black shingle and she stood watching him
and listening to the stones crunching beneath his feet.

His advance did not disturb the workers.

They seemed working against time. Without any manner of doubt they were
anxious to be done with the business and be out of that bay before the
next blow came, for the place was fully exposed to the west-nor'west and
a storm out of there might easily break their ship from its moorings and
send her broadside on to the shingle.

Undersized, agile, with weary-old faces that seemed covered with drawn
parchment, they seemed less like men than automata; all save the leader,
a gigantic, imperious-looking Mongolian with a thin cat-like moustache,
a man of the true river pirate type with a dash of the Mandarin. This
man held in his hand a long thong of leather. Captain or leader, or
whatever he might be, he was most evidently the serang of that labour
party.

On the shingle where the ripples washed in lay a boat, half-beached.

The big man was Chang, and as Raft approached harpoon in hand, she saw
Chang draw himself up to his full height and stand waiting. Then she
heard Raft's voice and saw him pointing at her and inland and then at
the ship.

Chang stood dumb. Then all at once he exploded, shouting and
gesticulating. She could not make out what he said, but she knew. He was
ordering them off. He seemed to be ordering them off the earth as well
as the beach. And Raft stood there patient and dumb like a chidden
child.

Then she saw Raft nod his head and turn away.

He came back crunching up the shingle. "Sit down," said he.

She sat down and he took his seat beside her. He had dropped the bundle
just there, and as he sat for a moment before speaking he noticed that
the fish line securing the mouth of the sack was loose, he carefully
retied it.

"You saw how that chap carried on," said he, "I had to put a stopper on
myself. He's the chap; them little yellow bellies don't count. He's the
chap, and I've got to get him aside from the others." He spoke rapidly
and she saw that his eyes were injected with blood.

A new fear seized upon her, a fear akin to the dread she had felt that
dark night in the cave when she had caught the sound of La Touche
dragging himself close to her, the dread of imminently impending action.

"Let us go away," said she, "another ship may come; anything is better
than having a fight with those men."

"Have you got that knife safe?" asked Raft. She still wo