at's so, Gib. This feller did us an awful dirty
trick, but at the same time there ain't a cowardly bone in his
hull carcass. I ain't forgot how he stood to the guns that day
off the Coronados when we was attacked by the Mexicans."

"Stake the feller, Gib," advised McGuffey, and wiped away a
vagrant tear. He was quite overcome at his own generosity and the
manner in which it had touched the hard heart of the iniquitous
mate.

Mr. Gibney laid five one-hundred-dollar bills in the mate's palm.

"Good-bye," he said gently, "an' see if you can't be as much of a
man an' as good a sport hereafter as them you've wronged an'
who's forgive you fully and freely."

One by one the three freebooters of the green-pea trade pumped
the stricken mate's hand, tossed him a scrap of advice, and went
overside into the small boat which was to take them ashore. It
was a solemn parting and Mr. Gibney and McGuffey were snuffling
audibly. Captain Scraggs, however, was made of sterner stuff.

"'Pears to me, Gib," he remarked when they were clear of the
schooner, "that you're a little mite generous with the funds o'
the syndicate, ain't you?"

Mr. Gibney picked up a paddle and threatened Scraggs with it.

"Dang your cold heart, Scraggs," he hissed, "you're un-Christian,
that's what you are."

"Quit yer beefin', you shrimp," bellowed McGuffey. "Them
cannibals would have et you if it wasn't for that poor devil of a
mate."

Captain Scraggs snarled and remained discreetly silent.
Nevertheless, he was in a fine rage. As he remarked _sotto voce_
to Neils Halvorsen, five hundred dollars wasn't picked up in the
street every day.

The next day, as the _Hilonian_ steamed out of the harbour,
bearing the syndicate back to San Francisco, they looked across
at the little _Maggie II_ for the last time, and observed that
the mate was on deck, superintending three Kanaka sailors who
were hoisting supplies aboard from a bumboat.

Commodore Gibney bade his first command a misty farewell.

"Good-bye, little ship," he yelled and waved his hand. "Gawd! You
was a witch in a light wind."

"He'll be flyin' outer the harbour an' bound south by sunset,"
rumbled McGuffey. "I suppose that lovely gas engine o' mine'll go
to hell now."

Captain Scraggs sighed dismally. "It costs like sixty to be a
Christian, Gib, but what's the odds as long as we're safe an'
homeward bound? Holy sailor! But I'm hungry for a smell o'
Channel creek at low tide. I tell you, Gib,