ventional.

"Contrabandista," muttered the Mexican, "for dat he geev us double pay."

"We don't get her for nothing," agreed Thrackles. "Double pay and duff on
Wednesday generally means get your head broke."

"No trade," said the Nigger gloomily.

They turned to him with one accord.

"Why not?" demanded Pulz, breaking his silence.

"No trade," repeated the Nigger.

"Ain't you got a reason, Doctor?" asked Handy Solomon.

"No trade," insisted the Nigger.

An uneasy silence fell. I could not but observe that the others held the
Nigger's statements in a respect not due them as mere opinions.
Subsequently I understood a little more of the reputation he possessed.
He was believed to see things hidden, as their phrase went.

Nobody said anything for some time; nobody stirred, except that Handy
Solomon, his steel claw removed from its socket, whittled and tested,
screwed and turned, trying to fix the hook so that, in accordance with
the advice of Percy Darrow, it would turn either way.

"What is it, then, Doctor?" he asked softly at last.

"Gold," said the Nigger shortly. "Gold--treasure."

"That's what I said at first!" cried Handy Solomon triumphantly. It was
extraordinary, the unquestioning and entire faith with which they
accepted as gospel fact the negro's dictum.

There followed much talk of the nature of this treasure, whether it was
to be sought or conveyed, bought, stolen, or ravished in fair fight. No
further soothsaying could they elicit from the Nigger. They followed
their own ideas, which led them nowhere. Someone lit the forecastle lamp.
They settled themselves. Pulz read aloud.

This was the programme every day during the dog watch. Sometimes the
watch on deck was absent, leaving only Handy Solomon, the Nigger and
Pulz, but the order of the day was not on that account varied. They
talked, they lit the lamp, they read. Always the talk was of the
treasure.

As to the reading, it was of the sort usual to seamen, cowboys,
lumbermen, and miners. Thrackles had a number of volumes of very cheap
love stories. Pulz had brought some extraordinary garish detective
stories. The others contributed sensational literature with paper covers
adorned lithographically. By the usual incongruity a fragment of _The
Marble Faun_ was included in the collection. The Nigger has his copy
of _Duvall on Alchemy_. I haven't the slightest idea where he could
have got it.

While Pulz read, Handy Solomon worked on the altera