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The cargo of the Araya was copra and turtle shell. Davis had figured and figured over the business, and reckoned he’d take four thousand dollars for the lot.

“Ain’t like cotton,” said he, “don’t know what it’s worth, but I’ll put it at four thousand and not a cent under, at four thousand we shan’t be losers.”

“Well, I reckon we wouldn’t be losers at four cents,” said Harman, “seein’ how we got it, and how about the hooker?”

“Five thousand,” said Davis, “and that’s not half her worth. Nine thousand the lot and I’ll throw the chronometer in.”

“Have you fixed what to do with the Kanakas?” asked the other. “There’s eight of them and they’ve all mouths.”

“There’s never a Kanaka yet could talk Spanish,” said Davis, “and I don’t propose to learn them, but I’ll give them fifty dollars apiece—maybe—if I make good. But there’s time enough to think of that when we have the dollars.”

It was the second day after their arrival at Buenodiaz, the sun was setting and the sound of the band playing on La Plazza came across the water; mixed with the faint strains of the band came the sounds of a guitar from one of the ships in the anchorage, and in lapses of the breeze from the sea the scent of the town stole to them, a bouquet co-mingled from drains, flowers, garlic, earth and harbour compounds.