“Well, let’s get aboard,” said Jude. “If they see us squatting about here, they’ll maybe think the stuff’s hid here.”
“They’ve seen us by this, though it’s too far for them to make out who we are,” said Satan, pushing his panama farther forward to hide his face. He led the way to where the boats were on the sand, and they reëmbarked.
The abalones were got on board, and then they stood watching the approach of the stranger.
The white had gone out of her sails. Close in now, they showed dingy and patched. She had a low freeboard. Then, as she dropped anchor and swung to her moorings broadside on to the Sarah, the rake of her masts became apparent, and her whole disreputableness spoke aloud.
Ratcliffe felt like a man who, having got into pleasant low company, suddenly finds himself drawn into unpleasant low company.
The Tylers and the old Sarah were all right, but this new crowd and that ratty old schooner he felt to be all wrong. And the newcomer somehow did not add honesty or moral stability to the appearance of the Sarah, nor did the half-disclosed character and activities of Cark shed luster on old man Tyler or his present representatives.
However, he had gone into this business open-eyed, and it was not for him to grumble at the friends or relationships of his hosts; besides he had trust in Satan and the wit of Satan to preserve them from the law.
Satan had covered the heap of abalones with some sailcloth, and he was standing now working his lantern jaws on a bit of chewing gum, his eyes fixed on the stranger as though she were made of glass and he could see Carquinez sitting smoking his cigarettes in the cabin.
“They haven’t shown a sign,” said Jude.
“They’re bluffin’ us to believe they haven’t spotted who we are,” said Satan. “Cark doesn’t want us to twig he’s been lookin’ for us.”