But the Indians did not always win, and this, then, is the tale of an
encounter between Hop Sing and Digger Dan.
"In a game which held accountin',
On an old Sierra mountain - "
* * * * *
"Whassa malla, to-o much nail-o ketchem clo'e (clothes)?" snorted Hop
Sing, coming around to the side verandah with two pins in his hand, to
where Miss Jo Halstead was embroidering an antimacassar in bright
worsteds.
"Oh, Sing, did you hurt your hand?" she cried.
"'Nother boy heap mad."
"Another boy? Aren't you doing the washing?"
"No do. Me - " but Jo had gone to the back yard. She found the tallest
Chinaman she had ever seen, meekly bending to the washing, and quickly
obeying the sharp orders rained upon his queue-circled poll by Hop Sing.
"But - Sing," protested Jo, stifling any sort of smile.
"Him no good! No got place! Me pay one-dollar-hop him stop one month,
Chinee house. He no pay. Me makem work."
"Yes, but - what is that? Those are shots on the stage road over the
hill! Oh, it must be another holdup! And Rand is shotgun messenger on
the stage today.
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