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Mebbe all same killee me. I lose face no mo' boss." "What a herd of wild cattle!" muttered Wilbur. "There's something in what he says, don't you think, mate?" observed Moran, bringing a braid over each shoulder and stroking it according to her habit. "We'll ask Jim about it," decided Wilbur. But Jim at once confirmed Hoang's statement. "Oh, Kai-gingh killum no-good boss, fo' sure," he declared.
"I gave you fair warning," shouted Moran angrily, pointing at him with the file. "Will you answer?" "Him no tell nuttin," observed Charlie. "Fetch a cord here," commanded Moran. The cord was brought, and despite Hoang's struggles and writhings the file was thrust end-ways into his mouth and his jaws bound tightly together upon it by means of the cord passed over his head and under his chin.
"I tink you catchum someting, smellum pretty big," said Hoang, his ferret glance twinkling about the schooner. "I catchum nothing nothing but plenty bad stink," said Moran. "No, you don't!" she exclaimed, putting herself in Hoang's way as he made for the cabin. The other beach-combers came crowding up; Wilbur even thought he saw one of them loosening his hatchet in his belt.
In that whirl of swift action Wilbur could reconstruct but two brief pictures: the Chinaman, Hoang's companion, flying like one possessed along the shore; Hoang himself flung headlong into the arms of the "Bertha's" coolies, and Moran, her eyes blazing, her thick braids flying, brandishing her fist as she shouted at the top of her deep voice, "We've got you, anyhow!"
But she had learned since to know what it meant to be dependent; to rely for protection upon some one who was stronger than she; to know her weakness; to know that she was at last a woman, and to be proud of it. She did not fight; she had no thought of fighting. Instinctively she cried aloud, "Mate mate! Oh, mate, where are you? Help me!" and Hoang's knife nailed the words within her throat.
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