“We might make out with blasting powder.”
“Yes, if we’d got it,” said Sellers. “There ain’t no use worrying, we’ve got to shin out of this back to Havana and get the explosives. Question is who’ll go for them, us or you?”
“Not me,” said Satan, “not if she was to lie there till the last trumpet. We’re underhanded, for one thing, and, f’r another, I’m gettin’ little enough out of the job as it stands without fetchin’ and carryin’ for you.”
“Then we’ll go,” said Sellers. “’Twon’t take us more than a week to get there and back. Give us ten days, counting accidents, and we’ll pick you up here.”
“Why not at the reef?” asked Satan.
“Don’t matter,” said Sellers. “Here or there, it’s all the same to us; ain’t it, Cark?”
Cark nodded assent, and Satan, recapturing the chart, folded it up and put it back into the tobacco box.
“Right!” said he, placing the box into his pocket. “Here you’ll find us.”