nostrils opening at almost right angles, the eyes tiny and bright,
the forehead seamed and wrinkled--unnaturally old. Their general
expression was of simian cunning and a ferocity that was utterly
devoid of courage.

"Aye!" exclaimed Moran between her teeth, "if the devil were a
shepherd, here are his sheep. You don't come aboard this
schooner, my friends! I want to live as long as I can, and die
when I can't help it. Boat ahoy!" she called.

An answer in Cantonese sing-song came back from the junk, and the
speaker gestured toward the outside ocean.

Then a long parleying began. For upward of half an hour Moran and
Wilbur listened to a proposition in broken pigeon English made by
the beach-combers again and again and yet again, and were in no
way enlightened. It was impossible to understand. Then at last
they made out that there was question of a whale. Next it
appeared the whale was dead; and finally, after a prolonged
pantomime of gesturing and pointing, Moran guessed that the beach-
combers wanted the use of the "Bertha Millner" to trice up the
dead leviathan while the oil and whalebone were extracted.

"That must be it," she said to Wilbur. "That's what they mean by
pointing to our masts and tackle. You see, they couldn't manage
with that stick of theirs, and they say they'll give us a third of
the loot. We'll do it, mate, and I'll tell you why. The wind has
fallen, and they can tow us out. If it's a sperm-whale they've
found, there ought to be thirty or forty barrels of oil in him,
let alone the blubber and bone. Oil is at $50 now, and spermaceti