an enormous oar, or sweep, full
forty feet in length--longer, in fact, than the vessel herself. It acted
partly as a propeller, partly as a rudder.

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

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

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

"You know?"

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

The junk bore slowly down upon the schooner. In a few moments she had
hove to alongside. But for the enormous red eyes upon her bow she was
innocent of paint. She was grimed and shellacked with dirt and grease,
and smelled abominably. Her crew were Chinamen; but such Chinamen! The
coolies 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 the
queue, their heads were not shaven, and mats and mops of stiff black
hair fell over their eyes from under their broad, basket-shaped hats.

They were barefoot. None of them wore more than two garments--the jeans
and 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 lower
portion--jaws, lips, and teeth--salient; the nostrils opening at
almost right angles, the eyes tiny and bright, the forehead seamed
and wrinkled--unnaturally old. Their general expression was of simian
cunning 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! I
want 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 the
speaker gestured toward the