more.

"Oh, there'll be a tale to tell when Twisty sails back," he conceded.
"But until he's under way there's no tale to tell and so what's the use
of talk? A song's better; walk her up, Twisty, old mate."

Barlow's impatience flared out into irritation.

"What's the sense of this monkey business?" he demanded. "I'm off to
San Diego by moon-rise. If you ain't with me, you ain't. Just say so,
can't you?"

"A song first, Twisty?" countered Kendric.

"Will you come listen to me then?" asked Barlow. "Word of honor?"

It was plain that he was in dead earnest and Kendric cried, "Yes,"
quite heartily. Then Barlow, putting up with Kendric's mood since
there was no other way that one might do for a wilful, spoiled child
over which he had no authority of the rod, allowed himself to be
dragged to the middle of the room and there, standing side by side, the
two men lifted their voices to the swing and pulse of "The Flying Fish
Catcher," through all but interminable verses, while the men about them
kept enthusiastic time by tramping heavily with their thick boots. At
the end Kendric put his arm about the shoulders of his shorter
companion, and in lock step they went out. The party was over.

"What's on your mind, Seafarer?" asked Kendric when they were outside.

"Loot, mostly," said Barlow. "But first, while I think of it, Ruiz
Rios's wife wants a word with you."

"What about?" Kendric opened his eyes. And, before Barlow answered,
"You saw her then?"

"I went up to the hotel. Tried to get a room. She saw me and sent for
you. She didn't say what for."

"Well, I'll not go," Kendric told him. "Now spin your yarn about your
loot."

He leaned against a lamp post while Twisty Barlow, upright and eager,
said his say. A colorful tale it was in which the reciter was lavish
with pearls and ancient gold. It appeared that one had but to sail
down the coast of Lower California, up into the gulf and get ashore
upon a certain strip of sandy beach in the shadows of the cliffs.

"And I tell you I've already got the hull off San Diego that will take
us there," maintained Barlow. "All I'm short of is you to stand your
share of the hell we'll raise and to chip in with what coin you can
scrape. If you hadn't been a damn fool with that ten thousand," he
added bitterly.

"Spilled milk. Forget it. It came out of Mexico and it goes back
where it belongs. But if you're counting on me for any such amount as
that, you'r