sition sprung into sharper relief. The Nigger became more sullen; Perdosa more snake-like; Pulz more viciously evil; Thrackles more brutal; while Handy Solomon staggering from his seat to the open keg and back again, roaring fragments of a chanty, his red headgear contrasting with his smoky black hair and his swarthy hook-nosed countenance—he needed no further touch.
Their evil passions were all awake, and the plan, so long indefinite, developed like a photographer's plate.
"That's one," said Thrackles. "One gone to hell."
"And now the diamonds," muttered Pulz.
"There's a ship upon the windward, a wreck upon the lee,
Down on the coast of the high Barbare-e-e,"
roared Handy Solomon. "Damn it all, boys, it's the best night's work we ever did. The stuff's ours. Then it's me for a big stone house in Frisco O!"
"Frisco, hell," sneered Pulz, "that's all you know. You ought to travel. Paris for me and a little gal to learn the language from."
"I get heem a fine caballo, an' fine saddle, an' fine clo's," breathed Perdosa sentimentally. "I ride, and the silver jingle, and the señorita look"
Thrackles was for a ship and the China trade.
"What you want, Doctor?" they demanded of the silent Nigger.
But the Nigger only rolled his eyes and shook his head. By and by he arose and disappeared in the dusk and was no more seen.
