ic made up for a show--they
don't lower theirselves to that cut o' business."

"Why, they're only natives, aren't they?" asked Tunstal, and the whole
philosophy of his kind was rolled in the phrase.

"Only natives, as you say, sir," returned Nivin slowly--"which is Malay
and poor to jest with, besides frequently carrying a creese. They're a
sober-minded breed, sir. Quite superior and fit for respect in their
way."

* * * * *

But Tunstal had been leaning to watch the river traffic, and here he
prodded the other to look. Just passing them at the moment came a
clumsy proa that had worked upchannel on the last of the tide under
sweeps--a singular blot of color. Alow and aloft, from her tub cutwater
and forward-sloping rail to her languid wings of matting, she was grimed
an earthy, angry red. Her sailors were smeared with the same stain,
their head rags and kilts and their bare arms and knotted fingers at the
oars, so that she and they seemed to swim in a sullen, an infernal
conflagration, and the sunrise slanting across the river reaches picked
spar and rope and savage-dyed group with dabs of ruby and vermilion and
dull citrine.

"It's a cinnabar boat," said Nivin as they stared down at that silent
crew of ensanguined devils.

"From the mines. I know," nodded Tunstal. "Up the river--what? I heard
about those mines. Van Goor, that pop-eyed little chap--an agent for
some mining company, I believe--he was telling us last night around
fourth-drink time. It appears these mercury miners are imported Kwangsi
coolies. About as low a race as crawls, with peculiar customs of their
own. They trade with the country people for supplies, and they drive
some queer trades. Did you ever happen to hear yourself, chief?"

"There's no lack of tales."

"Maybe, but this is the only real one I got a smell of--pity Van Goor
wasn't a bit thirstier. He said a famine has been raging in some coast
district or other and the villagers are keen to sell. At the same time
the commodity naturally loses weight, through starvation, and the coolie
gangs buy by the pound. So a canny village will pool its food to fatten
up a few--Ah!"

The ore boat had drawn level with them, so near they might have tossed a
biscuit to the rude decks. And there under the break of the poop they
saw three women, scarcely more than girls, crouched against the
bulkhead. One raised her face for an instant, a face struck out like a
pallid, sh