watched him make inquisition, Diego de Arana, Sanchez and
Escobedo at his elbow. He did it to admiration, with look, gesture and
tone ably translating his words. "Gold--gold?" The Indian said, or we
put down in this wise what he said, "Harac."

Was there more harac on the island? We would give heavenly things for
harac. The Indian was doubtful; he thought proudly that he had the only
harac. "Where did he get it?" He indicated the south.

"Little island like this one?"

"No. Great land. Harac there in many ears. Much harac."

So we understood him. "Cipango!" breathed the Admiral. "Or neighbor to
Cipango, increasingly rich and civilized as we go."

He took a case of small boxes, each box filled with merchandise of spice
which he desired. Cinnamon, nutmeg, pepper, saffron, cloves and others.
He made the islander smell and taste. "Had they aught like these?"

The Indian seemed to say they had not, but would like to have. He looked
about for something with which to trade, a parrot, or heap of cakes, or
ball of cotton. I thought that it was the box of boxes that he extremely
wished, but the Admiral thought it was the spicery, and that he must
have known them wherever he got the gold. "Were they found yonder?"

The Admiral stretched arm out over blue sea and the Indian followed his
gesture. He shot out his own arm, "South--southwest--west," nodded the
Admiral. "Many islands, or the mainland. Gates open before us!"

"Had the Indian been to these lands?" No, it seemed, but one had come in
a boat, wearing this knob of gold, and he had told them. Was he living?
No, he was not living. What kind of a person was he? Such as us?
Emphatically no. Not such as us! Much, we gathered, as was the Indian
himself. "Pearls have come from Queen's neck to Queen's neck," quoth the
Admiral, "by a thousand rude hands and twisting ways!"

There was one woman among the visitors to the _Santa Maria_, a young
woman, naked, freely moving and smiling. Eyes dwelled on her, eyes
followed her. She was with an Indian who might be brother or husband.
The Admiral gave her a worked, Moorish scarf. She tied it about her
head, and the bright ends fell down beside her long, black, braided
hair. None touched her, but they were woman-starved, and they looked at
her hungrily. She had beauty in her way, and a kind of innocence both
frank and shy. She was like a doe in the green forest, come silently
upon at dawn.

Fed full of marvel at last, these Indians l