d away from the stern-post; that was all.
Otherwise the schooner was as sound as the day she left San Francisco.
Moran and Wilbur had the damage repaired by noon, nailing the plank into
its place and caulking the seams with lamp-wick. Nor could their most
careful search discover any further injury.

"We're ready to go," said Moran, "so soon as she'll float. We can dig
away around the bows here, make fast a line to that rock out yonder, and
warp her off at next high tide. Hello! who's this?"

It was Charlie. While the two had been at work, he had come around the
shore unobserved, and now stood at some little distance, smiling at them
calmly.

"Well, what do you want?" cried Moran angrily. "If you had your rights,
my friend, you'd be keelhauled."

"I tink um velly hot day."

"You didn't come here to say that. What do you want?"

"I come hab talkee-talk."

"We don't want to have any talkee-talk with such vermin as you. Get
out!"

Charlie sat down on the beach and wiped his forehead.

"I come buy one-piecee bacon. China boy no hab got."

"We aren't selling bacon to deserters," cried Moran; "and I'll tell you
this, you filthy little monkey: Mr. Wilbur and I are going home--back
to 'Frisco--this afternoon; and we're going to leave you and the rest of
your vipers to rot on this beach, or to be murdered by beach-combers,"
and she pointed out toward the junk. Charlie did not even follow the
direction of her gesture, and from this very indifference Wilbur
guessed that it was precisely because of the beach-combers that the
Machiavellian Chinaman had wished to treat with his old officers.

"No hab got bacon?" he queried, lifting his eyebrows in surprise.

"Plenty; but not for you."

Charlie took a buckskin bag from his blouse and counted out a handful of
silver and gold.

"I buy um nisi two-piecee tobacco."

"Look here," said Wilbur deliberately; "don't you try to flim-flam us,
Charlie. We know you too well. You don't want bacon and you don't want
tobacco."

"China boy heap plenty much sick. Two boy velly sick. I tink um die
pretty soon to-molla. You catch um slop-chest; you gib me five, seven
liver pill. Sabe?"

"I'll tell you what you want," cried Moran, aiming a forefinger at
him, pistol fashion; "you've got a blue funk because those Kai-gingh
beach-combers have come into the bay, and you're more frightened of them
than you are of the schooner; and now you want us to take you home."

"How muchee?"

"A t