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S'pose we howk them ashore?" "Cliffs two hundred foot high," said Harman, "not a chanst. We're dished." Said Blood: "There's only one thing left. We'll walk the dollars down to the boat and row off with them. Of course we'll be stopped; still, there's the chance that Gunderman may be drunk or something. It's one chance in a hundred billion it's the only one."
But Gunderman was not drunk, nor were his boat party; and the court-martial he held on the beach in broken English and with the sack of coin beside him as chief witness would form a bright page of literature had one time to record it.
"And you said she'd only do eight knots!" cried Blood. Ginnell flung the revolver on the floor. Every trace of the recent occurrence had vanished, and the three men thought no more of one another than a man thinks of petty matters in the face of dissolution. Gunderman was outside, that was enough for them. "Boys," said Ginnell, "ain't there no way out with them dollars?
"There's only two salvage ships at present in 'Frisco, and rotten tubs they are. One's the Maryland, she's most a divin' and dredgin' ship, ain't no good for this sort of work, sea-bottom scrapin' is all she's good for, and little she makes at it. The other's the Port of Amsterdam, owned by Gunderman.
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