fella got creese? All right. I send um knife, eh? Big
fella man give it knife to me. You no bodder, Tuuan. You no kill, eh?
Give it knife. I want um." The clawlike hand reached down insistently.
"I tell you no bodder. I Gordon man. Gordon he Houten man. You Houten
man too, eh? An' Houten he all right fine fella. You no 'fraid, Tuuan.
Give it dat knife."

Barry hesitated, not clear as to the man's meaning. He stared curiously
at the stained blade in his hand, then passed it up with a shudder. He
rejoined Little in silence, and they walked to the ship together, the
Mission visit shelved for the time being. Arriving on board, Barry went
to his cabin, made a swift examination, and burst out upon Little.

"I've got the big fellow!" he shouted. "That knife is the same one,
Little. Vandersee is the big fellow, and he stole that knife out of my
room. What the devil is the meaning of this ruddy mess? Mindjee hove
that knife at me first. He was Leyden's man, beyond doubt. He gets his
knife back in the gizzard, and that wipes out one score. What next? What
about Gordon? How did he get his information so soon? Begad! I'm at a
loose end, Little."

"Foggy to me, too, skipper," returned the other thoughtfully. "One sure
thing, though, is that some sweet little cherubs are looking after us,
and that death's-head at the gate is a good Joss, apparently. I'll go
and get the gold bags, Barry, then I'd better take up quarters at the
post. What d' ye think?"

"Go ahead, son. And pick out say four men to stay there with you. The
fun seems to have started. Pack your guns, too. I'll clear out the safe
before you get back."

The sun had passed meridian when Little returned, his men carrying
fifteen small, heavy canvas bags. The dust was duly entered in a brand
new book, after being roughly weighed on the cook's scales. Then the
ship's company went to dinner, while the mate remained on deck until
Barry could relieve him, for they stood watch and watch now, since
Vandersee's departure.

The meal was but half finished when a shout was followed by running feet
on the deck overhead. Rolfe burst into the saloon without ceremony and
reported:

"Schooner coming up, sir! Just rounding the last reach. Got some sort of
launch alongside, towing her. She'll be up in fifteen minutes."

Little sprang up, his animated face aglow. This was the moment he had
dreamed of ever since setting foot aboard the _Barang_. Barry
acknowledged the report but remain