“Any news?” asked the Captain.
Mr. Harman took a pipe from his pocket, and explored the empty bowl with his little finger; then, leaning against the mooring bitt, he cut some tobacco up, filled the pipe, and lit it. Only when the pipe was alight did he seem to hear the Captain’s question.
“That depends,” said he. “I don’t know how you’re feelin’, but my feelin’ is to get out of here, and get out quick.”
“There’s not much news in that,” said Blood. “I’ve had it in my head for days. What’s the use of talking? There’s only one way out of Frisco for you or me, and that’s by way of a fo’c’s’le, and that’s a way I’m not going to take.”
“Maybe,” said Harman, “you’ll let me say my say before putting your hoof in my mouth. News—I should think I had news. Now, by any chance did you ever sight the Channel Islands down the coast there lying off Santa Barbara? First you come to the San Lucas Islands, then you come to Santa Catalina, a big brute of an island she is, same longitude as Los Angeles; then away out from Santa Catalina you have San Nicolas.”
“No, I’ve never struck them,” replied Blood. “What’s the matter with them?”
“The Chinese go there huntin’ for abalone shells,” went on Harman, disregarding the question. “I’m aimin’ at a teeny yellow bit of an island away to the north of the San Lucas, a place you could cover with your hat, a place no one ever goes to.”
“Well?”
“Well, there’s twenty thousand dollars in gold coin lyin’ there ready to be took away. Only this morning news came in that one of the See-Yup-See liners—you know them rotten old tubs, China owned, out of Canton, in the chow an’ coffin trade—well, one of them things is gone ashore on San Juan, that’s the name of the island. Swept clean, she was, and hove on the rocks, and every man drowned but two Chinee who got away on a raf’. I had the news from Clancy. The wreck’s to be sold, and Clancy says the opinion is she’s not worth two dollars, seein’ the chances are the sea’s broke her up by this. Well, now look here, I know San Juan, intimate, and I know a vessel, once ashore there, won’t break up to the sea in a hurry by the nature of the coast. There’s some coasts will spew a wreck off in ten minutes, and some’ll stick to their goods till there’s nuthin’ left but the starnpost and the ribs. It’s shelvin’ water there and rocks that hold like shark’s teeth. The Yan-Shan—that’s her name—will hold till the last trumpet if she’s hove up proper, which, by all accounts, she is, and there’s twenty thousand dollars aboard her.”
“Well?” said Blood.