Part 26

Charlie waved a hand back into the night. “Him make um camp topside ole house.”

“That old whaling-camp,” prompted Moran. Then to Wilbur: “You remember--about a hundred yards north the creek?”

Wilbur, Moran and Charlie had drawn off a little from the “Bertha Millner's” crew. The latter squatted in a line along the shore--silent, reserved, looking vaguely seaward through the night. Moran spoke again, her scowl thickening:

“What makes you think the beach-combers want our schooner?”

“Him catch um schooner sure! Him want um boat to go home. No can get.”

“Let's put off to-night--right away,” said Wilbur.

“Low tide,” answered Moran; “and besides--Charlie, did you see them close? Were you near them?”

“No go muchee close.”

“Did they have something with them, reeved up in a hammock--something that smelled sweet?”

“Like a joss-stick, for instance?”

“No savvy; no can tell. Him try catch um schooner sure. Him velly bad China boy. See Yup China boy, velly bad. I b'long Sam Yup. Savvy?'!

“Ah! the Tongs?”

“Yas. I Sam Yup. Him,” and he pointed to the “Bertha's” crew, “Sam Yup. All we Sam Yup; nisi him,” and he waved a hand toward the beach-combers' camp; “him See Yup. Savvy?”

“It's a Tong row,” said Wilbur. “They're blood enemies, the See Yups and Sam Yups.”

Moran fell thoughtful, digging her boot-heel into the sand, her thumbs hooked into her belt, her forehead gathered into a heavy frown. There was a silence.

“One thing,” she said, at last; “we can't give up the schooner. They would take our stores as well, and then where are we? Marooned, by Jove! How far do you suppose we are from the nearest town? Three hundred miles wouldn't be a bad guess, and they've got the loot--our ambergris--I'll swear to that. They didn't leave that aboard when the junk sank.”

“Look here, Charlie,” she said, turning to the Chinaman. “If the beach-combers take the schooner--the 'Bertha Millner'--from us we'll be left to starve on this beach.”

“I tink um yass.”

“How are we going to get home? Are you going to let them do it? Are you going to let them have our schooner?”

“I tink no can have.”

“Look here,” she went on, with sudden energy. “There are only nine of them now, to our eight. We're about even. We can fight those swine. I know we can. If we jumped their camp and rushed them hard, believe me, we could run them into the sea. Mate,” she cried, suddenly facing Wilbur, “are you game? Have you got blood in you? Those beach-comberes are going to attack us to-morrow, before high tide--that's flat. There's going to be a fight anyway. We can't let them have the schooner. It's starvation for us if we do.

“They mean to make a dash for the 'Bertha,' and we've got to fight them off. If there's any attacking to be done I propose to do it! I propose we jump their camp before it gets light--now--to-night--right away--run in on them there, take them by surprise, do for one or two of them if we have to, and get that ambergris. Then cut back to the schooner, up our sails, and wait for the tide to float us off. We can do it--I know we can. Mate, will you back me up?”

“Back you up? You bet I'll back you up, Moran. But--” Wilbur hesitated. “We could fight them so much more to advantage from the deck of the schooner. Why not wait for them aboard? We could have our sails up, anyhow, and we could keep the beach-combers off till the tide rose high enough to drive them back. Why not do that?”

“I tink bes' wait topside boat,” assented Charlie.

“Yes; why not, Moran?”

“Because,” shouted the girl, “they've got our loot. I don't propose to be plundered of $150,000 if I can help it.”

“Wassa dat?” demanded Charlie. “Hunder fiftee tlousand you hab got?”

“I did have it--we had it, the mate and I. We triced a sperm whale for the beach-combers, and when they thought they had everything out of him we found a lump of ambergris in him that will weigh close to two hundred pounds. Now look here, Charlie. The beach-combers have got the stuff. It's mine--I'm going to have it back. Here's the lay. Your men can fight--you can fight yourself. We'll make it a business proposition. Help me to get that ambergris, and if we get it I'll give each one of the men $1,000, and I'll give you $1,500. You can take that up and be independent rich the rest of your life. You can chuck it and rot on this beach, for it's fight or lose the schooner; you know that as well as I do. If you've got to fight anyhow, why not fight where it's going to pay the most?”