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

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

"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; you
couldn't want better pikes."

"That's an idea," returned Moran, evidently willing to forget her
outburst of a moment before, perhaps already sorry for it. The party
took stock of their weapons, and five huge cutting-in spades, a heavy
knife from the galley, and a revolver of doubtful effectiveness were
divided among them. The crew took the spades, Charlie the knife, and
Wilbur the revolver. Moran had her own knife, a haftless dirk, such as
is affected by all Norwegians, whether landsmen or sailors. They were
examining this armament and Moran was suggesting a plan of attack, when
Hoang, the leader of the beach-combers, and one other Chinaman appeared
some little distance below them on the beach. The moon was low and there
was no great light, but the two beach-combers caught the flash of the
points of the spades. They halted and glanced narrowly and suspiciously
at the group.

"Beasts!" muttered Moran. "They are up to the game--there's no
surprising them now. Talk to him, Charlie; see what he wants."

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

"That's not his game at all," said Moran to Wilbur, in a low tone, her
eyes never leaving those of the beach-comber. "He's pretty sure he could
seize the 'Bertha' and never pay us a stiver. They've come down to spy
on us, and they're doing it, too. There's no good trying to rush that
camp 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-in
spade, watching and listening to the conference