y but that Tamada was, by caste,
above his position as sealer's cook. It was true that a Japanese
considered no means menial if they led to the proper end.

Was that end merely to gain possession of his share of the gold, or did
Tamada have some deeper, more complicated reason for signing on to run
the galley of the _Karluk_? Somehow Rainey thought there was such a
reason. He treated Tamada with a courtesy that he had found other
Japanese appreciated, and fancied that Tamada gradually came to regard
him with a certain amount of good-will. But it was hard to determine
anything that went on back of those unfathomable eyes, or to read
Tamada's face, smooth and placid as that of an ivory image.

CHAPTER VIII

TAMADA TALKS

Tamada's galley was as orderly and efficient as the operating-room of a
first-class hospital. And Tamada at his work had all the deftness and
some of the dignity of a surgeon. There was no wasted move, there was no
litter of preparation, every article was returned to its specified place
as soon as used, and every implement and utensil was shining and
spotless.

It was an hour from the third meal of the day. Tamada was juggling the
food for three messes, and he was doing it with the calm precision of
one who has every detail well mapped out and is moving on schedule. The
boy Sandy was not there, probably engaged in laying the table for the
hunters' mess, Rainey imagined.

Tamada regarded him with eyes that did not lack a certain luster, as a
sloeberry might hold it, but which, beneath their hooded lids, revealed
neither interest, nor curiosity, nor friendliness. They belonged in his
unwrinkled face, they were altogether neutral. Yet they seemed covertly
to suggest to Rainey that they might, on occasion, flame with wrath or
hatred, or show the burning light of high intelligence. Seldom, he
thought, while their gaze rested on him impassively, would they soften.

"Tamada," he queried, "you think I am your friend, that I would rather
help you than otherwise?"

"I think that--yes?" answered the Japanese without hesitation and
without servility. And his eyes slowly searched Rainey's face with
appraising pertinacity for a second or two. His English, save for the
oddness of his idioms and a burr that made _r's_ of most his _l's_, and
sometimes reversed the process, was almost perfect. His vocabulary
showed study. "You are not hating me because you are Californian and I
Japanese," he said. "I know