anidea occurred to him. He fumbled in another pocket of the waistcoat andbrought out one of his calling-cards. 

For a moment Wilbur remained motionless, seated on the bunk-ledge, smiling grimly, while his glance wandered now to the sordid cabin of the"Bertha Millner" and the opium-drugged coolie sprawled on the "donkey'sbreakfast, " and now to the card in his hand on which a few hours ago hehad written:

"First waltz--Jo. "

III. THE LADY LETTY

Another day passed, then two. Before Wilbur knew it he had settledhimself to his new life, and woke one morning to the realization thathe was positively enjoying himself. Daily the weather grew warmer. Thefifth day out from San Francisco it was actually hot. The pitch grewsoft in the "Bertha Millner's" deck seams, the masts sweated resin. The Chinamen went about the decks wearing but their jeans and blouses. Kitchell had long since abandoned his coat and vest. Wilbur's oilskinsbecame intolerable, and he was at last constrained to trade hispocket-knife to Charlie for a suit of jeans and wicker sandals, such asthe coolies wore--and odd enough he looked in them. 

The Captain instructed him in steering, and even promised to show himthe use of the sextant and how to take an observation in the fake shortand easy coasting style of navigation. Furthermore, he showed him how toread the log and the manner of keeping the dead reckoning. 

During most of his watches Wilbur was engaged in painting the insideof the cabin, door panels, lintels, and the few scattered moldings; andtoward the middle of the first week out, when the "Bertha Millner"was in the latitude of Point Conception, he and three Chinamen, underKitchell's directions, ratlined down the forerigging and affixed thecrow's nest upon the for'mast. The next morning, during Charlie's watchon deck, a Chinaman was sent up into the crow's nest, and from that timeon there was always a lookout maintained from the masthead. 

More than once Wilbur looked around him at the empty coruscating indigoof the ocean floor, wondering at the necessity of the lookout, andfinally expressed his curiosity to Kitchell. The Captain had now takennot a little to Wilbur; at first for the sake of a white man's company, and afterward because he began to place a certain vague reliance uponWilbur's judgment. Kitchell had reemarked as how he had brains. 

"Well, you see, son, " Kitchell had explained to Wilbur, "os-tensibleewe are after shark-liver oil--and so we are; but also we are on any laythat turns up; ready for any game, from wrecking to barratry. Strikeme, if I haven't thought of scuttling the dough-dish for her insoorance. There's regular trade, son, to be done in ships, and then there'spickin's an' pickin's an' pickin's. Lord, the ocean's rich withpickin's. Do you know there's millions made out of the day-bree andrefuse of a big city? How about an ocean's day-bree, just chew on thatnotion a turn; an' as fur a lookout, lemmee tell you, son, cast youreye out yon, " and he swept the sea with a forearm; "nothin', hey, so itlooks, but lemmee tell you, son, there ain't no manner of place onthe ball of dirt where you're likely to run up afoul of so manythings--unexpected things--as at sea. When you're clear o' land lay tothis here pree-cep', 'A million to one on the unexpected. '"

The next day fell almost dead calm. The hale, lusty-lunged nor'westerthat had snorted them forth from the Golden Gate had lapsed to a zephyr, the schooner rolled lazily southward with the leisurely nonchalance ofa grazing ox. At noon, just after dinner, a few cat's-paws curdled themilky-blue whiteness of the glassy surface, and the water once morebegan to talk beneath the bow-sprit. It was very hot. The sun spunsilently like a spinning brass discus over the mainmast. On the fo'c'slehead the Chinamen were asleep or smoking opium. It was Charlie's watch. Kitchell dozed in his hammock in the shadow of the mainsheet. Wilbur wasbelow tinkering with his paint-pot about the cabin. The stillness wasprofound. It was the stillness of the summer sea at high noon. 

The lookout in the crow's nest broke the quiet. 

"Hy-yah, hy-yah!" he cried, leaning from the barrel and calling throughan arched palm. "Hy-yah, one two, plenty, many tortle, topside, wattah;hy-yah, all-same tortle. "

"Hello, hello!" cried the Captain, rolling from his hammock. "Turtle?Where-away?"

"I tink-um 'bout quallah mile, mebbee, four-piecee tortle all-sameweatha bow. "

"Turtle, hey? Down y'r wheel, Jim, haul y'r jib to win'ward, " hecommanded the man at the wheel; then to the men forward: "Get the doryoverboard. Son, Charlie, and you, Wing, tumble in. Wake up now and seeyou stay so. "

The dory was swung over the side, and the men dropped into her andtook their places at the oars. "Give way, " cried the Captain, settlinghimself in the bow with the gaff in his hand. "Hey, Jim!" he shouted tothe lookout far above, "hey, lay our course for us. " The lookout nodded, the oars fell, and the dory shot forward in the direction indicated bythe lookout. 

"Kin you row, son? asked Kitchell, with sudden suspicion. Wilbur smiled. 

"You ask Charlie and Wing to ship their oars and give me a pair. " TheCaptain complied, hesitating. 

"Now, what, " he said grimly, "now, what do you think you're going to do, sonny?"

"I'm going to show you the Bob Cook stroke we used in our boat in '95, when we beat Harvard, " answered Wilbur. 

Kitchell gazed doubtfully at the first few strokes, then with growinginterest watched the tremendous reach, the powerful knee-drive, theswing, the easy catch, and the perfect recover. The dory was cutting thewater like a gasoline launch, and between strokes there was the leastpossible diminishing of the speed. 

"I'm a bit out of form just now, " remarked Wilbur, "and I'm used tothe sliding seat; but I guess it'll do. " Kitchell glanced at the humanmachine that once was No. 5 in the Yale boat and then at the waterhissing from the dory's bows. "My Gawd!" he said, under his breath. He spat over the bows and sucked the nicotine from his mustache, thoughtfully. 

"I ree-marked, " he observed, "as how you had brains, my son. "

A few minutes later the Captain, who was standing in the dory's bow andalternately conning the ocean's surface and looking back to the Chinamanstanding on the schooner's masthead, uttered an exclamation:

"Steady, ship your oars, quiet now, quiet, you damn fools! We're righton 'em--four, by Gawd, an' big as dinin' tables!"

The oars were shipped. The dory's speed dwindled. "Out your paddles, siton the gun'l, and paddle ee-asy. " The hands obeyed. The Captain's voicedropped to a whisper. His back was toward them and he gestured with onefree hand. Looking out over the water from his seat on the gun'l, Wilburcould make out a round, greenish mass like a patch of floating seaweed, just under the surface, some sixty yards ahead. 

"Easy sta'board, " whispered the Captain under his elbow. "Go ahead, port; e-e-easy all, steady, steady. "

The affair began to assume the intensity of a little drama--a littledrama of midocean. In spite of himself, Wilbur was excited. He evenfound occasion to observe that the life was not so bad, after all. Thiswas as good fun as stalking deer. The dory moved forward by inches. Kitchell's whisper was as faint as a dying infant's: "Steady all, s-stead-ee, sh-stead--"

He lunged forward sharply with the gaff, and shouted aloud: "I gothim--grab holt his tail flippers, you fool swabs; grab holt quick--don'tyou leggo--got him there, Charlie? If he gets away, you swine, I'll ripy' open with the gaff--heave now--heave--there--there--soh, stand clearhis nippers. Strike me! he's a whacker. I thought he was going to getaway. Saw me just as I swung the gaff, an' ducked his nut. "

Over the side, bundled without ceremony into the boat, clawing, thrashing, clattering, and blowing like the exhaust of a donkey-engine, tumbled the great green turtle, his wet, green shield of shell threefeet from edge to edge, the gaff firmly transfixed in his body, justunder the fore-flipper. From under his shell protruded his snake-likehead and neck, withered like that of an old man. He was waving his headfrom side to side, the jaws snapping like a snapped silk handkerchief. Kitchell thrust him away with a paddle. The turtle craned his neck, andcatching the bit of wood in his jaw, bit it in two in a single grip. 

"I tol' you so, I tol' you to stand clear his snapper. If that had beenyour shin now, eh? Hello, what's that?"

Faintly across the water came a prolonged hallooing from the schooner. Kitchell stood up in the dory, shading his eyes with his hat. 

"What's biting 'em now?" he muttered, with the uneasiness of a captainaway from his ship. "Oughta left Charlie on board--or you, son. Who'sdoin' that yellin', I can't make out. "

"Up in the crow's nest, " exclaimed Wilbur. "It's Jim, see, he's wavinghis arms. "

"Well, whaduz he wave his dam' fool arms for?" growled Kitchell, angrybecause something was going forward he did not understand. 

"There, he's shouting again. Listen--I can't make out what he'syelling. "

"He'll yell to a different pipe when I get my grip of him. I'll twistthe head of that swab till he'll have to walk back'ard to see wherehe's goin'. Whaduz he wave his arms for--whaduz he yell like a dam'philly-loo bird for? What's him say, Charlie?"

"Jim heap sing, no can tell. Mebbee--tinkum sing, come back chop-chop. "

"We'll see. Oars out, men, give way. Now, son, put a little o' that Yalestingo in the stroke. "

In the crow's nest Jim still yelled and waved like one distraught, whilethe dory returned at a smart clip toward the schooner. Kitchell latheredwith fury. 

"Oh-h, " he murmured softly through his gritted teeth. "Jess lemmee laymee two hands afoul of you wunst, you gibbering, yellow philly-loobird, believe me, you'll dance. Shut up!" he roared; "shut up, you crazydo-do, ain't we coming fast as we can?"

The dory bumped alongside, and the Captain was over the rail likequicksilver. The hands were all in the bow, looking and pointing to thewest. Jim slid down the ratlines, bubbling over with suppressed news. Before his feet had touched the deck Kitchell had kicked him into thestays again, fulminating blasphemies. 

"Sing!" he shouted, as the Chinaman clambered away like a bewilderedape; "sing a little more. I would if I were you. Why don't you sing andwave, you dam' fool philly-loo bird?"

"Yas, sah, " answered the coolie. 

"What you yell for? Charlie, ask him whaffo him sing. "

"I tink-um ship, " answered Charlie calmly, looking out over thestarboard quarter. 

"Ship!"

"Him velly sick, " hazarded the Chinaman from the ratlines, adding asentence in Chinese to Charlie. 

"He says he tink-um ship sick, all same; ask um something--ship vellysick. "

By this time the Captain, Wilbur, and all on board could plainlymake out a sail some eight miles off the starboard bow. Even at thatdistance, and to eyes so inexperienced as those of Wilbur, it needed buta glance to know that something was wrong with her. It was not that shefailed to ride the waves with even keel, it was not that her rigging wasin disarray, nor that her sails were disordered. Her distance was toogreat to make out such details. But in precisely the same manner as atrained physician glances at a doomed patient, and from that indefinablelook in the face of him and the eyes of him pronounces the verdict"death, " so Kitchell took in the stranger with a single comprehensiveglance, and exclaimed:

"Wreck!"

"Yas, sah. I tink-um velly sick. "

"Oh, go to 'll, or go below and fetch up my glass--hustle!"

The glass was brought. "Son, " exclaimed Kitchell--"where is that manwith the brains? Son, come aloft here with me. " The two clambered up theratlines to the crow's nest. Kitchell adjusted the glass. 

"She's a bark, " he muttered, "iron built--about seven hundred tons, I guess--in distress. There's her ensign upside down at themizz'nhead--looks like Norway--an' her distress signals on the spankergaff. Take a blink at her, son--what do you make her out? Lord, she'sridin' high. "

Wilbur took the glass, catching the stranger after several clumsyattempts. She was, as Captain Kitchell had announced, a bark, and, tojudge by her flag, evidently Norwegian. 

"How she rolls!" muttered Wilbur. 

"That's what I can't make out, " answered Kitchell. "A bark such as sheain't ought to roll thata way; her ballast'd steady her. "

"What's the flags on that boom aft--one's red and white andsquare-shaped, and the other's the same color, only swallow-tail inshape?"

"That's H. B. , meanin: 'I am in need of assistance. '"

"Well, where's the crew? I don't see anybody on board. "

"Oh, they're there right enough. "

"Then they're pretty well concealed about the premises, " turned Wilbur, as he passed the glass to the Captain. 

"She does seem kinda empty, " said the Captain in a moment, with a suddenshow of interest that Wilbur failed to understand. 

"An' where's her boats?" continued Kitchell. "I don't just quite makeout any boats at all. " There was a long silence. 

"Seems to be a sort of haze over her, " observed Wilbur. 

"I noticed that, air kinda quivers oily-like. No boats, no boats--an'I can't see anybody aboard. " Suddenly Kitchell lowered the glass andturned to Wilbur. He was a different man. There was a new shine inhis eyes, a wicked line appeared over the nose, the jaw grew salient, prognathous. 

"Son, " he exclaimed, gimleting Wilbur with his contracted eyes; "I havereemarked as how you had brains. I kin fool the coolies, but I can'tfool you. It looks to me as if that bark yonder was a derelict; an' doyou know what that means to us? Chaw on it a turn. "

"A derelict?"

"If there's a crew on board they're concealed from the public gaze--an'where are the boats then? I figger she's an abandoned derelict. Do youknow what that means for us--for you and I? It means, " and grippingWilbur by the shoulders, he spoke the word into his face with a savageintensity. "It means salvage, do you savvy?--salvage, salvage. Do youfigger what salvage on a seven-hundred-tonner would come to? Well, justlemmee drop it into your think tank, an' lay to what I say. It's all theways from fifty to seventy thousand dollars, whatever her cargo is; callit sixty thousand--thirty thou' apiece. Oh, I don't know!" he exclaimed, lapsing to landman's slang. "Wha'd I say about a million to one on theunexpected at sea?"

"Thirty thousand!" exclaimed Wilbur, without thought as yet. 

"Now y'r singin' songs, " cried the Captain. "Listen to me, son, " he wenton, rapidly shutting up the glass and thrusting it back in the case;"my name's Kitchell, and I'm hog right through. " He emphasized the wordswith a leveled forefinger, his eyes flashing. "H--O--G spells very trulyyours, Alvinza Kitchell--ninety-nine swine an' me make a hundred swine. I'm a shoat with both feet in the trough, first, last, an' always. If that bark's abandoned, an' I says she is, she's ours. I'm out foranything that there's stuff in. I guess I'm more of a beach-comber bynature than anything else. If she's abandoned she belongs to us. To 'llwith this coolie game. We'll go beach-combin', you and I. We'll boardthat bark and work her into the nearest port--San Diego, I guess--andget the salvage on her if we have to swim in her. Are you with me?" heheld out his hand. The man was positively trembling from head toheel. It was impossible to resist the excitement of the situation, itsnovelty--the high crow's nest of the schooner, the keen salt air, theChinamen grouped far below, the indigo of the warm ocean, and out yonderthe forsaken derelict, rolling her light hull till the garboard streakflashed in the sun. 

"Well, of course, I'm with you, Cap, " exclaimed Wilbur, grippingKitchell's hand. "When there's thirty thousand to be had for the askingI guess I'm a 'na'chel bawn' beach-comber myself. "

"Now, nothing about this to the coolies. "

"But how will you make out with your owners, the Six Companies? Aren'tyou bound to bring the 'Bertha' in?"

"Rot my owners!" exclaimed Kitchell. "I ain't a skipper of no oil-boatany longer. I'm a beach-comber. " He fixed the wallowing bark withglistening eyes. "Gawd strike me, " he murmured, "ain't she a daisy? It'sa little Klondike. Come on, son. "

The two went down the ratlines, and Kitchell ordered a couple of thehands into the dory that had been rowing astern. He and Wilbur followed. Charlie was left on board, with directions to lay the schooner to. Thedory flew over the water, Wilbur setting the stroke. In a few momentsshe was well up with the bark. Though a larger boat than the "BerthaMillner, " she was rolling in lamentable fashion, and every laboringheave showed her bottom incrusted with barnacles and seaweed. 

Her fore and main tops'ls and to'gallants'ls were set, as also were herlower stays'ls and royals. But the braces seemed to have parted, andthe yards were swinging back and forth in their ties. The spanker wasbrailed up, and the spanker boom thrashed idly over the poop as the barkrolled and rolled and rolled. The mainmast was working in its shoe, the rigging and backstays sagged. An air of abandonment, of unspeakableloneliness, of abomination hung about her. Never had Wilbur seenanything more utterly alone. Within three lengths the Captain rose inhis place and shouted:

"Bark ahoy!" There was no answer. Thrice he repeated the call, andthrice the dismal thrashing of the spanker boom and the flapping ofthe sails was the only answer. Kitchell turned to Wilbur in triumph. "Iguess she's ours, " he whispered. They were now close enough to make outthe bark's name upon her counter, "Lady Letty, " and Wilbur was inthe act of reading it aloud, when a huge brown dorsal fin, like thetriangular sail of a lugger, cut the water between the dory and thebark. 

"Shark!" said Kitchell; "and there's another!" he exclaimed in the nextinstant, "and another! Strike me, the water's alive with 'em'! There'sa stiff on the bark, you can lay to that"; and at that, acting on somestrange impulse, he called again, "Bark ahoy!" There was no response. 

The dory was now well up to the derelict, and pretty soon a prolongedand vibratory hissing noise, strident, insistent, smote upon their ears. 

"What's that?" exclaimed Wilbur, perplexed. The Captain shook hishead, and just then, as the bark rolled almost to her scuppers in theirdirection, a glimpse of the deck was presented to their view. It wasonly a glimpse, gone on the instant, as the bark rolled back to port, but it was time enough for Wilbur and the Captain to note the partedand open seams and the deck bulging, and in one corner blown up andsplintered. 

The captain smote a thigh. 

"Coal!" he cried. "Anthracite coal. The coal he't up and generated gas, of course--no fire, y'understand, just gas--gas blew up the deck--no wayof stopping combustion. Naturally they had to cut for it. Smell the gas, can't you? No wonder she's hissing--no wonder she rolled--cargo goesoff in gas--and what's to weigh her down? I was wondering what could 'a'wrecked her in this weather. Lord, it's as plain as Billy-b'damn. "

The dory was alongside. Kitchell watched his chance, and as the barkrolled down caught the mainyard-brace hanging in a bight over therail and swung himself to the deck. "Look sharp!" he called, as Wilburfollowed. "It won't do for you to fall among them shark, son. Just lookat the hundreds of 'em. There's a stiff on board, sure. "

Wilbur steadied himself on the swaying broken deck, choking against thereek of coal-gas that hissed upward on every hand. The heat was almostlike a furnace. Everything metal was intolerable to the touch. 

"She's abandoned, sure, " muttered the Captain. "Look, " and he pointedto the empty chocks on the house and the severed lashings. "Oh, it'sa haul, son; it's a haul, an' you can lay to that. Now, then, cabinfirst, " and he started aft. 

But it was impossible to go into the cabin. The moment the door wasopened suffocating billows of gas rushed out and beat them back. On thethird trial the Captain staggered out, almost overcome with its volume. 

"Can't get in there for a while yet, " he gasped, "but I saw the stiffon the floor by the table; looks like the old man. He's spit his falseteeth out. I knew there was a stiff aboard. "

"Then there's more than one, " said Wilbur. "See there!" From behindthe wheel-box in the stern protruded a hand and forearm in an oilskinsleeve. 

Wilbur ran up, peered over the little space between the wheel and thewheel-box, and looked straight into a pair of eyes--eyes that werealive. Kitchell came up. 

"One left, anyhow, " he muttered, looking over Wilbur's shoulder; "sailorman, though; can't interfere with our salvage. The bark's derelict, right enough. Shake him out of there, son; can't you see the lad's dottywith the gas?"

Cramped into the narrow space of the wheel-box like a terrified hare ina blind burrow was the figure of a young boy. So firmly was he wedgedinto the corner that Kitchell had to kick down the box before he couldbe reached. The boy spoke no word. Stupefied with the gas, he watchedthem with vacant eyes. 

Wilbur put a hand under the lad's arm and got him to his feet. He wasa tall, well-made fellow, with ruddy complexion and milk-blue eyes, andwas dressed, as if for heavy weather, in oilskins. 

"Well, sonny, you've had a fine mess aboard here, " said Kitchell. Theboy--he might have been two and twenty--stared and frowned. 

"Clean loco from the gas. Get him into the dory, son. I'll try thisbloody cabin again. "

Kitchell turned back and descended from the poop, and Wilbur, his armaround the boy, followed. Kitchell was already out of hearing, andWilbur was bracing himself upon the rolling deck, steadying the youngfellow at his side, when the latter heaved a deep breath. His throat andbreast swelled. Wilbur stared sharply, with a muttered exclamation:

"My God, it's a girl!" he said. 

IV. MORAN

Meanwhile Charlie had brought the "Bertha Millner" up to within hailingdistance of the bark, and had hove her to. Kitchell ordered Wilbur toreturn to the schooner and bring over a couple of axes. 

"We'll have to knock holes all through the house, and break in theskylights and let the gas escape before we can do anything. Take the kidover and give him whiskey; then come along back and bear a hand. "

Wilbur had considerable difficulty in getting into the dory from thedeck of the plunging derelict with his dazed and almost helpless charge. Even as he slid down the rope into the little boat and helped the girlto follow, he was aware of two dull, brownish-green shadows moving justbeneath the water's surface not ten feet away, and he knew that he wasbeing stealthily watched. The Chinamen at the oars of the dory, withthat extraordinary absence of curiosity which is the mark of the race, did not glance a second time at the survivor of the "Lady Letty's"misadventure. To them it was evident she was but a for'mast hand. However, Wilbur examined her with extraordinary interest as she sat inthe sternsheets, sullen, half-defiant, half-bewildered, and bereft ofspeech. 

She was not pretty--she was too tall for that--quite as tall as Wilburhimself, and her skeleton was too massive. Her face was red, and theglint of blue ice was in her eyes. Her eyelashes and eyebrows, as wellas the almost imperceptible down that edged her cheek when she turnedagainst the light, were blond almost to whiteness. What beauty she hadwas of the fine, hardy Norse type. Her hands were red and hard, and evenbeneath the coarse sleeve of the oilskin coat one could infer that thebiceps and deltoids were large and powerful. She was coarse-fibred, nodoubt, mentally as well as physically, but her coarseness, so Wilburguessed, would prove to be the coarseness of a primitive rather than ofa degenerate character. 

One thing he saw clearly during the few moments of the dory's tripbetween bark and schooner--the fact that his charge was a woman mustbe kept from Captain Kitchell. Wilbur knew his man by now. It could bedone. Kitchell and he would take the "Lady Letty" into the nearest portas soon as possible. The deception would have to be maintained only fora day or two. 

He left the girl on board the schooner and returned to the derelict withthe axes. He found Kitchell on the house, just returned from a hastysurvey of the prize. 

"She's a daisy, " vociferated the Captain, as Wilbur came aboard. "I've been havin' a look 'round. She's brand-new. See the date on thecapst'n-head? Christiania is her hailin' port--built there; but it's herpapers I'm after. Then we'll know where we're at. How's the kid?"

"She's all right, " answered Wilbur, before he could collect histhoughts. But the Captain thought he had reference to the "Bertha. "

"I mean the kid we found in the wheel-box. He doesn't count in oursalvage. The bark's been abandoned as plain as paint. If I thought hestood in our way, " and Kitchell's jaw grew salient. "I'd shut him inthe cabin with the old man a spell, till he'd copped off. Now then, son, first thing to do is to chop vents in this yere house. "

"Hold up--we can do better than that, " said Wilbur, restrainingKitchell's fury of impatience. "Slide the big skylight off--it's loosealready. "

A couple of the schooner's hands were ordered aboard the "Lady Letty, "and the skylight removed. At first the pour of gas was terrific, but bydegrees it abated, and at the end of half an hour Kitchell could keepback no longer. 

"Come on!" he cried, catching up an axe; "rot the difference. " Allthe plundering instincts of the man were aroused and clamoring. He hadbecome a very wolf within scent of its prey--a veritable hyena nuzzlingabout its carrion. 

"Lord!" he gasped, "t' think that everything we see, everything we find, is ours!"

Wilbur himself was not far behind him in eagerness. Somewhere deep downin the heart of every Anglo-Saxon lies the predatory instinct of hisViking ancestors--an instinct that a thousand years of respectabilityand taxpaying have not quite succeeded in eliminating. 

A flight of six steps, brass-bound and bearing the double L of thebark's monogram, led them down into a sort of vestibule. From thevestibule a door opened directly into the main cabin. They entered. 

The cabin was some twenty feet long and unusually spacious. Fresh fromhis recollection of the grime and reek of the schooner, it struck Wilburas particularly dainty. It was painted white with stripes of blue, goldand pea-green. On either side three doors opened off into staterooms andprivate cabins, and with each roll of the derelict these doors bangedlike an irregular discharge of revolvers. In the centre was thedining-table, covered with a red cloth, very much awry. On each side ofthe table were four arm chairs, screwed to the deck, one somewhat largerat the head. Overhead, in swinging racks, were glasses and decanters ofwhiskey and some kind of white wine. But for one feature the sight ofthe "Letty's" cabin was charming. However, on the floor by the slidingdoor in the forward bulkhead lay a body, face upward. 

The body was that of a middle-aged, fine-looking man, his head coveredwith the fur, ear-lapped cap that Norwegians affect, even in thetropics. The eyes were wide open, the face discolored. In the last gaspof suffocation the set of false teeth had been forced half-way outof his mouth, distorting the countenance with a hideous simian grin. Instantly Kitchell's eye was caught by the glint of the gold in whichthese teeth were set. 

"Here's about $100 to begin with, " he exclaimed, and picking up theteeth, dropped them into his pocket with a wink at Wilbur. The body ofthe dead Captain was passed up through the skylight and slid out on thedeck, and Wilbur and Kitchell turned their attention to what had beenhis stateroom. 

The Captain's room was the largest one of the six staterooms openingfrom the main cabin. 

"Here we are!" exclaimed Kitchell as he and Wilbur entered. "The oldman's room, and no mistake. "

Besides the bunk, the stateroom was fitted up with a lounge of red plushscrewed to the bulkhead. A roll of charts leaned in one corner, an alarmclock, stopped at 1:15, stood on a shelf in the company of some dozenpaper-covered novels and a drinking-glass full of cigars. Over thelounge, however, was the rack of instruments, sextant, barometer, chronometer, glass, and the like, securely screwed down, while againstthe wall, in front of a swivel leather chair that was ironed to thedeck, was the locked secretary. 

"Look at 'em, just look at 'em, will you!" said Kitchell, running hisfingers lovingly over the polished brass of the instruments. "There'sa thousand dollars of stuff right here. The chronometer's worth fivehundred alone, Bennett & Sons' own make. " He turned to the secretary. 

"Now!" he exclaimed with a long breath. 

What followed thrilled Wilbur with alternate excitement, curiosity, anda vivid sense of desecration and sacrilege. For the life of him hecould not make the thing seem right or legal in his eyes, and yet he hadneither the wish nor the power to stay his hand or interfere with whatKitchell was doing. 

The Captain put the blade of the axe in the chink of the secretary'sdoor and wrenched it free. It opened down to form a sort of desk, anddisclosed an array of cubby-holes and two small doors, both locked. These latter Kitchell smashed in with the axe-head. Then he seatedhimself in the swivel chair and began to rifle their contentssystematically, Wilbur leaning over his shoulder. 

The heat from the coal below them was almost unbearable. In the cabinthe six doors kept up a continuous ear-shocking fusillade, as thoughhalf a dozen men were fighting with revolvers; from without, down theopen skylight, came the sing-song talk of the Chinamen and the washand ripple of the two vessels, now side by side. The air, foul beyondexpression, tasted of brass, their heads swam and ached to bursting, butabsorbed in their work they had no thought of the lapse of time nor thediscomfort of their surroundings. Twice during the examination of thebark's papers, Kitchell sent Wilbur out into the cabin for the whiskeydecanter in the swinging racks. 

"Here's the charter papers, " said Kitchell, unfolding and spreading themout one by one; "and here's the clearing papers from Blyth in England. This yere's the insoorance, and here, this is--rot that, nothin' but thearticles for the crew--no use to us. "

In a separate envelope, carefully sealed and bound, they came upon theCaptain's private papers. A marriage certificate setting forth the unionbetween Eilert Sternersen, of Fruholmen, Norway, and Sarah Moran, ofsome seaport town (the name was indecipherable) of the North ofEngland. Next came a birth certificate of a daughter named Moran, datedtwenty-two years back, and a bill of sale of the bark "Lady Letty, "whereby a two-thirds interest was conveyed from the previous owners (ashipbuilding firm of Christiania) to Capt. Eilert Sternersen. 

"The old man was his own boss, " commented Kitchell. "Hello!" heremarked, "look here"; a yellowed photograph was in his hand the pictureof a stout, fair-haired woman of about forty, wearing enormous pendantearrings in the style of the early sixties. Below was written: "S. MoranSternersen, ob. 1867. "

"Old woman copped off, " said Kitchell, "so much the better for us; noheirs to put in their gab; an'--hold hard--steady all--here's the will, s'help me. "

The only items of importance in the will were the confirmation of thewife's death and the expressly stated bequest of "the bark known asand sailing under the name of the 'Lady Letty' to my only and beloveddaughter, Moran. "

"Well, " said Wilbur. 

The Captain sucked his mustache, then furiously, striking the desk withhis fist:

"The bark's ours!" there was a certain ring of defiance in his voice. "Damn the will! I ain't so cock-sure about the law, but I'll make sure. "

"As how?" said Wilbur. 

Kitchell slung the will out of the open port into the sea. 

"That's how, " he remarked. "I'm the heir. I found the bark; mine she is, an' mine she stays--yours an' mine, that is. "

But Wilbur had not even time to thoroughly enjoy the satisfaction thatthe Captain's words conveyed, before an idea suddenly presenteditself to him. The girl he had found on board of the bark, the ruddy, fair-haired girl of the fine and hardy Norse type--that was thedaughter, of course; that was "Moran. " Instantly the situation adjusteditself in his imagination. The two inseparables father and daughter, sailors both, their lives passed together on ship board, and the "LadyLetty" their dream, their ambition, a vessel that at last they couldcall their own. 

Then this disastrous voyage--perhaps the first in their new craft--thecombustion in the coal--the panic terror of the crew and their desertionof the bark, and the sturdy resolution of the father and daughter tobring the "Letty" in--to work her into port alone. They had failed; thefather had died from gas; the girl, at least for the moment, was crazedfrom its effects. But the bark had not been abandoned. The owner was onboard. Kitchell was wrong; she was no derelict; not one penny could theygain by her salvage. 

For an instant a wave of bitterest disappointment passed over Wilburas he saw his $30, 000 dwindling to nothing. Then the instincts ofhabit reasserted themselves. The taxpayer in him was stronger than thefreebooter, after all. He felt that it was his duty to see to itthat the girl had her rights. Kitchell must be made aware of thesituation--must be told that Moran, the daughter, the Captain's heir, was on board the schooner; that the "kid" found in the wheel-box was agirl. But on second thought that would never do. Above all things, thebrute Kitchell must not be shown that a girl was aboard the schooner onwhich he had absolute command, nor, setting the question of Moran's sexaside, must Kitchell know her even as the dead Captain's heir. There wasa difference in the men here, and Wilbur appreciated it. Kitchell, thelaw-abiding taxpayer, was a weakling in comparison with Kitchell, thefree-booter and beach-comber in sight of his prize. 

"Son, " said the Captain, making a bundle of all the papers, "take theseover to my bunk and hide 'em under the donkey's breakfast. Stop a bit, "he added, as Wilbur started away. "I'll go with you. We'll have to burythe old man. "

Throughout all the afternoon the Captain had been drinking the whiskeyfrom the decanter found in the cabin; now he stood up unsteadily, and, raising his glass, exclaimed:

"Sonny, here's to Kitchell, Wilbur & Co. , beach-combers, unlimited. Whatdo you say, hey?"

"I only want to be sure that we've a right to the bark, " answeredWilbur. 

"Right to her--ri-hight to 'er, " hiccoughed the Captain. "Strike meblind, I'd like to see any one try'n take her away from Alvinza Kitchellnow, " and he thrust out his chin at Wilbur. 

"Well, so much the better, then, " said Wilbur, pocketing the papers. Thepair ascended to the deck. 

The burial of Captain Sternersen was a dreadful business. Kitchell, fargone in whiskey, stood on the house issuing his orders, drinking fromone of the decanters he had brought up with him. He had already rifledthe dead man's pockets, and had even taken away the boots and fur-linedcap. Cloths were cut from the spanker and rolled around the body. ThenKitchell ordered the peak halyards unrove and used as lashings to tiethe canvas around the corpse. The red and white flags (the distresssignals) were still bound on the halyards. 

"Leave 'em on. Leave 'em on, " commanded Kitchell. "Use 'm as a shrou'. All ready now, stan' by to let her go. "

Wilbur looked over at the schooner and noted with immense relief thatMoran was not in sight. Suddenly an abrupt reaction took place in theCaptain's addled brain. 

"Can't bury 'um 'ithout 'is teeth, " he gabbled solemnly. He laid backthe canvas and replaced the set. "Ole man'd ha'nt me 'f I kep' 's teeth. Strike! look a' that, I put 'em in upside down. Nev' min', upsi' down, downsi' up, whaz odds, all same with ole Bill, hey, ole Bill, all samewith you, hey?" Suddenly he began to howl with laughter "T' think abein' buried with y'r teeth upsi' down. Oh, mee, but that's a goodgrind. Stan' by to heave ole Uncle Bill over--ready, heave, an' away shegoes. " He ran to the side, waving his hat and looking over. "Goo'-by, ole Bill, by-by. There you go, an' the signal o' distress roun' you, H. B. 'I'm in need of assistance. ' Lord, here comes the sharks--look! look!look at um fight! look at um takin' ole Bill! I'm in need of assistance. I sh'd say you were, ole Bill. "

Wilbur looked once over the side in the churning, lashing water, thendrew back, sick to vomiting. But in less than thirty seconds the waterwas quiet. Not a shark was in sight. 

"Get over t' the 'Bertha' with those papers, son, " ordered Kitchell;"I'll bide here and dig up sh' mor' loot. I'll gut this ole pill-boxfrom stern to stem-post 'fore I'll leave. I won't leave a copper rivetin 'er, notta co'er rivet, dyhear?" he shouted, his face purple withunnecessary rage. 

Wilbur returned to the schooner with the two Chinamen, leaving Kitchellalone on the bark. He found the girl sitting by the rudderhead almost ashe had left her, looking about her with vague, unseeing eyes. 

"You name is Moran, isn't it?" he asked. "Moran Sternersen. "

"Yes, " she said, after a pause, then looked curiously at a bit of tarredrope on the deck. Nothing more could be got out of her. Wilbur talkedto her at length, and tried to make her understand the situation, but itwas evident she did not follow. However, at each mention of her name shewould answer:

"Yes, yes, I'm Moran. "

Wilbur turned away from her, biting his nether lip in perplexity. 

"Now, what am I going to do?" he muttered. "What a situation! If I tellthe Captain, it's all up with the girl. If he didn't kill her, he'd doworse--might do both. If I don't tell him, there goes her birthright, $60, 000, and she alone in the world. It's begun to go already, " headded, listening to the sounds that came from the bark. Kitchell wasraging to and fro in the cabin in a frenzy of drink, axe in hand, smashing glassware, hacking into the wood-work, singing the while at thetop of his voice:

 "As through the drop I go, drop I go, As through the drop I go, drop I go, As through the drop I go, Down to hell that yawns below, Twenty stiffs all in a row Damn your eyes"

"That's the kind of man I have to deal with, " muttered Wilbur. "It'sencouraging, and there's no one to talk to. Not much help in a Chinamanand a crazy girl in a man's oilskins. It's about the biggest situationyou ever faced, Ross Wilbur, and you're all alone. What the devil areyou going to do?"

He acknowledged with considerable humiliation that he could not get thebetter of Kitchell, either physically or mentally. Kitchell was a morepowerful man than he, and cleverer. The Captain was in his element now, and he was the commander. On shore it would have been vastly different. The city-bred fellow, with a policeman always in call, would have knownhow to act. 

"I simply can't stand by and see that hog plundering everything she'sgot. What's to be done?"

And suddenly, while the words were yet in his mouth, the sun was wipedfrom the sky like writing from a slate, the horizon blackened, vanished, a long white line of froth whipped across the sea and came on hissing. Ahollow note boomed out, boomed, swelled, and grew rapidly to a roar. 

An icy chill stabbed the air. Then the squall swooped and struck, andthe sky shut down over the troubled ocean like a pot-lid over a boilingpot. The schooner's fore and main sheets, that had not been made fast, unrove at the first gust and began to slat wildly in the wind. TheChinamen cowered to the decks, grasping at cleats, stays, and masts. They were helpless--paralyzed with fear. Charlie clung to a stay, onearm over his head, as though dodging a blow. Wilbur gripped the railwith his hands where he stood, his teeth set, his eyes wide, waitingfor the foundering of the schooner, his only thought being that the endcould not be far. He had heard of the suddenness of tropical squalls, but this had come with the abruptness of a scene-shift at a play. Theschooner veered broad-on to the waves. It was the beginning of theend--another roll to the leeward like the last and the Pacific wouldcome aboard. 

"And you call yourselves sailor men! Are you going to drown like ratson a plank?" A voice that Wilbur did not know went ringing through thathorrid shouting of wind and sea like the call of a bugle. He turnedto see Moran, the girl of the "Lady Letty, " standing erect upon thequarterdeck, holding down the schooner's wheel. The confusion of thatdreadful moment, that had paralyzed the crew's senses, had brought backhers. She was herself again, savage, splendid, dominant, superb, in herwrath at their weakness, their cowardice. 

Her heavy brows were knotted over her flaming eyes, her hat was gone, and her thick bands of yellow hair whipped across her face and streamedout in the wind like streamers of the northern lights. As she shouted, gesturing furiously to the men, the loose sleeve of the oilskin coatfell back, and showed her forearm, strong, round, and white as scud, the hand and wrist so tanned as to look almost like a glove. And all thewhile she shouted aloud, furious with indignation, raging against thesupineness of the "Bertha's" crew. 

"Stand by, men! stand by! Look alive, now! Make fast the stays'lhalyards to the dory's warp! Now, then, unreeve y'r halyards! all clearthere! pass the end for'd outside the rigging! outside! you fools! Makefast to the bits for'ard--let go y'r line--that'll do. Soh--soh. There, she's coming up. "

The dory had been towing astern, and the seas combing over her hadswamped her. Moran had been inspired to use the swamped boat as asea-anchor, fastening her to the schooner's bow instead of to the stern. The "Bertha's" bow, answering to the drag, veered around. The "Bertha"stood head to the seas, riding out the squall. It was a masterpiece ofseamanship, conceived and executed in the very thick of peril, and itsaved the schooner. 

But there was little time to think of themselves. On board the bark thesails were still set. The squall struck the "Lady Letty" squarely aback. She heeled over upon the instant; then as the top hamper carried awaywith a crash, eased back a moment upon an even keel. But her cargo hadshifted. The bark was doomed. Through the flying spray and scud and rainWilbur had a momentary glimpse of Kitchell, hacking at the lanyards withhis axe. Then the "Lady Letty" capsized, going over till her mastswere flat with the water, and in another second rolled bottom up. Fora moment her keel and red iron bottom were visible through the mist ofdriving spoon-drift. Suddenly they sank from sight. She was gone. 

And then, like the rolling up of a scroll, the squall passed, the sunreturned, the sky burned back to blue, the ruggedness was smoothedfrom the ocean, and the warmth of the tropics closed around the "BerthaMillner, " once more rolling easily on the swell of the ocean. 

Of the "Lady Letty" and the drunken beach-combing Captain not a traceremained. Kitchell had gone down with his prize. The "Bertha Millner's"Chinese crew huddled forward, talking wildly, pointing and looking in abewildered fashion over the sides. 

Wilbur and Moran were left alone on the open Pacific. 

V. A Girl Captain

When Wilbur came on deck the morning after the sinking of the bark hewas surprised to find the schooner under way again. Wilbur and Charliehad berthed forward during that night--Charlie with the hands, Wilbur inthe Captain's hammock. The reason for this change of quarters hadbeen found in a peremptory order from Moran during the dog-watch thepreceding evening. 

She had looked squarely at Wilbur from under her scowl, and had saidbriefly and in a fine contralto voice, that he had for the firsttime noted: "I berth aft, in the cabin; you and the Chinaman forward. Understand?"

Moran had only forestalled Wilbur's intention; while after her almostmiraculous piece of seamanship in the rescue of the schooner, Charlie and the Chinese crew accorded her a respect that was almostsuperstitious. 

Wilbur met her again at breakfast. She was still wearing men'sclothing--part of Kitchell's outfit--and was booted to the knee; but nowshe wore no hat, and her enormous mane of rye-colored hair was braidedinto long strands near to the thickness of a man's arm. The redness ofher face gave a startling effect to her pale blue eyes and sandy, heavyeyebrows, that easily lowered to a frown. She ate with her knife, andafter pushing away her plate Wilbur observed that she drank half atumbler of whiskey and water. 

The conversation between the two was tame enough. There was no commonground upon which they could meet. To her father's death--no doubt anold matter even before her rescue--she made no allusion. Her attitudetoward Wilbur was one of defiance and suspicion. Only once did sherelax:

"How did you come to be aboard here with these rat-eaters--you're nosailor?" she said abruptly. 

"Huh!" laughed Wilbur, mirthlessly; "huh! I was shanghaied. "

Moran smote the table with a red fist, and shouted with sonorous, bell-toned laughter. 

"Shanghaied?--you? Now, that is really good. And what are you going todo now?"

"What are you going to do?"

"Signal the first home-bound vessel and be taken into Frisco. I've myinsurance to collect (Wilbur had given her the 'Letty's' papers) and thedisaster to report. "

"Well, I'm not keen on shark-hunting myself, " said Wilbur. But Moranshowed no interest in his plans. 

However, they soon found that they were not to be permitted to signal. At noon the same day the schooner sighted a steamship's smoke on thehorizon, and began to raise her rapidly. Moran immediately bound on theensign, union down, and broke it out at the peak. 

Charlie, who was at the wheel, spoke a sentence in Chinese, and one ofthe hands drew his knife across the halyards and brought the distresssignal to the deck. Moran turned upon Charlie with an oath, her browsknitted. 

"No! No!" sang Charlie, closing his eyes and wagging his head. "No!Too muchee los' time; no can stop. You come downside cabin; you an'one-piece boss number two (this was Wilbur) have um chin-chin. "

The odd conclave assembled about Kitchell's table--the club-man, thehalf-masculine girl in men's clothes, and the Chinaman. The conferencewas an angry one, Wilbur and Moran insisting that they be put aboard thesteamship, Charlie refusing with calm obstinacy. 

"I have um chin-chin with China boys las' nigh'. China boy heap flaid, no can stop um steamship. Heap flaid too much talkee-talkee. No stop; gofish now; go fish chop-chop. Los' heap time; go fish. I no savvy sailum boat, China boy no savvy sail um boat. I tink um you savvy (and hepointed to Moran). I tink um you savvy plenty heap much disa bay. Bossnumber two, him no savvy sail um boat, but him savvy plenty many allsame. '

"And we're to stop on board your dough-dish and navigate her for you?"shouted Moran, her face blazing. 

Charlie nodded blandly: "I tink um yass. "

"And when we get back to port, " exclaimed Wilbur, "you think, perhapsI--we won't make it interesting for you?"

Charlie smiled. 

"I tink um Six Company heap rich. "

"Well, get along, " ordered Moran, as though the schooner was herproperty, "and we'll talk it over. "

"China boy like you heap pretty big, " said Charlie to Moran, as he wentout. "You savvy sail um boat all light; wanta you fo' captain. But, " headded, suddenly dropping his bland passivity as though he wore a mask, and for an instant allowing the wicked malevolent Cantonese to come tothe surface, "China boy no likee funnee business, savvy?" Then with asmile of a Talleyrand he disappeared. 

Moran and Wilbur were helpless for the present. They were but twoagainst seven Chinamen. They must stay on board, if the coolies wishedit; and if they were to stay it was a matter of their own personalsafety that the "Bertha Millner" should be properly navigated. 

"I'll captain her, " concluded Moran, sullenly, at the end of their talk. "You must act as mate, Mr. Wilbur. And don't get any mistaken idea intoyour head that, because I'm a young girl and alone, you are going to runthings your way. I don't like funny business any better than Charlie. "

"Look here, " said Wilbur, complaining, "don't think I'm altogether avillain. I think you're a ripping fine girl. You're different from anykind of girl I ever met, of course, but you, by jingo, you're--you'resplendid. There in the squall last evening, when you stood at the wheel, with your hair--"

"Oh, drop that!" said the girl, contemptuously, and went up on deck. Wilbur followed, scratching an ear. 

Charlie was called aft and their decision announced. Moran wouldnavigate the "Bertha Millner, " Wilbur and she taking the watches. Charlie promised that he would answer for the obedience of the men. 

Their first concern now was to shape their course for Magdalena Bay. Moran and Wilbur looked over Kitchell's charts and log-book, but thegirl flung them aside disdainfully. 

"He's been sailing by the dead reckoning, and his navigation is drivel. Why, a cabin-boy would know better; and, to end with, the chronometeris run down. I'll have to get Green'ich time by taking the altitude ofa star to-night, and figure out our longitude. Did you bring off oursextant?"

Wilbur shook his head. "Only the papers, " he said. 

"There's only an old ebony quadrant here, " said Moran, "but it will haveto do. "

That night, lying flat on her back on the deck with a quadrant to hereye, she "got a star and brought it down to the horizon, " and sat upunder the reeking lamp in the cabin nearly the whole night ciphering andciphering till she had filled up the four sides of the log-slate withher calculations. However, by daylight she had obtained the correctGreenwich time and worked the schooner's longitude. 

Two days passed, then a third. Moran set the schooner's course. She keptalmost entirely to herself, and when not at the wheel or taking the sunor writing up the log, gloomed over the after-rail into the schooner'swake. Wilbur knew not what to think of her. Never in his life had hemet with any girl like this. So accustomed had she been to the rough, give-and-take, direct associations of a seafaring life that shemisinterpreted well-meant politeness--the only respect he knew howto pay her--to mean insidious advances. She was suspicious ofhim--distrusted him utterly, and openly ridiculed his abortiveseamanship. Pretty she was not, but she soon began to have a certainamount of attraction for Wilbur. He liked her splendid ropes of hair, her heavy contralto voice, her fine animal strength of bone and muscle(admittedly greater than his own); he admired her indomitable courageand self-reliance, while her positive genius in the matters ofseamanship and navigation filled him with speechless wonder. The girlshe had been used to were clever only in their knowledge of the amenitiesof an afternoon call or the formalities of a paper german. A girl oftwo-and-twenty who could calculate longitude from the altitude of astar was outside his experience. The more he saw of her the more heknew himself to have been right in his first estimate. She drankwhiskey after her meals, and when angry, which was often, swore like abuccaneer. As yet she was almost, as one might say, without sex--savage, unconquered, untamed, glorying in her own independence, her sullenisolation. Her neck was thick, strong, and very white, her handsroughened and calloused. In her men's clothes she looked tall, vigorous, and unrestrained, and on more than one occasion, as Wilbur passedclose to her, he was made aware that her hair, her neck, her entirepersonality exhaled a fine, sweet, natural redolence that savored of theocean and great winds. 

One day, as he saw her handling a huge water-barrel by the chines only, with a strength he knew to be greater than his own, her brows contractedwith the effort, her hair curling about her thick neck, her large, roundarms bare to the elbow, a sudden thrill of enthusiasm smote through him, and between his teeth he exclaimed to himself:

"By Jove, you're a woman!"

The "Bertha Millner" continued to the southward, gliding quietly overthe oil-smoothness of the ocean under airs so light as hardly to rufflethe surface. Sometimes at high noon the shimmer of the ocean floorblended into the shimmer of the sky at the horizon, and then it was nolonger water and blue heavens; the little craft seemed to be poised ina vast crystalline sphere, where there was neither height nordepth--poised motionless in warm, coruscating, opalescent space, alonewith the sun. 

At length one morning the schooner, which for the preceding twenty-fourhours had been heading eastward, raised the land, and by the middleof the afternoon had come up to within a mile of a low, sandy shore, quivering with heat, and had tied up to the kelp in Magdalena Bay. 

Charlie now took over entire charge of operations. For two days previousthe Chinese hands had been getting out the deck-tubs, tackles, gaffs, spades, and the other shark-fishing gear that had been stowedforward. The sails were lowered and gasketed, the decks cleared of allimpedimenta, hogsheads and huge vats stood ready in the waist, and thelazy indolence of the previous week was replaced by an extraordinaryactivity. 

The day after their arrival in the bay was occupied by all hands incatching bait. This bait was a kind of rock-fish, of a beautiful redgold color, and about the size of an ordinary cod. They bit readilyenough, but out of every ten hooked three were taken off the lines bythe sharks before they could be brought aboard. Another difficulty layin the fact that, either because of the excessive heat in the air or thepercentage of alkali in the water, they spoiled almost immediately ifleft in the air. 

Turtle were everywhere--floating gray-green disks just under thesurface. Sea-birds in clouds clamored all day long about the shore andsand-pits. At long intervals flying-fish skittered over the water likeskipping-stones. Shoals of porpoises came in from outside, leapingclumsily along the edges of the kelp. Bewildered land-birds perched onthe schooner's rigging, and in the early morning the whistling of quailcould be heard on shore near where a little fresh-water stream ran downto meet the ocean. 

It was Wilbur who caught the first shark on the second morning ofthe "Bertha's" advent in Magdalena Bay. A store of bait had beenaccumulated, split and halved into chunks for the shark-hooks, andWilbur, baiting one of the huge lines that had been brought up on deckthe evening before, flung it overboard, and watched the glimmer of thewhite fish-meat turning to a silvery green as it sank down among thekelp. Almost instantly a long moving shadow, just darker than theblue-green mass of the water, identified itself at a little distance. 

Enormous flukes proceeded from either side, an erect dorsal fin, likean enormous cock's crest, rose from the back, while immediately over thehead swam the two pilot-fish, following so closely the movement of theshark as to give the impression of actually adhering to his body. Twiceand three times the great man-eater twelve feet from snout to tail-tip, circled slowly about the bait, the flukes moving fan-like through thewater. Once he came up, touched the bait with his nose, and backedeasily away. He disappeared, returned, and poised himself motionless inthe schooner's shadow, feeling the water with his flukes. 

Moran was looking over Wilbur's shoulder. "He's as good as caught, " shemuttered; "once let them get sight of meat, and--Steady now!" The sharkmoved forward. Suddenly, with a long, easy roll, he turned completelyupon his back. His white belly flashed like silver in the water--thebait disappeared. 

"You've got him!" shouted Moran. 

The rope slid through Wilbur's palms, burning the skin as the hugesea-wolf sounded. Moran laid hold. The heavy, sullen wrenching frombelow twitched and swayed their bodies and threw them against eachother. Her bare, cool arm was pressed close over his knuckles. 

"Heave!" she cried, laughing with the excitement of the moment. "Heaveall!"--she began the chant of sailors hauling at the ropes. Together, and bracing their feet against the schooner's rail, they fought out thefight with the great fish. In a swirl of lather the head and shoulderscame above the surface, the flukes churning the water till it boiledlike the wake of a screw steamship. But as soon as these great fins wereclear of the surface the shark fell quiet and helpless. 

Charlie came up with the cutting-in spade, and as the fish hung stillover the side, cut him open from neck to belly with a single movement. Another Chinaman stood by with a long-handled gaff, hooked out thepurple-black liver, brought it over the side, and dropped it into one ofthe deck-tubs. The shark thrashed and writhed, his flukes quivering andhis gills distended. Wilbur could not restrain an exclamation. 

"Brutal business!" he muttered. 

"Hoh!" exclaimed Moran, scornfully, "cutting-in is too good for him. Sailor-folk are no friends of such carrion as that. "

Other lines were baited and dropped overboard, and the hands settledthemselves to the real business of the expedition. There was no skillin the matter. The sharks bit ravenously, and soon swarmed about theschooner in hundreds. Hardly a half minute passed that one of the fourChinamen that were fishing did not signal a catch, and Charlie and Jimwere kept busy with spade and gaff. By noon the deck-tubs were full. Thelines were hauled in, and the hands set the tubs in the sun to try outthe oil. Under the tropical heat the shark livers almost visibly meltedaway, and by four o'clock in the afternoon the tubs were full of athick, yellow oil, the reek of which instantly recalled to Wilbur'smind the rancid smell of the schooner on the day when he had first comeaboard of her. The deck-tubs were emptied into the hogsheads and vatsthat stood in the waist of the "Bertha, " the tubs scoured, and the linesand bent shark-hooks overhauled. Charlie disappeared in the galley, supper was cooked, and eaten upon deck under the conflagration of thesunset; the lights were set, the Chinamen foregathered in the fo'c'stlehead, smoking opium, and by eight o'clock the routine of the day was atan end. 

So the time passed. In a short time Wilbur could not have said whetherthe day was Wednesday or Sunday. He soon tired of the unsportsmanlikework of killing the sluggish brutes, and turned shoreward to relieve themonotony of the succeeding days. He and Moran were left a good deal totheir own devices. Charlie was the master of the men now. "Mate, " saidMoran to Wilbur one day, after a dinner of turtle steaks and fish, eatenin the open air on the quarterdeck; "mate, this is slow work, and theschooner smells terribly foul. We'll have the dory out and go ashore. Wecan tumble a cask into her and get some water. The butt's three-quartersempty. Let's see how it feels to be in Mexico. "

"Mexico?" said Wilbur. "That's so--Lower California is Mexico. I'dforgotten that!"

They went ashore and spent the afternoon in filling the water-cask fromthe fresh-water stream and in gathering abalones, which Moran declaredwere delicious eating, from the rocks left bare by the tide. Butnothing could have exceeded the loneliness of that shore and backland, palpitating under the flogging of a tropical sun. Low hills of sand, covered with brush, stretched back from the shore. On the easternhorizon, leagues distant, blue masses of mountain striated with miragesswam in the scorching air. 

The sand was like fire to the touch. Far out in the bay the schoonerhung motionless under bare sticks, resting apparently upon her invertedshadow only. And that was all--the flat, heat-ridden land, the sheen ofthe open Pacific, and the lonely schooner. 

"Quiet enough, " said Wilbur, in a low voice, wondering if there was sucha place as San Francisco, with its paved streets and cable cars, and ifpeople who had been his friends there had ever had any real existence. 

"Do you like it?" asked Moran quickly, facing him, her thumbs in herbelt. 

"It's good fun--how about you?"

"It's no different than the only life I've known. I suppose you thinkit s a queer kind of life for a girl. I've lived by doing things, notby thinking things, or reading about what other people have done orthought; and I guess it's what you do that counts, rather than what youthink or read about. Where's that pinch-bar? We'll get a couple moreabalones for supper, and then put off. "

That was the only talk of moment they had during the afternoon. All therest of their conversation had been of those things that immediatelyoccupied their attention. 

They regained the schooner toward five o'clock, to find the Chinamenperplexed and mystified. No explanation was forthcoming, and Charliegave them supper in preoccupied silence. As they were eating theabalones, which Moran had fried in batter, Charlie said:

"Shark all gone! No more catch um--him all gone. "

"Gone--why?"

"No savvy, " said Charlie. "No likee, no likee. China boy tink um heapfunny, too much heap funny. "

It was true. During all the next day not a shark was in sight, andthough the crew fished assiduously till dark, they were rewarded by notso much as a bite. No one could offer any explanation. 

"'Tis strange, " said Moran. "Never heard of shark leaving this feedbefore. And you can see with half an eye that the hands don't likethe looks of it. Superstitious beggars! they need to be clumped in thehead. "

That same night Wilbur woke in his hammock on the fo'c'stle head abouthalf-past two. The moon was down, the sky one powder of stars. There wasnot a breath of wind. It was so still that he could hear some largefish playing and breaking off toward the shore. Then, without the leastwarning, he felt the schooner begin to lift under him. He rolled out ofhis hammock and stood on the deck. There could be no doubt of it--thewhole forepart was rising beneath him. He could see the bowsprit movingupward from star to star. Still the schooner lifted; objects on deckbegan to slide aft; the oil in the deck-tubs washed over; then, as therecame a wild scrambling of the Chinese crew up the fo'c'stle hatch, shesettled again gradually at first, then, with an abrupt lurch that almostthrew him from his feet, regained her level. Moran met him in the waist. Charlie came running aft. 

"What was that? Are we grounding? Has she struck?"

"No, no; we're still fast to the kelp. Was it a tidal wave?"

"Nonsense. It wouldn't have handled us that way. "

"Well, what was it? Listen! For God's sake keep quiet there forward!"

Wilbur looked over the side into the water. The ripples were stillchasing themselves away from the schooner. There was nothing else. Thestillness shut down again. There was not a sound. 

VI. A SEA MYSTERY

In spite of his best efforts at self-control, Wilbur felt a slow, coldclutch at his heart. That sickening, uncanny lifting of the schooner outof the glassy water, at a time when there was not enough wind to somuch as wrinkle the surface, sent a creep of something very like horrorthrough all his flesh. 

Again he peered over the side, down into the kelp-thickened sea. Nothing--not a breath of air was stirring. The gray light that floodeddown from the stars showed not a break upon the surface of MagdalenaBay. On shore, nothing moved. 

"Quiet there, forward, " called Moran to the shrill-voiced coolies. 

The succeeding stillness was profound. All on board listened intently. The water dripped like the ticking of a clock from the "BerthaMillner's" stern, which with the rising of the bow had sunk almost tothe rail. There was no other sound. 

"Strange, " muttered Moran, her brows contracting. 

Charlie broke the silence with a wail: "No likee, no likee!" he cried attop voice. 

The man had gone suddenly green; Wilbur could see the shine of his eyesdistended like those of a harassed cat. As he, Moran, and Wilbur stoodin the schooner's waist, staring at each other, the smell of punk cameto their nostrils. Forward, the coolies were already burning joss-stickson the fo'castle head, kowtowing their foreheads to the deck. 

Moran went forward and kicked them to their feet and hurled theirjoss-sticks into the sea. 

"Feng shui! Feng shui!" they exclaimed with bated breaths. "The Fengshui no likee we. "

Low in the east the horizon began to blacken against the sky. It wasearly morning. A watch was set, the Chinamen sent below, and untildaybreak, when Charlie began to make a clattering of tins in the galleyas he set about preparing breakfast, Wilbur paced the rounds ofthe schooner, looking, listening, and waiting again for that slow, horrifying lift. But the rest of the night was without incident. 

After breakfast, the strangely assorted trio--Charlie, Moran, andWilbur--held another conference in the cabin. It was decided to move theschooner to the other side of the bay. 

"Feng shui in disa place, no likee we, " announced Charlie. 

"Feng shui, who are they?"

Charlie promptly became incoherent on this subject, and Moran and Wilburcould only guess that the Feng shui were the tutelary deities thatpresided over that portion of Magdalena Bay. At any rate, there wereevidently no more shark to be caught in that fishing-ground; so sailwas made, and by noon the "Bertha Millner" tied up to the kelp on theopposite side of the inlet, about half a mile from the shore. 

The shark were plentiful here and the fishing went forward again asbefore. Certain of these shark were hauled aboard, stunned by a blow onthe nose, and their fins cut off. The Chinamen packed these fins away inseparate kegs. Eventually they would be sent to China. 

Two or three days passed. The hands kept steadily at their work. Nothing more occurred to disturb the monotony of the scorching days andsoundless nights; the schooner sat as easily on the unbroken wateras though built to the bottom. Soon the night watch was discontinued. During these days the three officers lived high. Turtle were plentiful, and what with their steaks and soups, the fried abalones, the sea-fish, the really delicious shark-fins, and the quail that Charlie and Wilburtrapped along the shore, the trio had nothing to wish for in the way oftable luxuries. 

The shore was absolutely deserted, as well as the back country--anunbroken wilderness of sand and sage. Half a dozen times, Wilbur, wearying of his inaction aboard the schooner, made the entire circuit ofthe bay from point to point. Standing on one of the latter projectionsand looking out to the west, the Pacific appeared as empty of life asthe land. Never a keel cut those waters, never a sail broke the edge ofthe horizon, never a feather of smoke spotted the sky where itwhitened to meet the sea. Everything was empty--vast, unspeakablydesolate--palpitating with heat. 

Another week passed. Charlie began to complain that the shark weregrowing scarce again. 

"I think bime-by him go away, once a mo'. "

That same night, Wilbur, lying in his hammock, was awakened by a touchon his arm. He woke to see Moran beside him on the deck. 

"Did you hear anything?" she said in a low voice, looking at him underher scowl. 

"No! no!" he exclaimed, getting up, reaching for his wicker sandals. "Did you?"

"I thought so--something. Did you feel anything?"

"I've been asleep, I haven't noticed anything. Is it beginning again?"

"The schooner lifted again, just now, very gently. I happened to beawake or I wouldn't have noticed it. " They were talking in low voices, as is the custom of people speaking in the dark. 

"There, what's that?" exclaimed Wilbur under his breath. A gentlevibration, barely perceptible, thrilled through the schooner. Underhis hand, that was clasped upon the rail, Wilbur could feel a fainttrembling in her frame. It stopped, began again, and died slowly away. 

"Well, what the devil IS it?" he muttered impatiently, trying to masterthe returning creep of dread. 

Moran shook her head, biting her lip. 

"It's beyond me, " she said, frowning. "Can you see anything?" The sky, sea, and land were unbroken reaches of solitude. There was no breath ofwind. 

"Listen, " said Moran. Far off to landward came the faint, sleepyclucking of a quail, and the stridulating of unnumbered crickets; along ripple licked the slope of the beach and slid back into the ocean. Wilbur shook his head. 

"Don't hear anything, " he whispered. "Sh--there--she's trembling again. "

Once more a prolonged but faint quivering ran through the "BerthaMillner" from stem to stern, and from keel to masthead. There was abarely audible creaking of joints and panels. The oil in the deck-tubstrembled. The vibration was so fine and rapid that it tickled the solesof Wilbur's feet as he stood on the deck. 

"I'd give two fingers to know what it all means, " murmured Moran ina low voice. "I've been to sea for--" Then suddenly she cried aloud:"Steady all, she's lifting again!"

The schooner heaved slowly under them, this time by the stern. Up shewent, up and up, while Wilbur gripped at a stay to keep his place, andtried to choke down his heart, that seemed to beat against his palate. 

"God!" ejaculated Moran, her eyes blazing. "This thing is--" The"Bertha" came suddenly down to an easy keel, rocking in that glassy seaas if in a tide rip. The deck was awash with oil. Far out in the bay theripples widening from the schooner blurred the reflections of the stars. The Chinamen swarmed up the hatch-way, voluble and shrill. Again the"Bertha Millner" lifted and sank, the tubs sliding on the deck, themasts quivering like reeds, the timbers groaning aloud with the strain. In the stern something cracked and smashed. Then the trouble died away, the ripples faded into the ocean, and the schooner settled to her keel, quite motionless. 

"Look, " said Moran, her face toward the "Bertha's" stern. "The rudderis out of the gudgeons. " It was true--the "Bertha Millner's" helm wasunshipped. 

There was no more sleep for any one on board that night. Wilbur trampedthe quarterdeck, sick with a feeling he dared not put a name to. Moransat by the wrecked rudder-head, a useless pistol in her hand, swearingunder her breath from time to time. Charlie appeared on the quarterdeckat intervals, looked at Wilbur and Moran with wide-open eyes, and thentook himself away. On the forward deck the coolies pasted strips of redpaper inscribed with mottoes upon the mast, and filled the air with thereek of their joss-sticks. 

"If one could only SEE what it was, " growled Moran between her clinchedteeth. "But this--this damned heaving and trembling, it--it's queer. "

"That's it, that's it, " said Wilbur quickly, facing her. "What are wegoing to do, Moran?"

"STICK IT OUT!" she exclaimed, striking her knee with her fist. "We can't leave the schooner--I WON'T leave her. I'll stay by thisdough-dish as long as two planks in her hold together. Were you thinkingof cutting away?" She fixed him with her frown. 

Wilbur looked at her, sitting erect by the disabled rudder, her headbare, her braids of yellow hair hanging over her breast, sitting therein man's clothes and man's boots, the pistol at her side. He shook hishead. 

"I'm not leaving the 'Bertha' till you do, " he answered; adding: "I'llstand by you, mate, until we--"

"Feel that?" said Moran, holding up a hand. 

A fine, quivering tremble was thrilling through every beam of theschooner, vibrating each rope like a harp-string. It passed away; butbefore either Wilbur or Moran could comment upon it recommenced, thistime much more perceptibly. Charlie dashed aft, his queue flying. 

"W'at makum heap shake?" he shouted; "w'at for him shake? No savvy, nolikee, pretty much heap flaid; aie-yah, aie-yah!"

Slowly the schooner heaved up as though upon the crest of some hugewave, slowly it settled, and again gradually lifted till Wilbur hadto catch at the rail to steady his footing. The quivering sensationincreased so that their very teeth chattered with it. Below in the cabinthey could hear small objects falling from the shelves and table. Thenwith a sudden drop the "Bertha" fell back to her keel again, the spilledoil spouting from her scuppers, the masts rocking, the water churningand splashing from her sides. 

And that was all. There was no sound--nothing was in sight. There wasonly the frightened trembling of the little schooner and that long, slowheave and lift. 

Morning came, and breakfast was had in silence and grim perplexity. Itwas too late to think of getting away, now that the rudder was disabled. The "Bertha Millner" must bide where she was. 

"And a little more of this dancing, " exclaimed Moran, "and we'll havethe planks springing off the stern-post. "

Charlie nodded solemnly. He said nothing--his gravity had returned. Nowin the glare of the tropical day, with the "Bertha Millner" sitting thesea as placidly as a brooding gull, he was Talleyrand again. 

"I tinkum yas, " he said vaguely. 

"Well, I think we had better try and fix the rudder and put back toFrisco, " said Moran. "You're making no money this way. There are noshark to be caught. SOMETHING'S wrong. They're gone away somewhere. Thecrew are eating their heads off and not earning enough money to pay fortheir keep. What do you think?"

"I tinkum yas. "

"Then we'll go home. Is that it?"

"I tinkum yas--to-molla. "

"To-morrow?"

"Yas. "

"That's settled then, " persisted Moran, surprised at his readyacquiescence; "we start home to-morrow?" Charlie nodded. 

"To-molla, " he said. 

The rudder was not so badly damaged as they had at first supposed; thebreak was easily mended, but it was found necessary for one of the mento go over the side. 

"Get over the side here, Jim, " commanded Moran. "Charlie, tell himwhat's wanted; we can't work the pintle in from the deck. "

But Charlie shook his head. 

"Him no likee go; him plenty much flaid. "

Moran ripped out an oath. 

"What do I care if he's afraid! I want him to shove the pintle intothe lower gudgeon. My God, " she exclaimed, with immense contempt, "whatcarrion! I'd sooner work a boat with she-monkeys. Mr. Wilbur, I shallhave to ask you to go over. I thought I was captain here, but it alldepends on whether these rats are afraid or not. "

"Plenty many shark, " expostulated Charlie. "Him flaid shark come back, catchum chop-chop. "

"Stand by here with a couple of cutting-in spades, " cried Moran, "andfend off if you see any shark; now, then, are you ready, mate?"

Wilbur took his determination in both hands, threw off his coat andsandals, and went over the stern rail. 

"Put your ear to the water, " called Moran from above; "sometimes you canhear their flukes. "

It took but a minute to adjust the pintle, and Wilbur regained the deckagain, dripping and a little pale. He knew not what horrid form of deathmight have been lurking for him down below there underneath the kelp. As he started forward for dry clothes he was surprised to observe thatMoran was smiling at him, holding out her hand. 

"That was well done, " she said, "and thank you. I've seen oldersailor-men than you who wouldn't have taken the risk. " Never beforehad she appeared more splendid in his eyes than at this moment. Afterchanging his clothes in the fo'castle, he sat for a long time, his chinin his hands, very thoughtful. Then at length, as though voicing theconclusion of his reflections, said aloud, as he rose to his feet:

"But, of course, THAT is out of the question. "

He remembered that they were going home on the next day. Withina fortnight he would be in San Francisco again--a taxpayer, apolice-protected citizen once more. It had been good fun, after all, this three weeks' life on the "Bertha Millner, " a strange episode cutout from the normal circle of his conventional life. He ran over theincidents of the cruise--Kitchell, the turtle hunt, the finding ofthe derelict, the dead captain, the squall, and the awful sight ofthe sinking bark, Moran at the wheel, the grewsome business of theshark-fishing, and last of all that inexplicable lifting and quiveringof the schooner. He told himself that now he would probably never knowthe explanation of that mystery. 

The day passed in preparations to put to sea again. The deck-tubs andhogsheads were stowed below and the tackle cleared away. By evening allwas ready; they would be under way by daybreak the next morning. Therewas a possibility of their being forced to tow the schooner out bymeans of the dory, so light were the airs inside. Once beyond the heads, however, they were sure of a breeze. 

About ten o'clock that night, the same uncanny trembling ran through theschooner again, and about half an hour later she lifted gently once ortwice. But after that she was undisturbed. 

Later on in the night--or rather early in the morning--Wilbur wokesuddenly in his hammock without knowing why, and got up and stoodlistening. The "Bertha Millner" was absolutely quiet. The night was hotand still; the new moon, canted over like a sinking galleon, was lowover the horizon. Wilbur listened intently, for now at last he heardsomething. 

Between the schooner and the shore a gentle sound of splashing cameto his ears, and an occasional crack as of oars in their locks. Was itpossible that a boat was there between the schooner and the land? Whatboat, and manned by whom?

The creaking of oarlocks and the dip of paddles was unmistakable. 

Suddenly Wilbur raised his voice in a great shout:

"Boat ahoy!"

There was no answer; the noise of oars grew fainter. Moran came runningout of her cabin, swinging into her coat as she ran. 

"What is it--what is it?"

"A boat, I think, right off the schooner here. Hark--there--did you hearthe oars?"

"You're right; call the hands, get the dory over, we'll follow that boatright up. Hello, forward there, Charlie, all hands, tumble out!"

Then Wilbur and Moran caught themselves looking into each other's eyes. At once something--perhaps the latent silence of the schooner--told themthere was to be no answer. The two ran for-ward: Moran swung herselfinto the fo'castle hatch, and without using the ladder dropped to thedeck below. In an instant her voice came up the hatch:

"The bunks are empty--they're gone--abandoned us. " She came up theladder again. 

"Look, " said Wilbur, as she regained the deck. "The dory's gone; they'vetaken it. It was our only boat; we can't get ashore. "

"Cowardly, superstitious rats, I should have expected this. Theywould be chopped in bits before they would stay longer on board thisboat--they and their-Feng shui. "

When morning came the deserters could be made out camped on the shore, near to the beached dory. What their intentions were could not beconjectured. Ridden with all manner of nameless Oriental superstitions, it was evident that the Chinamen preferred any hazard of fortune toremaining longer upon the schooner. 

"Well, can we get along without them?" said Wilbur. "Can we two work theschooner back to port ourselves?"

"We'll try it on, anyhow, mate, " said Moran; "we might get her into SanDiego, anyhow. "

The Chinamen had left plenty of provisions on board, and Moran cookedbreakfast. Fortunately, by eight o'clock a very light westerly breezecame up. Moran and Wilbur cast off the gaskets and set the fore and mainsails. 

Wilbur was busy at the forward bitts preparing to cast loose from thekelp, and Moran had taken up her position at the wheel when suddenly sheexclaimed:

"Sail ho!--and in God's name what kind of a sail do you call it?"

In fact a strange-looking craft had just made her appearance at theentrance of Magdalena Bay. 

VII. BEACH-COMBERS

Wilbur returned aft and joined Moran on the quarterdeck. She was alreadystudying the stranger through the glass. 

"That's a new build of boat to me, " she muttered, giving Wilbur theglass. Wilbur looked long and carefully. The newcomer was of the sizeand much the same shape as a caravel of the fifteenth century--high asto bow and stern, and to all appearances as seaworthy as a soup-tureen. Never but in the old prints had Wilbur seen such an extraordinaryboat. She carried a single mast, which listed forward; her lugsail wasstretched upon dozens of bamboo yards; she drew hardly any water. Twoenormous red eyes were painted upon either side of her high, blunt bow, while just abaft the waist projected an enormous oar, or sweep, fullforty feet in length--longer, in fact, than the vessel herself. It actedpartly as a propeller, partly as a rudder. 

"They're heading for us, " commented Wilbur as Moran took the glassagain. 

"Right, " she answered; adding upon the moment: "Huh! more Chinamen; thething is alive with coolies; she's a junk. "

"Oh!" exclaimed Wilbur, recollecting some talk of Charlie's he hadoverheard. "I know. "

"You know?"

"Yes; these are real beach-combers. I've heard of them along thiscoast--heard our Chinamen speak of them. They beach that junk everynight and camp on shore. They're scavengers, as you might say--pickup what they can find or plunder along shore--abalones, shark-fins, pickings of wrecks, old brass and copper, seals perhaps, turtle andshell. Between whiles they fish for shrimp, and I've heard Kitchelltell how they make pearls by dropping bird-shot into oysters. They areKai-gingh to a man, and, according to Kitchell, the wickedest breed ofcats that ever cut teeth. "

The junk bore slowly down upon the schooner. In a few moments she hadhove to alongside. But for the enormous red eyes upon her bow she wasinnocent of paint. She was grimed and shellacked with dirt and grease, and smelled abominably. Her crew were Chinamen; but such Chinamen! Thecoolies of the "Bertha Millner" were pampered and effete in comparison. The beach-combers, thirteen in number, were a smaller class of men, their faces almost black with tan and dirt. Though they still wore thequeue, their heads were not shaven, and mats and mops of stiff blackhair fell over their eyes from under their broad, basket-shaped hats. 

They were barefoot. None of them wore more than two garments--the jeansand the blouse. They were the lowest type of men Wilbur had ever seen. The faces were those of a higher order of anthropoid apes: the lowerportion--jaws, lips, and teeth--salient; the nostrils opening atalmost right angles, the eyes tiny and bright, the forehead seamedand wrinkled--unnaturally old. Their general expression was of simiancunning and a ferocity that was utterly devoid of courage. 

"Aye!" exclaimed Moran between her teeth, "if the devil were a shepherd, here are his sheep. You don't come aboard this schooner, my friends! Iwant to live as long as I can, and die when I can't help it. Boat ahoy!"she called. 

An answer in Cantonese sing-song came back from the junk, and thespeaker gestured toward the outside ocean. 

Then a long parleying began. For upward of half an hour Moran andWilbur listened to a proposition in broken pigeon English made bythe beach-combers again and again and yet again, and were in no wayenlightened. It was impossible to understand. Then at last they made outthat there was question of a whale. Next it appeared the whale was dead;and finally, after a prolonged pantomime of gesturing and pointing, Moran guessed that the beach-combers wanted the use of the "BerthaMillner" to trice up the dead leviathan while the oil and whalebone wereextracted. 

"That must be it, " she said to Wilbur. "That's what they mean bypointing to our masts and tackle. You see, they couldn't manage withthat stick of theirs, and they say they'll give us a third of the loot. We'll do it, mate, and I'll tell you why. The wind has fallen, and theycan tow us out. If it's a sperm-whale they've found, there ought to bethirty or forty barrels of oil in him, let alone the blubber and bone. Oil is at $50 now, and spermaceti will always bring $100. We'll take iton, mate, but we'll keep our eyes on the rats all the time. I don't wantthem aboard at all. Look at their belts. Not three out of the dozen whoaren't carrying those filthy little hatchets. Faugh!" she exclaimed, with a shudder of disgust. "Such vipers!"

What followed proved that Moran had guessed correctly. A rope was passedto the "Bertha Millner, " the junk put out its sweeps, and to a wailing, eldrich chanting the schooner was towed out of the bay. 

"I wonder what Charlie and our China boys will think of this?" saidWilbur, looking shoreward, where the deserters could be seen gatheredtogether in a silent, observing group. 

"We're well shut of them, " growled Moran, her thumbs in her belt. "Only, now we'll never know what was the matter with the schooner these lastfew nights. Hah!" she exclaimed under her breath, her scowl thickening, "sometimes I don't wonder the beasts cut. "

The dead whale was lying four miles out of the entrance of MagdalenaBay, and as the junk and the schooner drew near seemed like a hugeblack boat floating bottom up. Over it and upon it swarmed and clamberedthousands of sea-birds, while all around and below the water was thickwith gorging sharks. A dreadful, strangling decay fouled all the air. 

The whale was a sperm-whale, and fully twice the length of the "BerthaMillner. " The work of tricing him up occupied the beach-combersthroughout the entire day. It was out of the question to keep them offthe schooner, and Wilbur and Moran were too wise to try. They swarmedthe forward deck and rigging like a plague of unclean monkeys, climbingwith an agility and nimbleness that made Wilbur sick to his stomach. They were unlike any Chinamen he had ever seen--hideous to a degree thathe had imagined impossible in a human being. On two occasions a fightdeveloped, and in an instant the little hatchets were flashing like theflash of a snake's fangs. Toward the end of the day one of them returnedto the junk, screaming like a stuck pig, a bit of his chin bitten off. 

Moran and Wilbur kept to the quarter-deck, always within reach of thehuge cutting-in spades, but the Chinese beach-combers were too elatedover their prize to pay them much attention. 

And indeed the dead monster proved a veritable treasure-trove. By theend of the day he had been triced up to the foremast, and all handsstraining at the windlass had raised the mighty head out of the water. The Chinamen descended upon the smooth, black body, their bare feetsliding and slipping at every step. They held on by jabbing their knivesinto the hide as glacier-climbers do their ice-picks. The head yieldedbarrel after barrel of oil and a fair quantity of bone. The blubber wastaken aboard the junk, minced up with hatchets, and run into casks. 

Last of all, a Chinaman cut a hole through the "case, " and, actuallydescending into the inside of the head, stripped away the spermaceti(clear as crystal), and packed it into buckets, which were hauled up onthe junk's deck. The work occupied some two or three days. During thistime the "Bertha Millner" was keeled over to nearly twenty degrees bythe weight of the dead monster. However, neither Wilbur nor Moranmade protest. The Chinamen would do as they pleased; that was said andsigned. And they did not release the schooner until the whale had beenemptied of oil and blubber, spermaceti and bone. 

At length, on the afternoon of the third day, the captain of the junk, whose name was Hoang, presented himself upon the quarter-deck. He wasnaked to the waist, and his bare brown torso was gleaming with oil andsweat. His queue was coiled like a snake around his neck, his hatchetthrust into his belt. 

"Well?" said Moran, coming up. 

Wilbur caught his breath as the two stood there facing each other, so sharp was the contrast. The man, the Mongolian, small, weazened, leather-colored, secretive--a strange, complex creature, steeped in allthe obscure mystery of the East, nervous, ill at ease; and the girl, theAnglo-Saxon, daughter of the Northmen, huge, blond, big-boned, frank, outspoken, simple of composition, open as the day, bareheaded, her greatropes of sandy hair falling over her breast and almost to the top of herknee-boots. As he looked at the two, Wilbur asked himself where else butin California could such abrupt contrasts occur. 

"All light, " announced Hoang; "catchum all oil, catchum all bone, catchum all same plenty many. You help catchum, now you catchum pay. Sabe?"

The three principals came to a settlement with unprecedented directness. Like all Chinamen, Hoang was true to his promises, and he had alreadyset apart three and a half barrels of spermaceti, ten barrels ofoil, and some twenty pounds of bone as the schooner's share in thetransaction. There was no discussion over the matter. He called theirattention to the discharge of his obligations, and hurried away tosummon his men aboard and get the junk under way again. 

The beach-combers returned to their junk, and Wilbur and Moran set aboutcutting the carcass of the whale adrift. They found it would be easierto cut away the hide from around the hooks and loops of the tackle thanto unfasten the tackle itself. 

"The knots are jammed hard as steel, " declared Moran. "Hand up thatcutting-in spade; stand by with the other and cut loose at the same timeas I do, so we can ease off the strain on these lines at the same time. Ready there, cut!" Moran set free the hook in the loop of black skin ina couple of strokes, but Wilbur was more clumsy; the skin resisted. Hestruck at it sharply with the heavy spade; the blade hit the iron hook, glanced off, and opened a large slit in the carcass below the head. A gush of entrails started from the slit, and Moran swore under herbreath. 

"Ease away, quick there! You'll have the mast out of her next--steady!Hold your spade--what's that?"

Wilbur had nerved himself against the dreadful stench he expected wouldissue from the putrid monster, but he was surprised to note a pungent, sweet, and spicy odor that all at once made thick the air about him. Itwas an aromatic smell, stronger than that of the salt ocean, strongereven than the reek of oil and blubber from the schooner's waist--sweetas incense, penetrating as attar, delicious as a summer breeze. 

"It smells pretty good, whatever it is, " he answered. Moran came upto where he stood, and looked at the slit he had made in the whale'scarcass. Out of it was bulging some kind of dull white matter marbledwith gray. It was a hard lump of irregular shape and about as big as ahogshead. 

Moran glanced over to the junk, some forty feet distant. Thebeach-combers were hoisting the lug-sail. Hoang was at the steering oar. 

"Get that stuff aboard, " she commanded quietly. 

"That!" exclaimed Wilbur, pointing to the lump. 

Moran's blue eyes were beginning to gleam. 

"Yes, and do it before the Chinamen see you. "

"But--but I don't understand. "

Moran stepped to the quarterdeck, unslung the hammock in which Wilburslept, and tossed it to him. 

"Reeve it up in that; I'll pass you a line, and we'll haul it aboard. Godsend, those vermin yonder have got smells enough of their own withoutnoticing this. Hurry, mate, I'll talk afterward. "

Wilbur went over the side, and standing as best he could upon theslippery carcass, dug out the lump and bound it up in the hammock. 

"Hoh!" exclaimed Moran, with sudden exultation. "There's a lot ofit. That's the biggest lump yet, I'll be bound. Is that all there is, mate?--look carefully. " Her voice had dropped to a whisper. 

"Yes, yes; that's all. Careful now when you haul up--Hoang has got hiseye on you, and so have the rest of them. What do you call it, anyhow?Why are you so particular about it? Is it worth anything?"

"I don't know--perhaps. We'll have a look at it, anyway. "

Moran hauled the stuff aboard, and Wilbur followed. 

"Whew!" he exclaimed with half-closed eyes. "It's like the story ofSamson and the dead lion--the sweet coming forth from the strong. "

The schooner seemed to swim in a bath of perfumed air; the membrane ofthe nostrils fairly prinkled with the sensation. Moran unleashed thehammock, and going down upon one knee examined the lump attentively. 

"It didn't seem possible, " Wilbur heard her saying to herself; "butthere can't be any mistake. It's the stuff, right enough. I've heard ofsuch things, but this--but this--" She rose to her feet, tossing backher hair. 

"Well, " said Wilbur, "what do you call it?"

"The thing to do now, " returned Moran, "is to get clear of here asquietly and as quickly as we can, and take this stuff with us. I can'tstop to explain now, but it's big--it's big. Mate, it's big as the Bankof England. "

"Those beach-combers are right on to the game, I'm afraid, " said Wilbur. "Look, they're watching us. This stuff would smell across the ocean. "

"Rot the beach-combers! There's a bit of wind, thank God, and we can dofour knots to their one, just let us get clear once. "

Moran dragged the hammock back into the cabin, and, returning upon deck, helped Wilbur to cut away the last tricing tackle. The schooner rightedslowly to an even keel. Meanwhile the junk had set its one lug-sailand its crew had run out the sweeps. Hoang took the steering sweep andworked the junk to a position right across the "Bertha's" bows, somefifty feet ahead. 

"They're watching us, right enough, " said Wilbur. 

"Up your mains'l, " ordered Moran. The pair set the fore and main sailswith great difficulty. Moran took the wheel and Wilbur went forward tocast off the line by which the schooner had been tied up to one of thewhale's flukes. 

"Cut it!" cried the girl. "Don't stop to cast off. "

There was a hail from the beach-combers; the port sweeps dipped and thejunk bore up nearer. 

"Hurry!" shouted Moran, "don't mind them. Are we clear for'ard--what'sthe trouble? Something's holding her. " The schooner listed slowly tostarboard and settled by the head. 

"All clear!" cried Wilbur. 

"There's something wrong!" exclaimed Moran; "she's settling for'ard. "Hoang hailed the schooner a second time. 

"We're still settling, " called Wilbur from the bows, "what's thematter?"

"Matter that she's taking water, " answered Moran wrathfully. "She'sstarted something below, what with all that lifting and dancing andtricing up. "

Wilbur ran back to the quarterdeck. 

"This is a bad fix, " he said to Moran. "Those chaps are coming aboardagain. They're on to something, and, of course, at just this moment shebegins to leak. "

"They are after that ambergris, " said Moran between her teeth. "Smelledit, of course--the swine!"

"Ambergris?"

"The stuff we found in the whale. That's ambergris. "

"Well?"

"Well!" shouted Moran, exasperated. "Do you know that we have found alump that will weigh close to 250 pounds, and do you know that ambergrisis selling in San Francisco at $40 an ounce? Do you know that we havepicked up nearly $150, 000 right out here in the ocean and are in a fairway to lose it all?"

"Can't we run for it?"

"Run for it in a boat that's taking water like a sack! Our dory's gone. Suppose we get clear of the junk, and the 'Bertha' sank? Then what? Ifwe only had our crew aboard; if we were only ten to their dozen--if wewere only six--by Jupiter! I'd fight them for it. "

The two enormous red eyes of the junk loomed alongside and staredover into the "Bertha's" waist. Hoang and seven of the coolies swarmedaboard. 

"What now?" shouted Moran, coming forward to meet them, her scowlknotting her flashing eyes together. "Is this ship yours or mine? We'vedone your dirty work for you. I want you clear of my deck. " Wilbur stoodat her side, uncertain what to do, but ready for anything she shouldattempt. 

"I tink you catchum someting, smellum pretty big, " said Hoang, hisferret glance twinkling about the schooner. 

"I catchum nothing--nothing but plenty bad stink, " said Moran. "No, youdon't!" she exclaimed, putting herself in Hoang's way as he made for thecabin. The other beach-combers came crowding up; Wilbur even thought hesaw one of them loosening his hatchet in his belt. 

"This ship's mine, " cried Moran, backing to the cabin door. Wilburfollowed her, and the Chinamen closed down upon the pair. 

"It's not much use, Moran, " he muttered. "They'll rush us in a minute. "

"But the ambergris is mine--is mine, " she answered, never taking hereyes from the confronting coolies. 

"We findum w'ale, " said Hoang; "you no find w'ale; him b'long towe--eve'yt'ing in um w'ale b'long to we, savvy?"

"No, you promised us a third of everything you found. "

Even in the confusion of the moment it occurred to Wilbur that it wasquite possible that at least two-thirds of the ambergris did belongto the beach-combers by right of discovery. After all, it was thebeach-combers who had found the whale. He could never remember afterwardwhether or no he said as much to Moran at the time. If he did, she hadbeen deaf to it. A fury of wrath and desperation suddenly blazed in herblue eyes. Standing at her side, Wilbur could hear her teeth grindingupon each other. She was blind to all danger, animated only by a senseof injustice and imposition. 

Hoang uttered a sentence in Cantonese. One of the coolies jumpedforward, and Moran's fist met him in the face and brought him to hisknees. Then came the rush Wilbur had foreseen. He had just time to catcha sight of Moran at grapples with Hoang when a little hatchet glintedover his head. He struck out savagely into the thick of the group--andthen opened his eyes to find Moran washing the blood from his hair as helay on the deck with his head in the hollow of her arm. Everything wasquiet. The beach-combers were gone. 

"Hello, what--what--what is it?" he asked, springing to his feet, hishead swimming and smarting. "We had a row, didn't we? Did they hurt you?Oh, I remember; I got a cut over the head--one of their hatchet men. Didthey hurt you?"

"They got the loot, " she growled. "Filthy vermin! And just to makeeverything pleasant, the schooner's sinking. "

VIII. A RUN FOR LAND

"SINKING!" exclaimed Wilbur. 

Moran was already on her feet. "We'll have to beach her, " she cried, "and we're six miles out. Up y'r jib, mate!" The two set the jib, flying-jib, and staysails. 

The fore and main sails were already drawing, and under all the spreadof her canvas the "Bertha" raced back toward the shore. 

But by the time she was within the head of the bay her stern had settledto such an extent that the forefoot was clear of the water, the bowspritpointing high into the heavens. Moran was at the wheel, her scowlthicker than ever, her eyes measuring the stretch of water that laybetween the schooner and the shore. 

"She'll never make it in God's world, " she muttered as she listened tothe wash of the water in the cabin under her feet. In the hold, emptybarrels were afloat, knocking hollowly against each other. "We're in abad way, mate. "

"If it comes to that, " returned Wilbur, surprised to see her thus easilydowncast, who was usually so indomitable--"if it comes to that, we canswim for it--a couple of planks--"

"Swim?" she echoed; "I'm not thinking of that; of course we could swim. "

"What then?"

"The sharks!"

Wilbur's teeth clicked sharply together. He could think of nothing tosay. 

As the water gained between decks the schooner's speed dwindled, andat the same time as she approached the shore the wind, shut off by theland, fell away. By this time the ocean was not four inches below thestern-rail. Two miles away was the nearest sand-spit. Wilbur broke outa distress signal on the foremast, in the hope that Charlie and thedeserters might send off the dory to their assistance. But the deserterswere nowhere in sight. 

"What became of the junk?" he demanded suddenly of Moran. She motionedto the westward with her head. "Still lying out-side. "

Twenty minutes passed. Once only Moran spoke. 

"When she begins to go, " she said, "she'll go with a rush. Jump prettywide, or you'll get caught in the suction. "

The two had given up all hope. Moran held grimly to the wheel as a merematter of form. Wilbur stood at her side, his clinched fists thrustinto his pockets. The eyes of both were fixed on the yellow line of thedistant beach. By and by Moran turned to him with an odd smile. 

"We're a strange pair to die together, " she said. Wilbur met her eyesan instant, but finding no reply, put his chin in the air as though hewould have told her she might well say that. 

"A strange pair to die together, " Moran repeated; "but we can do thatbetter than we could have"--she looked away from him--"could have LIVEDtogether, " she finished, and smiled again. 

"And yet, " said Wilbur, "these last few weeks here on board theschooner, we have been through a good deal--together. I don't know, " hewent on clumsily, "I don't know when I've been--when I've had--I've beenhappier than these last weeks. It is queer, isn't it? I know, of course, what you'll say. I've said it to myself often of late. I belong to thecity and to my life there, and you--you belong to the ocean. I neverknew a girl like you--never knew a girl COULD be like you. You don'tknow how extraordinary it all seems to me. You swear like a man, and youdress like a man, and I don't suppose you've ever been associated withother women; and you're strong--I know you are as strong as I am. Youhave no idea how different you are to the kind of girl I've known. Imagine my kind of girl standing up before Hoang and those cutthroatbeach-combers with their knives and hatchets. Maybe it's because you areso unlike my kind of girl that--that things are as they are with me. Idon't know. It's a queer situation. A month or so ago I was at a tea inSan Francisco, and now I'm aboard a shark-fishing schooner sinking inMagdalena Bay; and I'm with a girl that--that--that I--well, I'm withyou, and, well, you know how it is--I might as well say it--I love youmore than I imagined I ever could love a girl. "

Moran's frown came back to her forehead. 

"I don't like that kind of talk, " she said; "I am not used to it, andI don't know how to take it. Believe me, " she said with a half laugh, "it's all wasted. I never could love a man. I'm not made for men. "

"No, " said Wilbur, "nor for other women either. "

"Nor for other women either. "

Wilbur fell silent. In that instant he had a distinct vision of Moran'slife and character, shunning men and shunned of women, a strange, lonelycreature, solitary as the ocean whereon she lived, beautiful after herfashion; as yet without sex, proud, untamed, splendid in her savage, primal independence--a thing untouched and unsullied by civilization. She seemed to him some Bradamante, some mythical Brunhilde, someValkyrie of the legends, born out of season, lost and unfamiliar in thisend-of-the-century time. Her purity was the purity of primeval glaciers. He could easily see how to such a girl the love of a man would appearonly in the light of a humiliation--a degradation. And yet she COULDlove, else how had HE been able to love her? Wilbur found himself--evenat that moment--wondering how the thing could be done--wondering tojust what note the untouched cords would vibrate. Just how she shouldbe awakened one morning to find that she--Moran, sea-rover, virginunconquered, without law, without land, without sex--was, after all, awoman. 

"By God, mate!" she exclaimed of a sudden. "The barrels are keeping usup--the empty barrels in the hold. Hoh! we'll make land yet. "

It was true. The empty hogsheads, destined for the storage of oil, hadbeen forced up by the influx of the water to the roof of the hold, andwere acting as so many buoys--the schooner could sink no lower. An hourlater, the quarterdeck all awash, her bow thrown high into the air, listing horribly to starboard, the "Bertha Millner" took ground on theshore of Magdalena Bay at about the turn of the tide. 

Moran swung herself over the side, hip deep in the water, and, wadingashore with a line, made fast to the huge skull of a whale half buriedin the sand at that point. 

Wilbur followed. The schooner had grounded upon the southern horn of thebay and lay easily on a spit of sand. They could not examine the natureof the leak until low water the next morning. 

"Well, here we are, " said Moran, her thumbs in her belt. "What next? Wemay be here for two days, we MAY be here for two years. It all dependsupon how bad a hole she has. Have we 'put in for repairs, ' or havewe been cast away? Can't tell till to-morrow morning. Meanwhile, I'mhungry. "

Half of the stores of the schooner were water-soaked, but uponexamination Wilbur found that enough remained intact to put them beyondall fear for the present. 

"There's plenty of water up the creek, " he said, "and we can snare allthe quail we want; and then there's the fish and abalone. Even if thestores were gone we could make out very well. "

The schooner's cabin was full of water and Wilbur's hammock was gone, so the pair decided to camp on shore. In that torrid weather to sleep inthe open air was a luxury. 

In great good spirits the two sat down to their first meal on land. Moran cooked a supper that, barring the absence of coffee, wasdelicious. The whiskey was had from aboard, and they pledged each other, standing up, in something over two stiff fingers. 

"Moran, " said Wilbur, "you ought to have been born a man. "

"At all events, mate, " she said--"at all events, I'm not a girl. "

"NO!" exclaimed Wilbur, as he filled his pipe. "NO, you're just Moran, Moran of the 'Lady Letty. '"

"And I'll stay that, too, " she said decisively. 

Never had an evening been more beautiful in Wilbur's eyes. There was nota breath of air. The stillness was so profound that the faint murmur ofthe blood behind the ear-drums became an oppression. The ocean tiptoedtoward the land with tiny rustling steps. The west was one giganticstained window, the ocean floor a solid shimmer of opalescence. Behindthem, sullen purples marked the horizon, hooded with mountain crests, and after a long while the moon shrugged a gleaming shoulder into view. 

Wilbur, dressed in Chinese jeans and blouse, with Chinese wicker sandalson his bare feet, sat with his back against the whale's skull, smokingquietly. For a long time there was no conversation; then at last:

"No, " said Moran in a low voice. "This is the life I'm made for. In sixyears I've not spent three consecutive weeks on land. Now that Eilert"(she always spoke of her father by his first name), "now that Eilertis dead, I've not a tie, not a relative, not even a friend, and I don'twish it. "

"But the loneliness of the life, the solitude, " said Wilbur, "that'swhat I don't understand. Did it ever occur to you that the besthappiness is the happiness that one shares?"

Moran clasped a knee in both hands and looked out to sea. She never worea hat, and the red light of the afterglow was turning her rye-hued hairto saffron. 

"Hoh!" she exclaimed, her heavy voice pitched even lower than usual. "Who could understand or share any of my pleasures, or be happy when I'mhappy? And, besides, I'm happiest when I'm alone--I don't want any one. "

"But, " hesitated Wilbur, "one is not always alone. After all, you're agirl, and men, sailormen especially, are beasts when it's a question ofa woman--an unprotected woman. "

"I'm stronger than most men, " said Moran simply. "If you, for instance, had been like some men, I should have fought you. It wouldn't have beenthe first time, " she added, smoothing one huge braid between her palms. 

Wilbur looked at her with intent curiosity--noted again, as if for thefirst time, the rough, blue overalls thrust into the shoes; the coarseflannel shirt open at the throat; the belt with its sheath-knife; herarms big and white and tattooed in sailor fashion; her thick, muscularneck; her red face, with its pale blue eyes and almost massive jaw; andher hair, her heavy, yellow, fragrant hair, that lay over her shoulderand breast, coiling and looping in her lap. 

"No, " he said, with a long breath, "I don't make it out. I knew you wereout of my experience, but I begin to think now that you are out of evenmy imagination. You are right, you SHOULD keep to yourself. You shouldbe alone--your mate isn't made yet. You are splendid just as you are, "while under his breath he added, his teeth clinching, "and God! but Ilove you. "

It was growing late, the stars were all out, the moon riding high. Moranyawned:

"Mate, I think I'll turn in. We'll have to be at that schooner early inthe morning, and I make no doubt she'll give us plenty to do. " Wilburhesitated to reply, waiting to take his cue from what next she shouldsay. "It's hot enough to sleep where we are, " she added, "without goingaboard the 'Bertha, ' though we might have a couple of blankets off tolie on. This sand's as hard as a plank. "

Without answering, Wilbur showed her a couple of blanket-rolls he hadbrought off while he was unloading part of the stores that afternoon. They took one apiece and spread them on the sand by the bleached whale'sskull. Moran pulled off her boots and stretched herself upon her blanketwith absolute unconcern, her hands clasped under her head. Wilbur rolledup his coat for a pillow and settled himself for the night with anassumed self-possession. There was a long silence. Moran yawned again. 

"I pulled the heel off my boot this morning, " she said lazily, "and I'vebeen limping all day. "

"I noticed it, " answered Wilbur. "Kitchell had a new pair aboardsomewhere, if they're not spoiled by the water now. "

"Yes?" she said indifferently; "we'll look them up in the morning. "

Again there was silence. 

"I wonder, " she began again, staring up into the dark, "if Charlie tookthat frying-pan off with him when he went?"

"I don't know. He probably did. "

"It was the only thing we had to cook abalones in. Make me think to lookinto the galley to-morrow. .. . This ground's as hard as nails, for allyour blankets. .. . Well, good-night, mate; I'm going to sleep. "

"Good-night, Moran. "

Three hours later Wilbur, who had not closed his eyes, sat up and lookedat Moran, sleeping quietly, her head in a pale glory of hair; looked ather, and then around him at the silent, deserted land. 

"I don't know, " he said to himself. "Am I a right-minded man and athoroughbred, or a mush-head, or merely a prudent, sensible sort of chapthat values his skin and bones? I'd be glad to put a name to myself. "Then, more earnestly he added: "Do I love her too much, or not enough, or love her the wrong way, or how?" He leaned toward her, so close thathe could catch the savor of her breath and the smell of her neck, warmwith sleep. The sleeve of the coarse blue shirt was drawn up, and itseemed to him as if her bare arm, flung out at full length, had somesweet aroma of its own. Wilbur drew softly back. 

"No, " he said to himself decisively; "no, I guess I am a thoroughbredafter all. " It was only then that he went to sleep. 

When he awoke the sea was pink with the sunrise, and one of the bayheads was all distorted and stratified by a mirage. It was hot already. Moran was sitting a few paces from him, braiding her hair. 

"Hello, Moran!" he said, rousing up; "how long have you been up?"

"Since before sunrise, " she said; "I've had a bath in the cove where thecreek runs down. I saw a jack-rabbit. "

"Seen anything of Charlie and the others?"

"They've camped on the other side of the bay. But look yonder, " sheadded. 

The junk had come in overnight, and was about a mile and a half fromshore. 

"The deuce!" exclaimed Wilbur. "What are they after?"

"Fresh water, I guess, " said Moran, knotting the end of a braid. "We'dbetter have breakfast in a hurry, and turn to on the 'Bertha. ' The tideis going out fast. "

While they breakfasted they kept an eye on the schooner, watching hersides and flanks as the water fell slowly away. 

"Don't see anything very bad yet, " said Wilbur. 

"It's somewhere in her stern, " remarked Moran. 

In an hour's time the "Bertha Millner" was high and dry, and they couldexamine her at their leisure. It was Moran who found the leak. 

"Pshaw!" she exclaimed, with a half-laugh, "we can stick that up in halfan hour. "

A single plank had started away from the stern-post; that was all. Otherwise the schooner was as sound as the day she left San Francisco. Moran and Wilbur had the damage repaired by noon, nailing the plank intoits place and caulking the seams with lamp-wick. Nor could their mostcareful search discover any further injury. 

"We're ready to go, " said Moran, "so soon as she'll float. We can digaway around the bows here, make fast a line to that rock out yonder, andwarp her off at next high tide. Hello! who's this?"

It was Charlie. While the two had been at work, he had come around theshore unobserved, and now stood at some little distance, smiling at themcalmly. 

"Well, what do you want?" cried Moran angrily. "If you had your rights, my friend, you'd be keelhauled. "

"I tink um velly hot day. "

"You didn't come here to say that. What do you want?"

"I come hab talkee-talk. "

"We don't want to have any talkee-talk with such vermin as you. Getout!"

Charlie sat down on the beach and wiped his forehead. 

"I come buy one-piecee bacon. China boy no hab got. "

"We aren't selling bacon to deserters, " cried Moran; "and I'll tell youthis, you filthy little monkey: Mr. Wilbur and I are going home--backto 'Frisco--this afternoon; and we're going to leave you and the rest ofyour vipers to rot on this beach, or to be murdered by beach-combers, "and she pointed out toward the junk. Charlie did not even follow thedirection of her gesture, and from this very indifference Wilburguessed that it was precisely because of the beach-combers that theMachiavellian Chinaman had wished to treat with his old officers. 

"No hab got bacon?" he queried, lifting his eyebrows in surprise. 

"Plenty; but not for you. "

Charlie took a buckskin bag from his blouse and counted out a handful ofsilver and gold. 

"I buy um nisi two-piecee tobacco. "

"Look here, " said Wilbur deliberately; "don't you try to flim-flam us, Charlie. We know you too well. You don't want bacon and you don't wanttobacco. "

"China boy heap plenty much sick. Two boy velly sick. I tink um diepretty soon to-molla. You catch um slop-chest; you gib me five, sevenliver pill. Sabe?"

"I'll tell you what you want, " cried Moran, aiming a forefinger athim, pistol fashion; "you've got a blue funk because those Kai-ginghbeach-combers have come into the bay, and you're more frightened of themthan you are of the schooner; and now you want us to take you home. "

"How muchee?"

"A thousand dollars. "

Wilbur looked at her in surprise. He had expected a refusal. 

"You no hab got liver pill?" inquired Charlie blandly. 

Moran turned her back on him. She and Wilbur conferred in a low voice. 

"We'd better take them back, if we decently can, " said Moran. "Theschooner is known, of course, in 'Frisco. She went out with Kitchell anda crew of coolies, and she comes back with you and I aboard, and if wetell the truth about it, it will sound like a lie, and we'll have no endof trouble. Then again, can just you and I work the 'Bertha' intoport? In these kind of airs it's plain work, but suppose we have dirtyweather? I'm not so sure. "

"I gib you ten dollah fo' ten liver pill, " said Charlie. 

"Will you give us a thousand dollars to set you down in San Francisco?"

Charlie rose. "I go back. I tell um China boy what you say 'bout liverpill. Bime-by I come back. "

"That means he'll take our offer back to his friends, " said Wilbur, ina low voice. "You best hurry chop-chop, " he called after Charlie; "we gohome pretty soon!"

"He knows very well we can't get away before high tide to-morrow, " saidMoran. "He'll take his time. "

Later on in the afternoon Moran and Wilbur saw a small boat put off fromthe junk and make a landing by the creek. The beach-combers weretaking on water. The boat made three trips before evening, but thebeach-combers made no show of molesting the undefended schooner, or inany way interfering with Charlie's camp on the other side of the bay. 

"No!" exclaimed Moran between her teeth, as she and Wilbur were cookingsupper; "no, they don't need to; they've got about a hundred and fiftythousand dollars of loot on board--OUR loot, too! Good God! it goesagainst the grain!"

The moon rose considerably earlier that night, and by twelve o'clock thebay was flooded with its electrical whiteness. Wilbur and Moran couldplainly make out the junk tied up to the kelp off-shore. But toward oneo'clock Wilbur was awakened by Moran shaking his arm. 

"There's something wrong out there, " she whispered; "something wrongwith the junk. Hear 'em squealing? Look! look! look!" she cried of asudden; "it's their turn now!"

Wilbur could see the crank junk, with its staring red eyes, high sternand prow, as distinctly as though at noonday. As he watched, it seemedas if a great wave caught her suddenly underfoot. She heaved up bodilyout of the water, dropped again with a splash, rose again, and againfell back into her own ripples, that, widening from her sides, brokecrisply on the sand at Wilbur's feet. 

Then the commotion ceased abruptly. The bay was quiet again. An hourpassed, then two. The moon began to set. Moran and Wilbur, wearied ofwatching, had turned in again, when they were startled to wakefulness bythe creak of oarlocks and the sound of a boat grounding in the sand. 

The coolies--the deserters from the "Bertha Millner"--were there. Charlie came forward. 

"Ge' lup! Ge' lup!" he said. "Junk all smash! Kai-gingh come ashore. Itink him want catch um schooner. "

IX, THE CAPTURE OF HOANG

"What smashed the junk? What wrecked her?" demanded Moran. 

The deserting Chinamen huddled around Charlie, drawing close, as iffinding comfort in the feel of each other's elbows. 

"No can tell, " answered Charlie. "Him shake, then lif' up all the sameas we. Bime-by too much lif' up; him smash all to--Four-piecee Chinamendlown. "

"Drown! Did any of them drown?" exclaimed Moran. 

"Four-piecee dlown, " reiterated Charlie calmly. "One, thlee, five, nine, come asho'. Him other no come. "

"Where are the ones that came ashore?" asked Wilbur. 

Charlie waved a hand back into the night. "Him make um camp topside olehouse. "

"That old whaling-camp, " prompted Moran. Then to Wilbur: "Youremember--about a hundred yards north the creek?"

Wilbur, Moran and Charlie had drawn off a little from the "BerthaMillner's" crew. The latter squatted in a line along the shore--silent, reserved, looking vaguely seaward through the night. Moran spoke again, her scowl thickening:

"What makes you think the beach-combers want our schooner?"

"Him catch um schooner sure! Him want um boat to go home. No can get. "

"Let's put off to-night--right away, " said Wilbur. 

"Low tide, " answered Moran; "and besides--Charlie, did you see themclose? Were you near them?"

"No go muchee close. "

"Did they have something with them, reeved up in a hammock--somethingthat smelled sweet?"

"Like a joss-stick, for instance?"

"No savvy; no can tell. Him try catch um schooner sure. Him velly badChina boy. See Yup China boy, velly bad. I b'long Sam Yup. Savvy?'!

"Ah! the Tongs?"

"Yas. I Sam Yup. Him, " and he pointed to the "Bertha's" crew, "Sam Yup. All we Sam Yup; nisi him, " and he waved a hand toward the beach-combers'camp; "him See Yup. Savvy?"

"It's a Tong row, " said Wilbur. "They're blood enemies, the See Yups andSam Yups. "

Moran fell thoughtful, digging her boot-heel into the sand, her thumbshooked into her belt, her forehead gathered into a heavy frown. Therewas a silence. 

"One thing, " she said, at last; "we can't give up the schooner. Theywould take our stores as well, and then where are we? Marooned, by Jove!How far do you suppose we are from the nearest town? Three hundred mileswouldn't be a bad guess, and they've got the loot--our ambergris--I'llswear to that. They didn't leave that aboard when the junk sank. "

"Look here, Charlie, " she said, turning to the Chinaman. "If thebeach-combers take the schooner--the 'Bertha Millner'--from us we'll beleft to starve on this beach. "

"I tink um yass. "

"How are we going to get home? Are you going to let them do it? Are yougoing to let them have our schooner?"

"I tink no can have. "

"Look here, " she went on, with sudden energy. "There are only nine ofthem now, to our eight. We're about even. We can fight those swine. Iknow we can. If we jumped their camp and rushed them hard, believeme, we could run them into the sea. Mate, " she cried, suddenly facingWilbur, "are you game? Have you got blood in you? Those beach-comberesare going to attack us to-morrow, before high tide--that's flat. There'sgoing to be a fight anyway. We can't let them have the schooner. It'sstarvation for us if we do. 

"They mean to make a dash for the 'Bertha, ' and we've got to fight themoff. If there's any attacking to be done I propose to do it! I proposewe jump their camp before it gets light--now--to-night--right away--runin on them there, take them by surprise, do for one or two of them if wehave to, and get that ambergris. Then cut back to the schooner, up oursails, and wait for the tide to float us off. We can do it--I know wecan. Mate, will you back me up?"

"Back you up? You bet I'll back you up, Moran. But--" Wilbur hesitated. "We could fight them so much more to advantage from the deck of theschooner. Why not wait for them aboard? We could have our sails up, anyhow, and we could keep the beach-combers off till the tide rose highenough to drive them back. Why not do that?"

"I tink bes' wait topside boat, " assented Charlie. 

"Yes; why not, Moran?"

"Because, " shouted the girl, "they've got our loot. I don't propose tobe plundered of $150, 000 if I can help it. "

"Wassa dat?" demanded Charlie. "Hunder fiftee tlousand you hab got?"

"I did have it--we had it, the mate and I. We triced a sperm whale forthe beach-combers, and when they thought they had everything out of himwe found a lump of ambergris in him that will weigh close to two hundredpounds. Now look here, Charlie. The beach-combers have got the stuff. It's mine--I'm going to have it back. Here's the lay. Your men canfight--you can fight yourself. We'll make it a business proposition. Help me to get that ambergris, and if we get it I'll give each one ofthe men $1, 000, and I'll give you $1, 500. You can take that up and beindependent rich the rest of your life. You can chuck it and rot on thisbeach, for it's fight or lose the schooner; you know that as well as Ido. If you've got to fight anyhow, why not fight where it's going to paythe most?"

Charlie hesitated, pursing his lips. 

"How about this, Moran?" Wilbur broke forth now, unheard by Charlie. "I've just been thinking; have we got a right to this ambergris, afterall? The beach-combers found the whale. It was theirs. How have we theright to take the ambergris away from them any more than the sperm andthe oil and the bone? It's theirs, if you come to that. I don't know aswe've the right to it. "

"Darn you!" shouted Moran in a blaze of fury, "right to it, right toit! If I haven't, who has? Who found it? Those dirty monkeys might havestood some show to a claim if they'd held to the one-third bargain, andoffered to divvy with us when they got me where I couldn't help myself. I don't say I'd give in now if they had--give in to let 'em walk offwith a hundred thousand dollars that I've got as good a claim to as theyhave! But they've saved me the trouble of arguing the question. They'vetaken it all, all! And there's no bargain in the game at all now. Nowthe stuff belongs to the strongest of us, and I'm glad of it. Theythought they were the strongest and now they're going to find out. We'redumped down here on this God-forsaken sand, and there's no law and nopolicemen. The strongest of us are going to live and the weakest aregoing to die. I'm going to live and I'm going to have my loot, too, andI'm not going to split fine hairs with these robbers at this time ofday. I'm going to have it all, and that's the law you're under in thiscase, my righteous friend!"

She turned her back upon him, spinning around upon her heel, and Wilburfelt ashamed of himself and proud of her. 

"I go talkee-talk to China boy, " said Charlie, coming up. 

For about five minutes the Chinamen conferred together, squatting ina circle on the beach. Moran paced up and down by the stranded dory. Wilbur leaned against the bleached whale-skull, his hands in hispockets. Once he looked at his watch. It was nearly one o'clock. 

"All light, " said Charlie, coming up from the group at last; "him fightplenty. "

"Now, " exclaimed Moran, "we've no time to waste. What arms have we got?"

"We've got the cutting-in spades, " said Wilbur; "there's five of them. They're nearly ten feet long, and the blades are as sharp as razors; youcouldn't want better pikes. "

"That's an idea, " returned Moran, evidently willing to forget heroutburst of a moment before, perhaps already sorry for it. The partytook stock of their weapons, and five huge cutting-in spades, a heavyknife from the galley, and a revolver of doubtful effectiveness weredivided among them. The crew took the spades, Charlie the knife, andWilbur the revolver. Moran had her own knife, a haftless dirk, such asis affected by all Norwegians, whether landsmen or sailors. They wereexamining this armament and Moran was suggesting a plan of attack, whenHoang, the leader of the beach-combers, and one other Chinaman appearedsome little distance below them on the beach. The moon was low and therewas no great light, but the two beach-combers caught the flash of thepoints of the spades. They halted and glanced narrowly and suspiciouslyat the group. 

"Beasts!" muttered Moran. "They are up to the game--there's nosurprising them now. Talk to him, Charlie; see what he wants. "

Moran, Wilbur, and Charlie came part of the way toward Hoang and hisfellow, and paused some fifteen feet distant, and a long colloquyensued. It soon became evident, however, that in reality Hoangwanted nothing of them, though with great earnestness he asserted hiswillingness to charter the "Bertha Millner" back to San Francisco. 

"That's not his game at all, " said Moran to Wilbur, in a low tone, hereyes never leaving those of the beach-comber. "He's pretty sure he couldseize the 'Bertha' and never pay us a stiver. They've come down to spyon us, and they're doing it, too. There's no good trying to rush thatcamp now. They'll go back and tell the crew that we know their lay. "

It was still very dark. Near the hulk of the beached "Bertha Millner"were grouped her crew, each armed with a long and lance-like cutting-inspade, watching and listening to the conference of the chiefs. The moon, almost down, had flushed blood-red, violently streaking the gray, smoothsurface of the bay with her reflection. The tide was far out, ripplingquietly along the reaches of wet sand. In the pauses of the conferencethe vast, muffling silence shut down with the abruptness of a valvesuddenly closed. 

How it happened, just who made the first move, in precisely what mannerthe action had been planned, or what led up to it, Wilbur couldnot afterward satisfactorily explain. There was a rush forward--heremembered that much--a dull thudding of feet over the resounding beachsurface, a moment's writhing struggle with a half-naked brown figurethat used knife and nail and tooth, and then the muffling silence again, broken only by the sound of their own panting. In that whirl of swiftaction Wilbur could reconstruct but two brief pictures: the Chinaman, Hoang's companion, flying like one possessed along the shore; Hoanghimself flung headlong into the arms of the "Bertha's" coolies, andMoran, her eyes blazing, her thick braids flying, brandishing her fistas she shouted at the top of her deep voice, "We've got you, anyhow!"

They had taken Hoang prisoner, whether by treachery or not, Wilbur didnot exactly know; and, even if unfair means had been used, he could notrepress a feeling of delight and satisfaction as he told himself that inthe very beginning of the fight that was to follow he and his mates hadgained the first advantage. 

As the action of that night's events became more and more accelerated, Wilbur could not but notice the change in Moran. It was very evidentthat the old Norse fighting blood of her was all astir; brutal, merciless, savage beyond all control. A sort of obsession seized uponher at the near approach of battle, a frenzy of action that was checkedby nothing--that was insensible to all restraint. At times it wasimpossible for him to make her hear him, or when she heard to understandwhat he was saying. Her vision contracted. It was evident that she couldnot see distinctly. Wilbur could no longer conceive of her as a womanof the days of civilization. She was lapsing back to the eighth centuryagain--to the Vikings, the sea-wolves, the Berserkers. 

"Now you're going to talk, " she cried to Hoang, as the bound Chinamansat upon the beach, leaning his back against the great skull. "Charlie, ask him if they saved the ambergris when the junk went down--if they'vegot it now?" Charlie put the question in Chinese, but the beach-comberonly twinkled his vicious eyes upon them and held his peace. With thefull sweep of her arm, her fist clinched till the knuckles whitened, Moran struck him in the face. 

"Now will you talk?" she cried. Hoang wiped the blood from his face uponhis shoulder and set his jaws. He did not answer. 

"You will talk before I'm done with you, my friend; don't get any wrongnotions in your head about that, " Moran continued, her teeth clinched. "Charlie, " she added, "is there a file aboard the schooner?"

"I tink um yass, boss hab got file. "

"In the tool-chest, isn't it?" Charlie nodded, and Moran ordered it tobe fetched. 

"If we're to fight that crowd, " she said, speaking to herself and in arapid voice, thick from excitement and passion, "we've got to know wherethey've hid the loot, and what weapons they've got. If they have a rifleor a shotgun with them, it's going to make a big difference for us. Theother fellow escaped and has gone back to warn the rest. It's fight now, and no mistake. "

The Chinaman who had been sent aboard the schooner returned, carrying along, rather coarse-grained file. Moran took it from him. 

"Now, " she said, standing in front of Hoang, "I'll give you one morechance. Answer me. Did you bring off the ambergris, you beast, when yourjunk sank? Where is it now? How many men have you? What arms have yougot? Have your men got a rifle?--Charlie, put that all to him in yourlingo, so as to make sure that he understands. Tell him if he don't talkI'm going to make him very sick. "

Charlie put the questions in Chinese, pausing after each one. Hoang heldhis peace. 

"I gave you fair warning, " shouted Moran angrily, pointing at him withthe file. "Will you answer?"

"Him no tell nuttin, " observed Charlie. 

"Fetch a cord here, " commanded Moran. The cord was brought, and despiteHoang's struggles and writhings the file was thrust end-ways into hismouth and his jaws bound tightly together upon it by means of the cordpassed over his head and under his chin. Some four inches of the fileportruded from his lips. Moran took this end and drew it out between thebeach-comber's teeth, then pushed it back slowly. 

The hideous rasp of the operation turned Wilbur's blood cold within him. He looked away--out to sea, down the beach--anywhere, so that he mightnot see what was going forward. But the persistent grind and scrapestill assaulted his ears. He turned about sharply. 

"I--I--I'll go down the beach here a ways, " he said quickly. "I can'tstand--I'll keep watch to see if the beach-combers come up. "

A few minutes later he heard Charlie hailing him. 

"Chin-chin heap plenty now, " said he, with a grin, as Wilbur came up. 

Hoang sat on the sand in the midst of the circle. The file and coilof rope lay on the ground near by. The beach-comber was talking in ahigh-keyed sing-song, but with a lisp. He told them partly in pigeonEnglish and partly in Cantonese, which Charlie translated, that theirmen were eight in number, and that they had intended to seize theschooner that night, but that probably his own capture had delayed theirplans. They had no rifle. A shotgun had been on board, but had gone downwith the sinking of the junk. The ambergris had been cut into two lumps, and would be found in a couple of old flour-sacks in the stern of theboat in which he and his men had come ashore. They were all armed withtheir little hatchets. He thought two of the men carried knives as well. There was neither pistol nor revolver among them. 

"It seems to me, " said Wilbur, "that we've got the long end. "

"We catch um boss, too!" said Charlie, pointing to Hoang. 

"And we are better armed, " assented Moran. "We've got the cutting-inspades. "

"And the revolver, if it will shoot any further than it will kick. "

"They'll give us all the fight we want, " declared Moran. 

"Oh, him Kai-gingh, him fight all same devil. "

"Give the men brandy, Charlie, " commanded Moran. "We'll rush that campright away. "

The demijohn of spirits was brought down from the "Bertha" and passedaround, Wilbur and Moran drinking from the tin cup, the coolies from thebottle. Hoang was fettered and locked in the "Bertha's" cabin. 

"Now, then, are we ready?" cried Moran. 

"I tink all light, " answered Charlie. 

The party set off down the beach. The moon had long since gone down, and the dawn was whitening over the eastern horizon. Landward, raggedblankets of morning mist lay close in the hollows here and there. It wasprofoundly still. The stars were still out. The surface of Magdalena Baywas smooth as a sheet of gray silk. 

Twenty minutes passed, half an hour, an hour. The party tramped steadilyforward, Moran, Wilbur, and Charlie leading, the coolies close behindcarrying the cutting-in spades over their shoulders. Slowly and insilence they made the half circuit of the bay. The "Bertha Millner" wasfar behind them by now, a vague gray mass in the early morning light. 

"Did you ever fight before?" Moran suddenly demanded of Charlie. 

"One time I fight plenty much in San Flancisco in Washington stleet. Fight um See Yups. "

Another half-hour passed. At times when they halted they began to hearthe faint murmur of the creek, just beyond which was the broken andcrumbling shanty, relic of an old Portuguese whaling-camp, where thebeach-combers were camped. At Charlie's suggestion the party made acircuit, describing a half moon, to landward, so as to come out upon theenemy sheltered by the sand-dunes. Twenty minutes later they crossed thecreek about four hundred yards from the shore. Here they spread out intoa long line, and, keeping an interval of about fifteen feet between eachof them, moved cautiously forward. The unevenness of the sand-breaks hidthe shore from view, but Moran, Wilbur, and Charlie knew that by keepingthe creek upon their left they would come out directly upon the house. 

A few moments later Charlie held up his hand, and the men halted. Thenoise of the creek chattering into the tidewater of the bay was plainlyaudible just beyond; a ridge of sand, covered thinly with sage-brush, and a faint column of smoke rose into the air over the ridge itself. They were close in. The coolies were halted, and dropping upon theirhands and knees, the three leaders crawled to the top of the break. Sheltered by a couple of sage-bushes and lying flat to the ground, Wilbur looked over and down upon the beach. The first object he made outwas a crazy, roofless house, built of driftwood, the chinks plasteredwith 'dobe mud, the door fallen in. 

Beyond, on the beach, was a flat-bottomed dingy, unpainted and foul withdirt. But all around the house the sand had been scooped and piledto form a low barricade, and behind this barricade Wilbur saw thebeach-combers. There were eight of them. They were alert and ready, their hatchets in their hands. The gaze of each of them was fixeddirectly upon the sand-break which sheltered the "Bertha Millner's"officers and crew. They seemed to Wilbur to look him straight in theeye. They neither moved nor spoke. The silence and absolute lack ofmotion on the part of these small, half-naked Chinamen, with theirape-like muzzles and twinkling eyes, was ominous. 

There could be no longer any doubts that the beach-combers had knownof their enemies' movements and were perfectly aware of their presencebehind the sand-break. Moran rose to her feet, and Wilbur and Charliefollowed her example. 

"There's no use hiding, " she said; "they know we're here. "

Charlie called up the crew. The two parties were ranged face to face. Over the eastern rim of the Pacific the blue whiteness of the earlydawn was turning to a dull, roseate gold at the core of the sunrise. Theheadlands of Magdalena Bay stood black against the pale glow; overhead, the greater stars still shone. The monotonous, faint ripple of the creekwas the only sound. It was about 3:30 o'clock. 

X. A BATTLE

Wilbur had imagined that the fight would be hardly more than a wild rushdown the slope of the beach, a dash over the beach-combers' breastworksof sand, and a brief hand-to-hand scrimmage around the old cabin. Inall accounts he had ever read of such affairs, and in all ideas hehad entertained on the subject, this had always been the case. The twobodies had shocked together like a college rush, there had been fiveminutes' play of knife and club and gun, a confused whirl of dustand smoke, and all was over before one had time either to think or beafraid. But nothing of the kind happened that morning. 

The "Bertha Millner's" crew, in a long line, Moran at one end, Wilbur atthe other, and Charlie in the centre, came on toward the beach-combers, step by step. There was little outcry. Each contestant singled outhis enemy, and made slowly for him with eyes fixed and weapon ready, regardless of the movements of his mates. 

"See any rifles among them, Charlie?" shouted Moran, suddenly breakingthe silence. 

"No, I tink no hab got, " answered Charlie. 

Wilbur took another step forward and cocked his revolver. One of thebeach-combers shouted out something in angry vernacular, and Charlieinstantly responded. All this time the line had been slowly advancingupon the enemy, and Wilbur began to wonder how long that heartbreakingsuspense was to continue. This was not at all what he had imagined. Already he was within twenty feet of his man, could see the evil glintof his slant, small eye, and the shine of his yellow body, naked to thebelt. Still foot by foot the forward movement continued. The Chineseon either side had begun exchanging insults; the still, hot air of thetropic dawn was vibrant with the Cantonese monosyllables tossed backand forth like tennis-balls over the low sand rampart. The thing wasdegenerating into a farce--the "Bertha's" Chinamen would not fight. 

Back there, under the shelter of the schooner, it was all very well totalk, and they had been very brave when they had all flung themselvesupon Hoang. Here, face to face with the enemy, the sun striking offheliograph flashes from their knives and spades, it was a vastlydifferent matter. The thing, to Wilbur's mind, should have been donesuddenly if it was to be done at all. The best course now was to returnto camp and try some other plan. Charlie shouted a direction to him inpigeon English that he did not understand, but he answered all right, and moved forward another step so as to be in line with the coolie athis left. 

The liquor that he had drunk before starting began suddenly to affecthim, yet he knew that his head was yet clear. He could not bring himselfto run away before them all, but he would have given much to havediscovered a good reason for postponing the fight--if fight there was tobe. 

He remembered the cocked revolver in his hand, and, suddenly raising it, fired point-blank at his man, not fifteen feet away. The hammer snappedon the nipple, but the cartridge did not explode. Wilbur turned to theChinaman next him in line, exclaiming excitedly:

"Here, say, have you got a knife--something I can fight with? This gun'sno good. "

There was a shout from Moran:

"Look out, here they come!"

Two of the beach-combers suddenly sprang over the sand breastworks andran toward Charlie, their knives held low in front of them, ready torip. 

"Shoot! shoot! shoot!" shouted Moran rapidly. 

Wilbur's revolver was a self-cocker. He raised it again, drawing hard onthe trigger as he did so. It roared and leaped in his hand, and a whiffof burned powder came to his nostrils. Then Wilbur was astonished tohear himself shout at the top of his voice:

"Come on now, get into them--get into them now, everybody!"

The "Bertha's" Chinamen were all running forward, three of them wellin advance of the others. In the rear Charlie was at grapples with abeach-comber who fought with a knife in each hand, and Wilbur had asudden glimpse of another sitting on the sand with his hand to hismouth, the blood spurting between his fingers. 

Wilbur suddenly realized that he held a knife, and that he was directlyabreast the sand rampart. How he got the knife he could not tell, thoughhe afterward distinctly remembered throwing away his revolver, loaded asit was. He had leaped the breastworks, he knew that, and between himand the vast bright blur of the ocean he saw one of the beach-combersbacking away and watching him intently, his hatchet in his hand. Wilburhad only time to think that he himself would no doubt be killed withinthe next few moments, when this latter halted abruptly, took a stepforward, and, instead of striking downward, as Wilbur had anticipated, dropped upon his knee and struck with all his might at the calf ofWilbur's leg. It was only the thickness of his boots that saved Wilburfrom being hamstrung where he stood. As it was, he felt the blade bitealmost to the bone, and heard the blood squelch in the sole of his boot, as he staggered for the moment, almost tripping over the man in front ofhim. 

The Chinaman sprang to his feet again, but Wilbur was at him in aninstant, feeling instinctively that his chance was to close with hisman, and so bring his own superior weight and strength to bear. Againand again he tried to run in and grip the slim yellow body, but theother dodged and backed away, as hard to hold as any fish. All aroundand back of him now Wilbur heard the hideous sound of stamping andstruggling, and the noise of hoarse, quick shouts and the rebound ofbodies falling and rolling upon the hard, smooth beach. The thing hadnot been a farce, after all. This was fighting at last, and there withinarm's length were men grappling and gripping and hitting one another, each honestly striving to kill his fellow--Chinamen all, fightingin barbarous Oriental fashion with nails and teeth when the knife orhatchet failed. What did he, clubman and college man, in that hideoustrouble that wrought itself out there on that heat-stricken tropic beachunder that morning's sun?

Suddenly there was a flash of red flame, and a billow of thick, yellowsmoke filled all the air. The cabin was afire. The hatchet-man with whomWilbur was fighting had been backing in this direction. He was closein when the fire began to leap from the one window; now he could go nofurther. He turned to run sidewise between his enemy and the burningcabin. Wilbur thrust his foot sharply forward; the beach-comber tripped, staggered, and before he had reached the ground Wilbur had driven homethe knife. 

Then suddenly, at the sight of his smitten enemy rolling on the groundat his feet, the primitive man, the half-brute of the stone age, leaped to life in Wilbur's breast--he felt his muscles thrilling witha strength they had not known before. His nerves, stretched tense asharp-strings, were vibrating to a new tune. His blood spun through hisveins till his ears roared with the rush of it. Never had he conceivedof such savage exultation as that which mastered him at that instant. The knowledge that he could kill filled him with a sense of powerthat was veritably royal. He felt physically larger. It was the joy ofbattle, the horrid exhilaration of killing, the animal of the race, thehuman brute suddenly aroused and dominating every instinct and traditionof centuries of civilization. The fight still was going forward. 

Wilbur could hear the sounds of it, though from where he stood all sightwas shut off by the smoke of the burning house. As he turned about, knife in hand, debating what next he should do, a figure burst down uponhim, shadowy and distorted through the haze. 

It was Moran, but Moran as Wilbur had never seen her before. Her eyeswere blazing under her thick frown like fire under a bush. Her arms werebared to the elbow, her heavy ropes of hair flying and coiling from herin all directions, while with a voice hoarse from shouting she sang, or rather chanted, in her long-forgotten Norse tongue, fragments of oldsagas, words, and sentences, meaningless even to herself. The fury ofbattle had exalted her to a sort of frenzy. She was beside herself withexcitement. Once more she had lapsed back to the Vikings and sea-roversof the tenth century--she was Brunhilde again, a shield-maiden, aValkyrie, a Berserker and the daughter of Berserkers, and like them shefought in a veritable frenzy, seeing nothing, hearing nothing, everysense exalted, every force doubled, insensible to pain, deaf to allreason. 

Her dirk uplifted, she rushed upon Wilbur, never once pausing in herchant. Wilbur shouted a warning to her as she came on, puzzled beyondwords, startled back to a consciousness of himself again by thisinsensate attack. 

"Moran! Moran!" he called. "What is it--you're wrong! It-s I. It'sWilbur--your mate, can't you see?"

Moran could not see--blind to friend or foe, as she was deaf to reason, she struck at him with all the strength of her arm. But there was noskill in her fighting now. Wilbur dropped his own knife and grippedher right wrist. She closed with him upon the instant, clutching at histhroat with her one free hand; and as he felt her strength--doubled andtripled in the fury of her madness--Wilbur knew that, however easily hehad overcome his enemy of a moment before, he was now fighting for hisvery life. 

At first, Wilbur merely struggled to keep her from him--to prevent herusing her dirk. He tried not to hurt her. But what with the spiritshe had drunk before the attack, what with the excitement of the attackitself and the sudden unleashing of the brute in him an instant before, the whole affair grew dim and hazy in his mind. He ceased to see thingsin their proportion. His new-found strength gloried in matching itselfwith another strength that was its equal. He fought with Moran--not ashe would fight with either woman or man, or with anything human, for thematter of that. He fought with her as against some impersonal force thatit was incumbent upon him to conquer--that it was imperative he shouldconquer if he wished to live. When she struck, he struck blow for blow, force for force, his strength against hers, glorying in that strangecontest, though he never once forgot that this last enemy was thegirl he loved. It was not Moran whom he fought; it was her force, herdetermination, her will, her splendid independence, that he set himselfto conquer. 

Already she had dropped or flung away the dirk, and their battle hadbecome an issue of sheer physical strength between them. It was aquestion now as to who should master the other. Twice she had foughtWilbur to his knees, the heel of her hand upon his face, his head thrustback between his shoulders, and twice he had wrenched away, rising tohis feet again, panting, bleeding even, but with his teeth set andall his resolution at the sticking-point. Once he saw his chance, andplanted his knuckles squarely between her eyes where her frown wasknotted hard, hoping to stun her and end the fight once and for all. Butthe blow did not seem to affect her in the least. By this time he sawthat her Berserker rage had worked itself clear as fermenting wineclears itself, and that she knew now with whom she was fighting; and heseemed now to understand the incomprehensible, and to sympathize withher joy in measuring her strength against his; and yet he knew that thecombat was deadly serious, and that more than life was at stake. Morandespised a weakling. 

For an instant, as they fell apart, she stood off, breathing hard androlling up her sleeve; then, as she started forward again, Wilbur mether half-way, caught her round the neck and under the arm, gripping herleft wrist with his right hand behind her; then, exerting every ounceof strength he yet retained, he thrust her down and from him, until atlength, using his hip as a pivot, he swung her off her feet, threw herfairly on her back, and held her so, one knee upon her chest, his handsclosed vise-like on her wrists. 

Then suddenly Moran gave up, relaxing in his grasp all in a second, and, to his great surprise, suddenly smiled. 

"Ho! mate, " she exclaimed; "that was a tough one; but I'm beaten--you'restronger than I thought for. "

Wilbur released her and rose to his feet. 

"Here, " she continued, "give me your hand. I'm as weak as a kitten. " AsWilbur helped her to her feet, she put her hand to her forehead, where his knuckles had left their mark, and frowned at him, but notill-naturedly. 

"Next time you do that, " she said, "use a rock or a belaying-pin, orsomething that won't hurt--not your fist, mate. " She looked at himadmiringly. "What a two-fisted, brawny dray-horse it is! I told you Iwas stronger than most men, didn't I? But I'm the weaker of us two, andthat's a fact. You've beaten, mate--I admit it; you've conqueredme, and, " she continued, smiling again and shaking him by theshoulder--"and, mate, do you know, I love you for it. "

XI. A CHANGE IN LEADERS

"Well, " exclaimed Wilbur at length, the excitement of the fightreturning upon him. "We have plenty to do yet. Come on, Moran. "

It was no longer Moran who took the initiative--who was the leader. Thebrief fight upon the shore had changed all that. It was Wilbur who wasnow the master, it was Wilbur who was aggressive. He had known whatit meant to kill. He was no longer afraid of anything, no longerhesitating. He had felt a sudden quadrupling of all his strength, moraland physical. 

All that was strong and virile and brutal in him seemed to harden andstiffen in the moment after he had seen the beach-comber collapse limplyon the sand under the last strong knife-blow; and a sense of triumph, ofboundless self-confidence, leaped within him, so that he shouted aloudin a very excess of exhilaration; and snatching up a heavy cutting-inspade, that had been dropped in the fight near the burning cabin, tossed it high into the air, catching it again as it descended, like anyexultant savage. 

"Come on!" he cried to Moran; "where are the beach-combers gone? I'mgoing to get one more before the show is over. "

The two passed out of the zone of smoke, and reached the other sideof the burning cabin just in time to see the last of the struggle. Thewhole affair had not taken more than a quarter of an hour. In the endthe beach-combers had been beaten. Four had fled into the waste of sandand sage that lay back of the shore, and had not been pursued. A fifthhad been almost hamstrung by one of the "Bertha's" coolies, and hadgiven himself up. A sixth, squealing and shrieking like a tiger-cat, hadbeen made prisoner; and Wilbur himself had accounted for the seventh. 

As Wilbur and Moran came around the cabin they saw the "BerthaMillner's" Chinamen in a group, not far from the water's edge, reassembled after the fight--panting and bloody, some of them bareto the belt, their weapons still in their hands. Here and there wasa bandaged arm or head; but their number was complete--or no, was itcomplete?

"Ought to be one more, " said Wilbur, anxiously hastening for-ward. 

As the two came up the coolies parted, and Wilbur saw one of them, his head propped upon a rolled-up blouse, lying ominously still on thetrampled sand. 

"It's Charlie!" exclaimed Moran. 

"Where's he hurt?" cried Wilbur to the group of coolies. "Jim!--where'sJim? Where's he hurt, Jim?"

Jim, the only member of the crew besides Charlie who could understand orspeak English, answered:

"Kai-gingh him fin' pistol, you' pistol; Charlie him fight plenty;bime-by, when he no see, one-piecee Kai-gingh he come up behin', shootum Charlie in side--savvy?"

"Did he kill him? Is he dead?"

"No, I tinkum die plenty soon; him no savvy nuttin' now, him all-samesleep. Plenty soon bime-by him sleep for good, I tink. "

There was little blood to be seen when Wilbur gently unwrapped thetorn sleeve of a blouse that had been used as a bandage. Just under thearmpit was the mark of the bullet--a small puncture already closed, halfhidden under a clot or two of blood. The coolie lay quite unconscious, his eyes wide open, drawing a faint, quick breath at irregularintervals. 

"What do you think, mate?" asked Moran in a low voice. 

"I think he's got it through the lungs, " answered Wilbur, frowning indistress and perplexity. "Poor old Charlie!"

Moran went down on a knee, and put a finger on the slim, corded wrist, yellow as old ivory. 

"Charlie, " she called--"Charlie, here, don't you know me? Wake up, oldchap! It's Moran. You're not hurt so very bad, are you?"

Charlie's eyes closed and opened a couple of times. 

"No can tell, " he answered feebly; "hurt plenty big"; then he began tocough. 

Wilbur drew a sigh of relief. "He's all right!" he exclaimed. 

"Yes, I think he's all right, " assented Moran. 

"First thing to do now is to get him aboard the schooner, " said Wilbur. "We'll take him right across in the beach-combers' dory here. By Jove!"he exclaimed on a sudden. "The ambergris--I'd forgotten all about it. "His heart sank. In the hideous confusion of that morning's work, allthought of the loot had been forgotten. Had the battle been for nothing, after all? The moment the beach-combers had been made aware of themeditated attack, it would have been an easy matter for them to havehidden the ambergris--destroyed it even. 

In two strides Wilbur had reached the beach-combers' dory and wasgroping in the forward cuddy. Then he uttered a great shout ofsatisfaction. The "stuff" was there, all of it, though the mass had beencut into quarters, three parts of it stowed in tea-flails, the fourthstill reeved up in the hammock netting. 

"We've got it!" he cried to Moran, who had followed him. "We've got it, Moran! Over $100, 000. We're rich--rich as boodlers, you and I. Oh, it was worth fighting for, after all, wasn't it? Now we'll get out ofhere--now we'll cut for home. "

"It's only Charlie I'm thinking about, " answered Moran, hesitating. "Ifit wasn't for that we'd be all right. I don't know whether we did right, after all, in jumping the camp here. I wouldn't like to feel that I'dgot Charlie into our quarrel only to have him killed. "

Wilbur stared at this new Moran in no little amazement. Where was thereckless, untamed girl of the previous night, who had sworn at him anddenounced his niggling misgivings as to right and wrong?

"Hoh!" he retorted impatiently, "Charlie's right enough. And, besides, Ididn't force him to anything. I--we, that is--took the same chances. IfI hadn't done for my man there behind the cabin, he would have done forme. At all events, we carried our point. We got the loot. They took itfrom us, and we were strong enough to get it back. "

Moran merely nodded, as though satisfied with his decision, and added:

"Well, what next, mate?"

"We'll get back to the 'Bertha' now and put to sea as soon as we cancatch the tide. I'll send Jim and two of the other men across in thedory with Charlie. The rest of us will go around by the shore. We've gotto have a chin-chin with Hoang, if he don't get loose aboard thereand fire the boat before we can get back. I don't propose taking thesebeach-combers back to 'Frisco with us. "

"What will we do with the two prisoners?" she asked. 

"Let them go; we've got their arms. "

The positions of the two were reversed. It was Wilbur who assumedcontrol and direction of what went forward, Moran taking his advice andrelying upon his judgment. 

In accordance with Wilbur's orders, Charlie was carried aboard the dory;which, with two Chinamen at the oars, and the ambergris stowed againinto the cuddy, at once set off for the schooner. Wilbur himself cut theropes on the two prisoners, and bade them shift for themselves. The restof the party returned to the "Bertha Millner" around the wide sweep ofthe beach. 

It was only by high noon, under the flogging of a merciless sun, thatthe entire crew of the little schooner once more reassembled under theshadow of her stranded hulk. They were quite worn out; and as soon asCharlie was lifted aboard, and the ambergris--or, as they spoke of itnow, the "loot"--was safely stowed in the cabin, Wilbur allowed theChinamen three or four hours' rest. They had had neither breakfast nordinner; but their exhaustion was greater than their hunger, and in a fewmoments the entire half-dozen were stretched out asleep on the forwarddeck in the shadow of the foresail raised for the purpose of shelteringthem. However, Wilbur and Moran sought out Hoang, whom they found asthey had left him--bound upon the floor of the cabin. 

"Now we have a talk--savvy?" Wilbur told him as he loosed the ropesabout his wrists and ankles. "We got our loot back from you, old man, and we got one of your men into the bargain. You woke up the wrongcrowd, Hoang, when you went up against this outfit. You're in a bad way, my friend. Your junk is wrecked; all your oil and blubber from the whaleis lost; four of your men have run away, one is killed, another one wecaught and let go, another one has been hamstrung; and you yourself areour prisoner, with your teeth filed down to your gums. Now, " continuedWilbur, with the profoundest gravity, "I hope this will be a lesson toyou. Don't try and get too much the next time. Just be content with whatis yours by right, or what you are strong enough to keep, and don't tryto fight with white people. Other coolies, I don't say. But when you tryto get the better of white people you are out of your class. "

The little beach-comber (he was scarcely above five feet) rubbed hischafed wrists, and fixed Wilbur with his tiny, twinkling eyes. 

"What you do now?"

"We go home. I'm going to maroon you and your people here on this beach. You deserve that I should let you eat your fists by way of table-board;but I'm no such dirt as you. When our men left the schooner they broughtoff with them a good share of our provisions. I'll leave them herefor you--and there's plenty of turtle and abalone to be had for thecatching. Some of the American men-of-war, I believe, come down to thisbay for target-practice twice a year, and if we speak any on the way upwe'll ask them to call here for castaways. That's what I'll do for you, and that's all! If you don't like it, you can set out to march up thecoast till you hit a town; but I wouldn't advise you to try it. Now whathave you got to say?"

Hoang was silent. His queue had become unbound for half its length, andhe plaited it anew, winking his eyes thoughtfully. 

"Well, what do you say?" said Moran. 

"I lose face, " answered Hoang at length, calmly. 

"You lose face? What do you mean?"

"I lose face, " he insisted; then added: "I heap 'shamed. You fightee myChina boy, you catchee me. My boy no mo' hab me fo' boss--savvy? I goback, him no likee me. Mebbe all same killee me. I lose face--no mo'boss. "

"What a herd of wild cattle!" muttered Wilbur. 

"There's something in what he says, don't you think, mate?" observedMoran, bringing a braid over each shoulder and stroking it according toher habit. 

"We'll ask Jim about it, " decided Wilbur. 

But Jim at once confirmed Hoang's statement. "Oh, Kai-gingh killumno-good boss, fo' sure, " he declared. 

"Don't you think, mate, " said Moran, "we'd better take him up to 'Friscowith us? We've had enough fighting and killing. "

So it was arranged that the defeated beach-comber, the whippedbuccaneer, who had "lost face" and no longer dared look his men in theeye, should be taken aboard. 

By four o'clock next morning Wilbur had the hands at work digging thesand from around the "Bertha Millner's" bow. The line by which she wasto be warped off was run out to the ledge of the rock; fresh water wastaken on; provisions for the marooned beach-combers were cached uponthe beach; the dory was taken aboard, gaskets were cast off, and hatchesbattened down. 

At high tide, all hands straining upon the warp, the schoonerwas floated off, and under touch of the lightest airs drew almostimperceptibly away from the land. They were quite an hour crawling outto the heads of the bay. But here the breeze was freshening. Morantook the wheel; the flying-jib and staysail were set; the wake began towhiten under the schooner's stern, the forefoot sang; the Pacific openedout more and more; and by 12:30 o'clock Moran put the wheel over, and, as the schooner's bow swung to the northward, cried to Wilbur:

"Mate, look your last of Magdalena Bay!"

Standing at her side, Wilbur turned and swept the curve of the coastwith a single glance. The vast, heat-scourged hoop of yellow sand, thestill, smooth shield of indigo water, with its beds of kelp, had becomeinsensibly dear to him. It was all familiar, friendly, and hospitable. Hardly an acre of that sweep of beach that did not hold the impress ofhis foot. There was the point near by the creek where he and Moran firstlanded to fill the water-casks and to gather abalones; the creek itself, where he had snared quail; the sand spit with its whitened whale'sskull, where he and Moran had beached the schooner; and there, lastof all, that spot of black over which still hung a haze of brown-graysmoke, the charred ruins of the old Portuguese whaling-cabin, where theyhad outfought the beach-combers. 

For a moment Wilbur and Moran looked back without speaking. They stoodon the quarter-deck; in the shadow of the main-sail, shut off from thesight of the schooner's crew, and for the instant quite alone. 

"Well, Moran, it's good-by to the old places, isn't it?" said Wilbur atlength. 

"Yes, " she said, her deep voice pitched even deeper than usual. "Mate, great things have happened there. "

"It doesn't look like a place for a Tong row with Chinese pirates, though, does it?" he said; but even as he spoke the words, he guessedthat that was not what he meant. 

"Oh, what did that amount to?" she said, with an impatient movement ofher head. "It was there that I first knew myself; and knew that, afterall, you were a man and I was a woman; and that there was just us--youand I--in the world; and that you loved me and I loved you, and thatnothing else was worth thinking of. "

Wilbur shut his hand down over hers as it gripped a spoke of the wheel. 

"Moran, I knew that long since, " he said. "Such a month as this hasbeen! Why, I feel as though I had only begun to live since I began tolove you. "

"And you do, mate?" she answered--"you do love me, and always will? Oh, you don't know, " she went on, interrupting his answer, "you haven't aguess, how the last two days have changed me. Something has happenedhere"--and she put both her hands over her breast. "I'm all differenthere, mate. It's all you inside here--all you! And it hurts, and I'mproud that it does hurt. Oh!" she cried, of a sudden, "I don't know howto love yet, and I do it very badly, and I can't tell you how I feel, because I can't even tell it to myself. But you must be good to me now. "The deep voice trembled a little. "Good to me, mate, and true to me, mate, because I've only you, and all of me is yours. Mate, be good tome, and always be kind to me. I'm not Moran any more. I'm not proud andstrong and independent, and I don't want to be lonely. I want you--Iwant you always with me. I'm just a woman now, dear--just a woman thatloves you with a heart she's just found. "

Wilbur could find no words to answer. There was something so patheticand at the same time so noble in Moran's complete surrender of herself, and her dependence upon him, her unquestioned trust in him and hisgoodness, that he was suddenly smitten with awe at the sacredness of theobligation thus imposed on him. She was his now, to have and to hold, to keep, to protect, and to defend--she who was once so glorious of herstrength, of her savage isolation, her inviolate, pristine maidenhood. All words seemed futile and inadequate to him. 

She came close to him, and put her hands upon his shoulders, and, looking him squarely in the eye, said:

"You do love me, mate, and you always will?"

"Always, Moran, " said Wilbur, simply. He took her in his arms, and shelaid her cheek against his for a moment, then took his head between herhands and kissed him. 

Two days passed. The "Bertha Millner" held steadily to her northwardcourse, Moran keeping her well in toward the land. Wilbur maintained alookout from the crow's-nest in the hope of sighting some white cruiseror battleship on her way south for target-practice. In the cache ofprovisions he had left for the beach-combers he had inserted a message, written by Hoang, to the effect that they might expect to be taken offby a United States man-of-war within the month. 

Hoang did not readily recover his "loss of face. " The "Bertha's"Chinamen would have nothing to do with this member of a hostile Tong;and the humiliated beach-comber kept almost entirely to himself, sittingon the forecastle-head all day long, smoking his sui-yen-hu and broodingsilently to himself. 

Moran had taken the lump of ambergris from out Kitchell's old hammock, and had slung the hammock itself in the schooner's waist, and Charliewas made as comfortable as possible therein. They could do but littlefor him, however; and he was taken from time to time with spells ofcoughing that racked him with a dreadful agony. At length one noon, justafter Moran had taken the sun and had calculated that the "Bertha" wassome eight miles to the southwest of San Diego, she was surprised tohear Wilbur calling her sharply. She ran to him, and found him standingin the waist by Charlie's hammock. 

The Chinaman was dying, and knew it. He was talking in a faint andfeeble voice to Wilbur as she came up, and was trying to explain to himthat he was sorry he had deserted the schooner during the scare in thebay. 

"Planty muchee solly, " he said; "China boy, him heap flaid of Feng-shui. When Feng-shui no likee, we then must go chop-chop. Plenty much solly Ileave-um schooner that night; solly plenty--savvy?"

"Of course we savvy, Charlie, " said Moran. "You weren't afraid when itcame to fighting. "

"I die pletty soon, " said Charlie calmly. "You say you gib me fifteenhundled dollah?"

"Yes, yes; that was our promise. What do you want done with it, Charlie?"

"I want plenty fine funeral in Chinatown in San Francisco. Oh, heapfine! You buy um first-chop coffin--savvy? Silver heap much--costumbig money. You gib my money to Hop Sing Association, topside Ming Yentemple. You savvy Hop Sing?--one Six Companies. "

"Yes, yes. "

"Tellum Hop Sing I want funeral--four-piecee horse. You no flogetteehorse?" he added apprehensively. 

"No, I'll not forget the horses Charlie. You shall have four. "

"Want six-piecee band musicians--China music--heap plenty gong. You noflogettee? Two piecee priest, all dressum white--savvy? You mus' buyumcoffin yo'self. Velly fine coffin, heap much silver, an' four-pieceehorse. You catchum fireclacker--one, five, seven hundled fireclacker, makeum big noise; an' loast pig, an' plenty lice an' China blandy. Heap fine funeral, costum fifteen hundled dollah. I be bury all sameMandarin--all same Little Pete. You plomise, sure?"

"I promise you, Charlie. You shall have a funeral finer than littlePete's. "

Charlie nodded his head contentedly, drawing a breath of satisfaction. 

"Bimeby Hop Sing sendum body back China. " He closed his eyes and layfor a long time, worn out with the effort of speaking, as if asleep. Suddenly he opened his eyes wide. "You no flogettee horse?"

"Four horses, Charlie. I'll remember. "

He drooped once more, only to rouse again at the end of a few minuteswith:

"First-chop coffin, plenty much silver"; and again, a little laterand very feebly: "Six-piecee--band music--China music--four-pieceegong--four. "

"I promise you, Charlie, " said Wilbur. 

"Now, " answered Charlie--"now I die. "

And the low-caste Cantonese coolie, with all the dignity and calmness ofa Cicero, composed himself for death. 

An hour later Wilbur and Moran knew that he was dead. Yet, though theyhad never left the hammock, they could not have told at just what momenthe died. 

Later, on that same afternoon, Wilbur, from the crow's-nest, saw thelighthouse on Point Loma and the huge rambling bulk of the CoronadoHotel spreading out and along the beach. 

It was the outpost of civilization. They were getting back to the worldagain. Within an hour's ride of the hotel were San Diego, railroads, newspapers, and policemen. Just off the hotel, however, Wilbur coulddiscern the gleaming white hull of a United States man-of-war. With theglass he could make her out to be one of the monitors--the "Monterey" inall probability. 

After advising with Moran, it was decided to put in to land. The reportas to the castaways could be made to the "Monterey, " and Charlie's bodyforwarded to his Tong in San Francisco. 

In two hours' time the schooner was well up, and Wilbur stood by Moran'sside at the wheel, watching and studying the familiar aspect of CoronadoBeach. 

"It's a great winter resort, " he told her. "I was down here with a partytwo years ago. Nothing has changed. You see that big sort of round wing, Moran, all full of windows? That's the dining-room. And there's thebathhouse and the bowling-alley. See the people on the beach, and thegirls in white duck skirts; and look up there by the veranda--let metake the glass--yes, there's a tally-ho coach. Isn't it queer to getback to this sort of thing after Magdalena Bay and the beach-combers?"

Moran spun the wheel without reply, and gave an order to Jim to ease offthe foresheet. 

XII. NEW CONDITIONS

The winter season at the Hotel del Coronado had been unusually gay thatyear, and the young lady who wrote the society news in diary form forone of the San Francisco weekly papers had held forth at much lengthupon the hotel's "unbroken succession of festivities. " She had alsonoted that "prominent among the newest arrivals" had been Mr. NatRidgeway, of San Francisco, who had brought down from the city, aboardhis elegant and sumptuously fitted yacht "Petrel, " a jolly party, composed largely of the season's debutantes. To be mentioned in thelatter category was Miss Josie Herrick, whose lavender coming-out teaat the beginning of the season was still a subject of comment among thegossips--and all the rest of it. 

The "Petrel" had been in the harbor but a few days, and on this eveninga dance was given at the hotel in honor of her arrival. It was to be acotillon, and Nat Ridgeway was going to lead with Josie Herrick. Therehad been a coaching party to Tia Juana that day, and Miss Herrick hadreturned to the hotel only in time to dress. By 9:30 she emerged fromthe process--which had involved her mother, her younger sister, hermaid, and one of the hotel chambermaids--a dainty, firm-corseted littlebody, all tulle, white satin, and high-piled hair. She carried MarechalNiel roses, ordered by wire from Monterey; and about an hour later, whenRidgeway gave the nod to the waiting musicians, and swung her off to thebeat of a two-step, there was not a more graceful little figure upon thefloor of the incomparable round ballroom of the Coronado Hotel. 

The cotillon was a great success. The ensigns and younger officers ofthe monitor--at that time anchored off the hotel--attended in uniform;and enough of the members of what was known in San Francisco as the"dancing set" were present to give the affair the necessary entrain. Even Jerry Haight, who belonged more distinctly to the "country-clubset, " and who had spent the early part of that winter shooting elk inOregon, was among the ranks of the "rovers, " who grouped themselvesabout the draughty doorways, and endeavored to appear unconscious eachtime Ridgeway gave the signal for a "break. "

The figures had gone round the hall once. The "first set" was out again, and as Ridgeway guided Miss Herrick by the "rovers" she looked over thearray of shirt-fronts, searching for Jerry Haight. 

"Do you see Mr. Haight?" she asked of Ridgeway. "I wanted to favorhim this break. I owe him two already, and he'll never forgive me if Ioverlook him now. "

Jerry Haight had gone to the hotel office for a few moments' rest anda cigarette, and was nowhere in sight. But when the set broke, andMiss Herrick, despairing of Jerry, had started out to favor one ofthe younger ensigns, she suddenly jostled against him, pushing his wayeagerly across the floor in the direction of the musicians' platform. 

"Oh!" she cried, "Mr. Haight, you've missed your chance--I've beenlooking for you. "

But Jerry did not hear--he seemed very excited. He crossed the floor, almost running, and went up on the platform where the musicians weremeandering softly through the mazes of "La Paloma, " and brought them toan abrupt silence. 

"Here, I say, Haight!" exclaimed Ridgeway, who was near by, "you can'tbreak up my figure like that. "

"Gi' me a call there on the bugle, " said Haight rapidly to thecornetist. "Anything to make 'em keep quiet a moment. "

The cornetist sounded a couple of notes, and the cotillon paused inthe very act of the break. The shuffling of feet grew still, and theconversation ceased. A diamond brooch had been found, no doubt, or somesupper announcement was to be made. But Jerry Haight, with a great sweepof his arm, the forgotten cigarette between his fingers, shouted outbreathlessly:

"Ross Wilbur is out in the office of the hotel!"

There was an instant's silence, and then a great shout. Wilbur found!Ross Wilbur come back from the dead! Ross Wilbur, hunted for andbootlessly traced from Buenos Ayres in the south to the Aleutian Islandsin the north. Ross Wilbur, the puzzle of every detective bureau on thecoast; the subject of a thousand theories; whose name had figured in thescareheads of every newspaper west of the Mississippi. Ross Wilbur, seenat a fashionable tea and his club of an afternoon, then suddenly blottedout from the world of men; swallowed up and engulfed by the unknown, with not so much as a button left behind. Ross Wilbur the suicide; RossWilbur, the murdered; Ross Wilbur, victim of a band of kidnappers, thehero of some dreadful story that was never to be told, the mystery, thelegend--behold he was there! Back from the unknown, dropped from theclouds, spewed up again from the bowels of the earth--a veritable godfrom the machine who in a single instant was to disentangle all theunexplained complications of those past winter months. 

"Here he comes!" shouted Jerry, his eyes caught by a group of menin full dress and gold lace who came tramping down the hall to theballroom, bearing a nondescript figure on their shoulders. "Here hecomes--the boys are bringing him in here! Oh!" he cried, turning tothe musicians, "can't you play something?--any-thing! Hit it up for allyou're worth! Ridgeway--Nat, look here! Ross was Yale, y' know--Yale'95; ain't we enough Yale men here to give him the yell?"

Out of all time and tune, but with a vigor that made up for both, themusicians banged into a patriotic air. Jerry, standing on a chair thatitself was standing on the platform, led half a dozen frantic men in thelong thunder of the "Brek-kek-kek-kek, co-ex, co-ex. "

Around the edges of the hall excited girls, and chaperons themselves noless agitated, were standing up on chairs and benches, splitting theirgloves and breaking their fans in their enthusiasm; while every maledancer on the floor--ensigns in their gold-faced uniforms and "rovers"in starched and immaculate shirt-bosoms--cheered and cheered andstruggled with one another to shake hands with a man whom two of theirnumber old Yale grads, with memories of athletic triumphs yet in theirminds--carried into that ball-room, borne high upon their shoulders. 

And the hero of the occasion, the centre of all this enthusiasm--thuscarried as if in triumph into this assembly in evening dress, in whitetulle and whiter kid, odorous of delicate sachets and scarce-perceptibleperfumes--was a figure unhandsome and unkempt beyond description. Hishair was long, and hanging over his eyes. A thick, uncared-for beardconcealed the mouth and chin. He was dressed in a Chinaman's blouse andjeans--the latter thrust into slashed and tattered boots. The tan andweatherbeatings of nearly half a year of the tropics were spread overhis face; a partly healed scar disfigured one temple and cheek-bone;the hands, to the very finger-nails, were gray with grime; the jeans andblouse and boots were fouled with grease, with oil, with pitch, and allmanner of the dirt of an uncared-for ship. And as the dancers of thecotillon pressed about, and a hundred kid-gloved hands stretched towardhis own palms, there fell from Wilbur's belt upon the waxed floor of theballroom the knife he had so grimly used in the fight upon the beach, the ugly stains still blackening on the haft. 

There was no more cotillon that night. They put him down at last; andin half a dozen sentences Wilbur told them of how he had beenshanghaied--told them of Magdalena Bay, his fortune in the ambergris, and the fight with the beach-combers. 

"You people are going down there for target-practice, aren't you?" hesaid, turning to one of the "Monterey's" officers in the crowd abouthim. "Yes? Well, you'll find the coolies there, on the beach, waitingfor you. All but one, " he added, grimly. 

"We marooned six of them, but the seventh didn't need to be marooned. They tried to plunder us of our boat, but, by -----, we made itinteresting for 'em!"

"I say, steady, old man!" exclaimed Nat Ridgeway, glancing nervouslytoward the girls in the surrounding group. "This isn't Magdalena Bay, you know. "

And for the first time Wilbur felt a genuine pang of disappointment andregret as he realized that it was not. 

Half an hour later, Ridgeway drew him aside. "I say, Ross, let's getout of here. You can't stand here talking all night. Jerry and you andI will go up to my rooms, and we can talk there in peace. I'll order upthree quarts of fizz, and--"

"Oh, rot your fizz!" declared Wilbur. "If you love me, give me Christiantobacco. "

As they were going out of the ballroom, Wilbur caught sight of JosieHerrick, and, breaking away from the others, ran over to her. 

"Oh!" she cried, breathless. "To think and to think of your comingback after all! No, I don't realize it--I can't. It will take me untilmorning to find out that you've really come back. I just know now thatI'm happier than I ever was in my life before. Oh!" she cried, "do Ineed to tell you how glad I am? It's just too splendid for words. Do youknow, I was thought to be the last person you had ever spoken to whilealive, and the reporters and all--oh, but we must have such a talk whenall is quiet again! And our dance--we've never had our dance. I've gotyour card yet. Remember the one you wrote for me at the tea--a facsimileof it was published in all the papers. You are going to be a hero whenyou get back to San Francisco. Oh, Ross! Ross!" she cried, the tearsstarting to her eyes, "you've really come back, and you are just as gladas I am, aren't you--glad that you've come back--come back to me?"

Later on, in Ridgeway's room, Wilbur told his story again more in detailto Ridgeway and Jerry. All but one portion of it. He could not makeup his mind to speak to them--these society fellows, clubmen and citybred--of Moran. How he was going to order his life henceforward--hislife, that he felt to be void of interest without her--he did not know. That was a question for later consideration. 

"We'll give another cotillon!" exclaimed Ridgeway, "up in the city--giveit for you, Ross, and you'll lead. It'll be the event of the season!"

Wilbur uttered an exclamation of contempt. "I've done with that sort offoolery, " he answered. 

"Nonsense; why, think, we'll have it in your honor. Every smart girl intown will come, and you'll be the lion of--"

"You don't seem to understand!" cried Wilbur impatiently. "Do you thinkthere's any fun in that for me now? Why, man, I've fought--fought with anaked dirk, fought with a coolie who snapped at me like an ape--and youtalk to me of dancing and functions and german favors! It wouldn't dosome of you people a bit of harm if you were shanghaied yourselves. That sort of life, if it don't do anything else, knocks a big bit ofseriousness into you. You fellows make me sick, " he went on vehemently. "As though there wasn't anything else to do but lead cotillons and getup new figures!"

"Well, what do you propose to do?" asked Nat Ridgeway. "Where are yougoing now--back to Magdalena Bay?"

"No. "

"Where, then?"

Wilbur smote the table with his fist. 

"Cuba!" he cried. "I've got a crack little schooner out in the bay here, and I've got a hundred thousand dollars' worth of loot aboard of her. I've tried beach-combing for a while, and now I'll try filibustering. It may be a crazy idea, but it's better than dancing. I'd rather lead anexpedition than a german, and you can chew on that, Nathaniel Ridgeway. "

Jerry looked at him as he stood there before them in the filthy, reekingblouse and jeans, the ragged boots, and the mane of hair and tangledbeard, and remembered the Wilbur he used to know--the Wilbur of thecarefully creased trousers, the satin scarfs and fancy waistcoats. 

"You're a different sort than when you went away, Ross, " said Jerry. 

"Right you are, " answered Wilbur. 

"But I will venture a prophecy, " continued Jerry, looking keenly at him. 

"Ross, you are a born-and-bred city man. It's in the blood of you andthe bones of you. I'll give you three years for this new notion of yoursto wear itself out. You think just now you're going to spend the restof your life as an amateur buccaneer. In three years, at the outside, you'll be using your 'loot, ' as you call it, or the interest of it, topay your taxes and your tailor, your pew rent and your club dues, and you'll be what the biographers call 'a respectable member of thecommunity. '"

"Did you ever kill a man, Jerry?" asked Wilbur. "No? Well, you kill onesome day--kill him in a fair give-and-take fight--and see how it makesyou feel, and what influence it has on you, and then come back and talkto me. "

It was long after midnight. Wilbur rose. 

"We'll ring for a boy, " said Ridgeway, "and get you a room. I can fixyou out with clothes enough in the morning. "

Wilbur stared in some surprise, and then said:

"Why, I've got the schooner to look after. I can't leave those cooliesalone all night. "

"You don't mean to say you're going on board at this time in themorning?"

"Of course!"

"Why--but--but you'll catch your death of cold. "

Wilbur stared at Ridgeway, then nodded helplessly, and, scratching hishead, said, half aloud:

"No, what's the use; I can't make 'em understand. Good-night I'll seeyou in the morning. "

"We'll all come out and visit you on your yacht, " Ridgeway called afterhim; but Wilbur did not hear. 

In answer to Wilbur's whistle, Jim came in with the dory and took himoff to the schooner. Moran met him as he came over the side. 

"I took the watch myself to-night and let the boy turn in, " she said. "How is it ashore, mate?"

"We've come back to the world of little things, Moran, " said Wilbur. "But we'll pull out of here in the morning and get back to the placeswhere things are real. "

"And that's a good hearing, mate. "

"Let's get up here on the quarterdeck, " added Wilbur. "I've something topropose to you. "

Moran laid an arm across his shoulder, and the two walked aft. Forhalf an hour Wilbur talked to her earnestly about his new idea offilibustering; and as he told her of the war he warmed to the subject, his face glowing, his eyes sparkling. Suddenly, however, he broke off. 

"But no!" he exclaimed. "You don't understand, Moran. How canyou--you're foreign-born. It's no affair of yours!"

"Mate! mate!" cried Moran, her hands upon his shoulders. "It's you whodon't understand--don't understand me. Don't you know--can't you see?Your people are mine now. I'm happy only in your happiness. You wereright--the best happiness is the happiness one shares. And your sorrowsbelong to me, just as I belong to you, dear. Your enemies are mine, andyour quarrels are my quarrels. " She drew his head quickly toward her andkissed him. 

In the morning the two had made up their minds to a certain vague courseof action. To get away--anywhere--was their one aim. Moran was by naturea creature unfit for civilization, and the love of adventure and thedesire for action had suddenly leaped to life in Wilbur's blood and wasnot to be resisted. They would get up to San Francisco, dispose of their"loot, " outfit the "Bertha Millner" as a filibuster, and put to seaagain. They had discussed the advisability of rounding the Horn in sosmall a ship as the "Bertha Millner, " but Moran had settled that atonce. 

"I've got to know her pretty well, " she told Wilbur. "She's sound as anut. Only let's get away from this place. "

But toward ten o'clock on the morning after their arrival off Coronado, and just as they were preparing to get under way, Hoang touched Wilbur'selbow. 

"Seeum lil one-piece smoke-boat; him come chop-chop. "

In fact, a little steam-launch was rapidly approaching the schooner. Inanother instant she was alongside. Jerry, Nat Ridgeway, Josie Herrick, and an elderly woman, whom Wilbur barely knew as Miss Herrick's marriedsister, were aboard. 

"We've come off to see your yacht!" cried Miss Herrick to Wilbur as thelaunch bumped along the schooner's counter. "Can we come aboard?" Shelooked very pretty in her crisp pink shirt-waist her white duck skirt, and white kid shoes, her sailor hat tilted at a barely perceptibleangle. The men were in white flannels and smart yachting suits. "Can wecome aboard?" she repeated. 

Wilbur gasped and stared. "Good Lord!" he muttered. "Oh, come along, " headded, desperately. 

The party came over the side. 

"Oh, my!" said Miss Herrick blankly, stopping short. 

The decks, masts, and rails of the schooner were shiny with a blackcoating of dirt and grease; the sails were gray with grime; a stranglingodor of oil and tar, of cooking and of opium, of Chinese punk and dryingfish, pervaded all the air. In the waist, Hoang and Jim, bare to thebelt, their queues looped around their necks to be out of the way, were stowing the dory and exchanging high-pitched monosyllables. Miss Herrick's sister had not come aboard. The three visitors--Jerry, Ridgeway, and Josie--stood nervously huddled together, their elbowsclose in, as if to avoid contact with the prevailing filth, theirimmaculate white outing-clothes detaching themselves violently againstthe squalor and sordid grime of the schooner's background. 

"Oh, my!" repeated Miss Herrick in dismay, half closing her eyes. "Tothink of what you must have been through! I thought you had some kind ofa yacht. I had no idea it would be like this. " And as she spoke, Morancame suddenly upon the group from behind the foresail, and paused inabrupt surprise, her thumbs in her belt. 

She still wore men's clothes and was booted to the knee. The heavy bluewoolen shirt was open at the throat, the sleeves rolled half-way upher large white arms. In her belt she carried her haftless Scandinaviandirk. She was hatless as ever, and her heavy, fragrant cables ofrye-hued hair fell over her shoulders and breast to far below her belt. 

Miss Herrick started sharply, and Moran turned an inquiring glance uponWilbur. Wilbur took his resolution in both hands. 

"Miss Herrick, " he said, "this is Moran--Moran Sternersen. "

Moran took a step forward, holding out her hand. Josie, all bewildered, put her tight-gloved fingers into the calloused palm, looking upnervously into Moran's face. 

"I'm sure, " she said feebly, almost breathlessly, "I--I'm sure I'm verypleased to meet Miss Sternersen. "

It was long before the picture left Wilbur's imagination. Josie Herrick, petite, gowned in white, crisp from her maid's grooming; and Moran, sea-rover and daughter of a hundred Vikings, towering above her, bootedand belted, gravely clasping Josie's hand in her own huge fist. 

XIII. MORAN STERNERSEN

San Francisco once more! For two days the "Bertha Millner" had beenbeating up the coast, fighting her way against northerly winds, buttinginto head seas. 

The warmth, the stillness, the placid, drowsing quiet of MagdalenaBay, steaming under the golden eye of a tropic heaven, the white, bakedbeach, the bay-heads, striated with the mirage in the morning, thecoruscating sunset, the enchanted mystery of the purple night, withits sheen of stars and riding moon, were now replaced by the hale andvigorous snorting of the Trades, the roll of breakers to landward, andthe unremitting gallop of the unnumbered multitudes of gray-green seas, careering silently past the schooner, their crests occasionally hissinginto brusque eruptions of white froth, or smiting broad on under hercounter, showering her decks with a sprout of icy spray. It was cold;at times thick fogs cloaked all the world of water. To the east aprocession of bleak hills defiled slowly southward; lighthouses werepassed; streamers of smoke on the western horizon marked the passage ofsteamships; and once they met and passed close by a huge Cape Horner, a great deep-sea tramp, all sails set and drawing, rolling slowly andleisurely in seas that made the schooner dance. 

At last the Farallones looked over the ocean's edge to the north; thencame the whistling-buoy, the Seal Rocks, the Heads, Point Reyes, theGolden Gate flanked with the old red Presidio, Lime Point with itswatching cannon; and by noon of a gray and boisterous day, under a lustywind and a slant of rain, just five months after her departure, the"Bertha Millner" let go her anchor in San Francisco Bay some few hundredyards off the Lifeboat Station. 

In this berth the schooner was still three or four miles from thecity and the water-front. But Moran detested any nearer approach tocivilization, and Wilbur himself was willing to avoid, at least for oneday, the publicity which he believed the "Bertha's" reappearance wassure to attract. He remembered, too, that the little boat carried withher a fortune of $100, 000, and decided that until it could be safelylanded and stored it was not desirable that its existence should beknown along "the Front. "

For days, weeks even, Wilbur had looked eagerly forward to this returnto his home. He had seen himself again in his former haunts, in hisclub, and in the houses along Pacific avenue where he was received;but no sooner had the anchor-chain ceased rattling in the "Bertha's"hawse-pipe than a strange revulsion came upon him. The new man thatseemed to have so suddenly sprung to life within him, the Wilbur whowas the mate of the "Bertha Millner, " the Wilbur who belonged to Moran, believed that he could see nothing to be desired in city life. Forhim was the unsteady deck of a schooner, and the great winds and thetremendous wheel of the ocean's rim, and the horizon that ever fledbefore his following prow; so he told himself, so he believed. Whatattractions could the city offer him? What amusements? what excitements?He had been flung off the smoothly spinning circumference ofwell-ordered life out into the void. 

He had known romance, and the spell of the great, simple, and primitiveemotions; he had sat down to eat with buccaneers; he had seen thefierce, quick leap of unleashed passions, and had felt death swoop closeat his nape and pass like a swift spurt of cold air. City life, his oldlife, had no charm for him now. Wilbur honestly believed that hewas changed to his heart's core. He thought that, like Moran, he washenceforth to be a sailor of the sea, a rover, and he saw the rest ofhis existence passed with her, aboard their faithful little schooner. They would have the whole round world as their playground; they held theearth and the great seas in fief; there was no one to let or to hinder. They two belonged to each other. Once outside the Heads again, and theyswept the land of cities and of little things behind them, and they twowere left alone once more; alone in the great world of romance. 

About an hour after her arrival off the station, while Hoang and thehands were furling the jib and foresail and getting the dory over theside, Moran remarked to Wilbur:

"It's good we came in when we did, mate; the glass is going down fast, and the wind's breezing up from the west; we're going to have a blow;the tide will be going out in a little while, and we never could havecome in against wind and tide. "

"Moran, " said Wilbur, "I'm going ashore--into the station here; there'sa telephone line there; see the wires? I can't so much as turn my handover before I have some shore-going clothes. What do you suppose theywould do to me if I appeared on Kearney Street in this outfit? I'll ringup Langley & Michaels--they are the wholesale chemists in town--and havetheir agent come out here and talk business to us about our ambergris. We've got to pay the men their prize-money; then as soon as we getour own money in hand we can talk about overhauling and outfitting the'Bertha. '"

Moran refused to accompany him ashore and into the Lifeboat Station. Roofed houses were an object of suspicion to her. Already she had begunto be uneasy at the distant sight of the city of San Francisco, Nob, Telegraph, Russian, and Rincon hills, all swarming with buildings andgrooved with streets; even the land-locked harbor fretted her. Wilburcould see she felt imprisoned, confined. When he had pointed out thePalace Hotel to her--a vast gray cube in the distance, overtopping thesurrounding roofs--she had sworn under her breath. 

"And people can live there, good heavens! Why not rabbit-burrows, andbe done with it? Mate, how soon can we be out to sea again? I hate thisplace. "

Wilbur found the captain of the Lifeboat Station in the act of sittingdown to a dinner of boiled beef and cabbage. He was a strongly builtwell-looking man, with the air more of a soldier than a sailor. He hadalready been studying the schooner through his front window and hadrecognized her, and at once asked Wilbur news of Captain Kitchell. Wilbur told him as much of his story as was necessary, but from thecaptain's talk he gathered that the news of his return had long sincebeen wired from Coronado, and that it would be impossible to avoid anine days' notoriety. The captain of the station (his name was Hodgson)made Wilbur royally welcome, insisted upon his dining with him, andhimself called up Langley & Michaels as soon as the meal was over. 

It was he who offered the only plausible solution of the mystery of thelifting and shaking of the schooner and the wrecking of the junk. ThoughWilbur was not satisfied with Hodgson's explanation, it was the only onehe ever heard. 

When he had spoken of the matter, Hodgson had nodded his head. "Sulphur-bottoms, " he said. 

"Sulphur-bottoms?"

"Yes; they're a kind of right-whale; they get barnacles and a kind ofmarine lice on their backs, and come up and scratch them selves againsta ship's keel, just like a hog under a fence. "

When Wilbur's business was done, and he was making ready to return tothe schooner, Hodgson remarked suddenly: "Hear you've got a strappingfine girl aboard with you. Where did you fall in with her?" and hewinked and grinned. 

Wilbur started as though struck, and took himself hurriedly away;but the man's words had touched off in his brain a veritable mine ofconjecture. Moran in Magdalena Bay was consistent, congruous, and fittedinto her environment. But how--how was Wilbur to explain her to SanFrancisco, and how could his behavior seem else than ridiculous to themen of his club and to the women whose dinner invitations he was wont toreceive? They could not understand the change that had been wroughtin him; they did not know Moran, the savage, half-tamed Valkyrie sosuddenly become a woman. Hurry as he would, the schooner could not beput to sea again within a fortnight. Even though he elected to liveaboard in the meanwhile, the very business of her preparation would callhim to the city again and again. Moran could not be kept a secret. As itwas, all the world knew of her by now. On the other hand he could easilyunderstand her position; to her it seemed simplicity itself that theytwo who loved each other should sail away and pass their lives togetherupon the sea, as she and her father had done before. 

Like most men, Wilbur had to walk when he was thinking hard. He sent thedory back to the schooner with word to Moran that he would take a walkaround the beach and return in an hour or two. He set off along theshore in the direction of Fort Mason, the old red-brick fort at theentrance to the Golden Gate. At this point in the Presidio Governmentreservation the land is solitary. Wilbur followed the line of the beachto the old fort; and there, on the very threshold of the Westernworld, at the very outpost of civilization, sat down in the lee of thecrumbling fortification, and scene by scene reviewed the extraordinaryevents of the past six months. 

In front of him ran the narrow channel of the Golden Gate; to his rightwas the bay and the city; at his left the open Pacific. 

He saw himself the day of his advent aboard the "Bertha" in his top hatand frock coat; saw himself later "braking down" at the windlass, the"Petrel" within hailing distance. 

Then the pictures began to thicken fast: the derelict bark "LadyLetty" rolling to her scuppers, abandoned and lonely; the "boy" in thewheel-box; Kitchell wrenching open the desk in the captain's stateroom;Captain Sternersen buried at sea, his false teeth upside down; the blackfury of the squall, and Moran at the wheel; Moran lying at fulllength on the deck, getting the altitude of a star; Magdalena Bay; theshark-fishing; the mysterious lifting and shuddering of the schooner;the beach-combers' junk, with its staring red eyes; Hoang, naked to thewaist, gleaming with sweat and whale-oil; the ambergris; the race tobeach the sinking schooner; the never-to-be-forgotten night when he andMoran had camped together on the beach; Hoang taken prisoner, and thehideous filing of his teeth; the beach-combers, silent and watchfulbehind their sand breastworks; the Chinaman he had killed twitching andhic-coughing at his feet; Moran turned Berserker, bursting down uponhim through a haze of smoke; Charlie dying in the hammock aboard theschooner, ordering his funeral with its "four-piecee horse"; Coronado;the incongruous scene in the ballroom; and, last of all, Josie Herrickin white duck and kid shoes, giving her hand to Moran in her boots andbelt, hatless as ever, her sleeves rolled up to above the elbows, herwhite, strong arm extended, her ruddy face, and pale, milk-blue eyesgravely observant, her heavy braids, yellow as ripening rye, hangingover her shoulder and breast. 

A sudden explosion of cold wind, striking down blanket-wise andbewildering from out the west, made Wilbur look up quickly. The gray skyseemed scudding along close overhead. The bay, the narrow channel of theGolden Gate, the outside ocean, were all whitening with crests of waves. At his feet the huge green ground-swells thundered to the attack of thefort's granite foundations. Through the Gate, the bay seemed rushing outto the Pacific. A bewildered gull shot by, tacking and slanting againstthe gusts that would drive it out to sea. Evidently the storm was notfar off. Wilbur rose to his feet, and saw the "Bertha Millner, " closein, unbridled and free as a runaway horse, headed directly for the opensea, and rushing on with all the impetus of wind and tide!

XIV. THE OCEAN IS CALLING FOR YOU

A little while after Wilbur had set off for the station, while Moranwas making the last entries in the log-book, seated at the table in thecabin, Jim appeared at the door. 

"Well, " she said, looking up. 

"China boy him want go asho' plenty big, seeum flen up Chinatown in umcity. "

"Shore leave, is it?" said Moran. "You deserted once before withouteven saying good-by; and my hand in the fire, you'll come back this timedotty with opium. Get away with you. We'll have men aboard here in a fewdays. "

"Can go?" inquired Jim suavely. 

"I said so. Report our arrival to your Six Companies. "

Hoang rowed Jim and the coolies ashore, and then returned to theschooner with the dory and streamed her astern. As he passed the cabindoor on his way forward, Moran hailed him. 

"I thought you went ashore?" she cried. 

"Heap flaid, " he answered. "Him other boy go up Chinatown; him tell SamYup; I tink Sam Yup alla same killee me. I no leaveum ship two, thleeday; bimeby I go Olegon. I stay topside ship. You wantum cook. I cookplenty fine; standum watch for you. "

Indeed, ever since leaving Coronado the ex-beach-comber had made himselfvery useful about the schooner; had been, in fact, obsequiousnessitself, and seemed to be particularly desirous of gaining the good-willof the "Bertha's" officers. He understood pigeon English better thanJim, and spoke it even better than Charlie had done. He acted the partof interpreter between Wilbur and the hands; even turned to in thegalley upon occasion; and of his own accord offered to give the vessela coat of paint above the water-line. Moran turned back to her log, andHoang went forward. Standing on the forward deck, he looked after the"Bertha's" coolies until they disappeared behind a row of pine-trees onthe Presidio Reservation, going cityward. Wilbur was nowhere in sight. For a longtime Hoang studied the Lifeboat Station narrowly, while hemade a great show of coiling a length of rope. The station was just outof hailing distance. Nobody seemed stirring. The whole shore and backland thereabout was deserted; the edge of the city was four milesdistant. Hoang returned to the forecastle-hatch and went below, gropingunder his bunk in his ditty-box. 

"Well, what is it?" exclaimed Moran a moment later, as the beach-comberentered the cabin, and shut the door behind him. 

Hoang did not answer; but she did not need to repeat the question. In aninstant Moran knew very well what he had come for. 

"God!" she exclaimed under her breath, springing to her feet. "Whydidn't we think of this!"

Hoang slipped his knife from the sleeve of his blouse. For an instantthe old imperiousness, the old savage pride and anger, leaped again inMoran's breast--then died away forever. She was no longer the same Moranof that first fight on board the schooner, when the beach-combers hadplundered her of her "loot. " Only a few weeks ago, and she would havefought with Hoang without hesitation and without mercy; would havewrenched a leg from the table and brained him where he stood. But shehad learned since to know what it meant to be dependent; to relyfor protection upon some one who was stronger than she; to know herweakness; to know that she was at last a woman, and to be proud of it. 

She did not fight; she had no thought of fighting. Instinctively shecried aloud, "Mate--mate!--Oh, mate, where are you? Help me!" andHoang's knife nailed the words within her throat. 

The "loot" was in a brass-bound chest under one of the cabin's bunks, stowed in two gunny-bags. Hoang drew them out, knotted the two together, and, slinging them over his shoulder, regained the deck. 

He looked carefully at the angry sky and swelling seas, noting thedirection of the wind and set of the tide; then went forward and castthe anchor-chains from the windlass in such a manner that the schoonermust inevitably wrench free with the first heavy strain. The dory wasstill tugging at the line astern. Hoang dropped the sacks in the boat, swung himself over the side, and rowed calmly toward the station'swharf. If any notion of putting to sea with the schooner had entered theobscure, perverted cunning of his mind, he had almost instantly rejectedit. Chinatown was his aim; once there and under the protection of hisTong, Hoang knew that he was safe. He knew the hiding-places that theSee Yup Association provided for its members--hiding places whose veryexistence was unknown to the police of the White Devil. 

No one interrupted--no one even noticed--his passage to the station. Atbest, it was nothing more than a coolie carrying a couple of gunny-sacksacross his shoulder. Two hours later, Hoang was lost in San Francisco'sChinatown. 

*****

At the sight of the schooner sweeping out to sea, Wilbur was for aninstant smitten rigid. What had happened? Where was Moran? Why was therenobody on board? A swift, sharp sense of some unnamed calamity leapedsuddenly at his throat. Then he was aware of a crattering of hoofs alongthe road that led to the fort. Hodgson threw himself from one of thehorses that were used in handling the surf-boat, and ran to him hatlessand panting. 

"My God!" he shouted. "Look, your schooner, do you see her? She brokeaway after I'd started to tell you--to tell you--to tell you--your girlthere on board--It was horrible!"

"Is she all right?" cried Wilbur, at top voice, for the clamor of thegale was increasing every second. 

"All right! No; they've killed her--somebody--the coolies, Ithink--knifed her! I went out to ask you people to come into the stationto have supper with me--"

"Killed her--killed her! Who? I don't believe you--"

"Wait--to have supper with me, and I found her there on the cabin floor. She was still breathing. I carried her up on deck--there was nobody elseaboard. I carried her up and laid her on the deck--and she died there. Just now I came after you to tell you, and--"

"Good God Almighty, man! who killed her? Where is she? Oh--but of courseit isn't true! How did you know? Moran killed! Moran killed!"

"And the schooner broke away after I started!"

"Moran killed! But--but--she's not dead yet; we'll have to see--"

"She died on the deck; I brought her up and laid her on--"

"How do you know she's dead? Where is she? Come on, we'll go right backto her--to the station!"

"She's on board--out there!"

"Where--where is she? My God, man, tell me where she is!"

"Out there aboard the schooner. I brought her up on deck--I left her onthe schooner--on the deck--she was stabbed in the throat--and then cameafter you to tell you. Then the schooner broke away while I was coming;she's drifting out to sea now!"

"Where is she? Where is she?"

"Who--the girl--the schooner--which one? The girl is on theschooner--and the schooner--that's her, right there--she's drifting outto sea!"

Wilbur put both hands to his temples, closing his eyes. 

"I'll go back!" exclaimed Hodgson. "We'll have the surf-boat out and getafter her; we'll bring the body back!"

"No, no!" cried Wilbur, "it's better--this way. Leave her, let hergo--she's going out to sea again!"

"But the schooner won't live two hours outside in this weather; she'llgo down!"

"It's better--that way--let her go. I want it so!"

"I can't stay!" cried the other again. "If the patrol should sig-stormcoming up, and I've got to be at my station. "

Wilbur did not answer; he was watching the schooner. 

"I can't stay!" cried the other again. "If the patrol should signal--Ican't stop here, I must be on duty. Come back, you can't do anything!"

"No!"

"I have got to go!" Hodgson ran back, swung himself on the horse, androde away at a furious gallop, inclining his head against the gusts. 

And the schooner in a world of flying spray, white scud, and drivingspoondrift, her cordage humming, her forefoot churning, the flag at herpeak straining stiff in the gale, came up into the narrow passage of theGolden Gate, riding high upon the outgoing tide. On she came, swingingfrom crest to crest of the waves that kept her company and that ran tomeet the ocean, shouting and calling out beyond there under the low, scudding clouds. 

Wilbur had climbed to the top of the old fort. Erect upon its graniteledge he stood, and watched and waited. 

Not once did the "Bertha Millner" falter in her race. Like an unbittedhorse, all restraint shaken off, she ran free toward the ocean as to herpasture-land. She came nearer, nearer, rising and rolling with the seas, her bowsprit held due west, pointing like a finger out to sea, to thewest--out to the world of romance. And then at last, as the littlevessel drew opposite the old fort and passed not one hundred yards away, Wilbur, watching from the rampart, saw Moran lying upon the deck withoutstretched arms and calm, upturned face; lying upon the deck of thatlonely fleeing schooner as upon a bed of honor, still and calm, hergreat braids smooth upon her breast, her arms wide; alone with the sea;alone in death as she had been in life. She passed out of his life asshe had come into it--alone, upon a derelict ship, abandoned to the sea. She went out with the tide, out with the storms; out, out, out to thegreat gray Pacific that knew her and loved her, and that shouted andcalled for her, and thundered in the joy of her as she came to meet himlike a bride to meet a bridegroom. 

"Good-by, Moran!" shouted Wilbur as she passed. "Good-by, good-by, Moran! You were not for me--not for me! The ocean is calling foryou, dear; don't you hear him? Don't you hear him? Good-by, good-by, good-by!"

The schooner swept by, shot like an arrow through the swirling currentsof the Golden Gate, and dipped and bowed and courtesied to the Pacificthat reached toward her his myriad curling fingers. They infolded her, held her close, and drew her swiftly, swiftly out to the great heavingbosom, tumultuous and beating in its mighty joy, its savage exultationof possession. 

Wilbur stood watching. The little schooner lessened in thedistance--became a shadow in mist and flying spray--a shadow movingupon the face of the great waste of water. Fainter and fainter she grew, vanished, reappeared, was heaved up again--a mere speck upon the westernsky--a speck that dwindled and dwindled, then slowly melted away intothe gray of the horizon.