ears. He turned about sharply.

"I--I--I'll go down the beach here a ways," he said quickly. "I can't
stand--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 coil
of rope lay on the ground near by. The beach-comber was talking in a
high-keyed sing-song, but with a lisp. He told them partly in pigeon
English and partly in Cantonese, which Charlie translated, that their
men were eight in number, and that they had intended to seize the
schooner that night, but that probably his own capture had delayed their
plans. They had no rifle. A shotgun had been on board, but had gone down
with 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 the
boat in which he and his men had come ashore. They were all armed with
their 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-in
spades."

"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 camp
right away."

The demijohn of spirits was brought down from the "Bertha" and passed
around, Wilbur and Moran drinking from the tin cup, the coolies from the
bottle. 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, ragged
blankets of morning mist lay close in the hollows here and there. It was
profoundly still. The stars were still out. The surface of Magdalena Bay
was smooth as a sheet of gray silk.

Twenty minutes passed, half an hour, an hour. The party tramped steadily
forward, Moran, Wilbur, and Charlie leading, the coolies close behind
carrying the cutting-in spades over their shoulders. Slowly and in
silence they made the half circuit of the bay. The "