“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.