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 "How'd you get here?"

"Rowed out in a surf-boat—and I can't go back!"

The sandy-headed engineer continued to stare at the uncouth figure in front of him, to stare at it with vague and impersonal wonder. And in facing that sandy-headed stranger, Blake newknew [sic], he was facing a judge whose decision was to be of vast moment in his future destiny, whose word, perhaps, was to decide on the success or failure of much wandering about the earth.

"I can't go back!" repeated Blake, as he reached out and dropped a clutter of gold into the palm of the other man. The pale blue eyes looked at the gold, looked out along the gangway, and then looked back at the waiting stranger.

"That Alfaro gang after you?" he inquired.

"They 're all after me!" answered the swaying figure in rags. They were talking together, by this time, almost in whispers, like two conspirators. The young engineer seemed