He drew a map from his pocket, and unfolding it, spread it out upon the table before them. With his finger he indicated a point marked X. “Here we will meet and here we will equip our expedition. Bluber and Miranda will go first; then Peebles and Throck. By the time that you and I arrive everything will be in shape for moving immediately into the interior, where we shall establish a permanent camp, off the beaten track and as near our objective as possible. Miranda will disport himself behind his whiskers until he is ready to set out upon the final stage of his long journey. I understand that he is well schooled in the part that he is to play and that he can depict the character to perfection. As he will have only ignorant natives and wild beasts to deceive it should not tax his histrionic ability too greatly.” There was a veiled note of sarcasm in the soft, drawling tone that caused the black eyes of the Spaniard to gleam wickedly. “Do I understand,” asked Miranda, his soft tone belying his angry scowl, “that you and Miss Hawkes travel alone to X?” “You do, unless your understanding is poor,” replied the Russian. The Spaniard half rose from the table and leaned across it menacingly toward Kraski. The girl, who was sitting next to him, seized his coat. “None of that!” she said, dragging him back into his chair. “There has been too much of it among you already, and if there is any more I shall cut you all and seek more congenial companions for my expedition.” “Yes, cut it out; ’ere we are, and that’s that!” exclaimed Peebles belligerently. “John’s right,” rumbled Throck, in his deep bass, “and I’m here to back him up. Flora’s right, and I’m here to back her up. And if there is any more of it, blime if I don’t bash a couple of you pretty ’uns,” and he looked first at Miranda and then at Kraski. “Now,” soothed Bluber, “let’s all shake hands and be good friends.” “Right-o,” cried Peebles, “that’s the talk. Give ’im your ’and, Esteban. Come, Carl, bury the ’atchet. We can’t start in on this thing with no hanimosities, and ’ere we are, and that’s that.” The Russian, feeling secure in his position with Flora, and therefore in a magnanimous mood, extended his hand across the table toward the Spaniard. For a moment Esteban hesitated. “Come, man, shake!” growled Throck, “or you can go back to your job as an extra man, blime, and we’ll find someone else to do your work and divvy the swag with.” Suddenly the dark countenance of the Spaniard was lighted by a pleasant smile. He extended his hand quickly and clasped Kraski’s. “Forgive me,” he said, “I am hot-tempered, but I mean nothing. Miss Hawkes is right, we must all be friends, and here’s my hand on it, Kraski, as far as I am concerned.” “Good,” said Kraski, “and I am sorry if I offended you;” but he forgot that the other was an actor, and if he could have seen into the depths of that dark soul he would have shuddered.