CHAPTER XII.
THE FLITTING OF THE MONGOLIAN.
It was undoubtedly hot and dirty work in the mine; but as it had been entered into at their own request and suggestion, neither Jack nor Charlie had any complaint coming.
They stuck down to their labor all the afternoon, and never gave either Meen Fun or Meyer a moment’s rest.
“I never would have believed it if some one had told me that that Chink would stick out that job,” said Prawle. “I haven’t heard him make a squeal since he started in. He’ll prove of great assistance if we only can keep him.”
“Where is he going to sleep?” asked Jack.
“We’ll give him a piece of canvas, and he can roll himself up in it just outside the cave opening.”
“It seems funny to me that if he was up to Rocky Gulch he didn’t get work on the sluices,” said Jack. “I noticed quite a number of Chinamen employed there by the miners.”
“Maybe he came from another direction,” suggested Charlie.
“Do you think the fellow is to be trusted, Mr. Prawle?” inquired Jack.
“Do I think so?” repeated the prospector, slowly. “Hardly. We’ve got to keep an eye upon him in a sort of general way. These Celestials are born thieves, and slicker than greased lightning. I haven’t forgotten that yarn the rascal spun this morning.”
“I never heard anything more comical,” grinned Charlie. “The idea of that Mongolian being the president of a Chinese bank in San Francisco, skinning his depositors and then skipping the town!”
“And the nerve of him in telling us all about it,” said Jack. “Just as if he thought it would be a sort of recommendation.”
“Wanted to impress us with the idea how smart he was.”
“Come to think of it,” said Gideon Prawle, reflectively, “I wouldn’t be surprised if there was something back of his coming here.”
“What do you mean, Mr. Prawle?” asked Jack, in some surprise.
“Well, I don’t mean anything in particular, only that Mongolian, the more I think of it, doesn’t strike me favorably. He’s altogether too willing, when you come to consider the matter. I noticed him several times casting an inquisitive look about the spot we’re working; and all about the place, for that matter. You can’t tell anything about these Chinks. He may have been run out of Rocky Gulch, for all we know.”
The more they sized up Meen Fun the more they began to distrust the Mongolian—at least Gideon did, and he had had a long and varied experience with the moon-eyed foreigners.
After a good bath in the creek Prawle and the boys sat down to supper, Meen Fun taking his just out of earshot.
When pipes were lighted, and the four were seated on the bank of the creek, the Celestial approached and betrayed an inclination to join in.
“You lettee me talkee, too? Feellee belly lonesome.”
“Look here, John; have you been up Rocky Gulch way?”
“Locky Gulch? No sabbe him.”
“Where did you come from, anyway?” continued Prawle, eyeing him with suspicion.
“San Flancisco.”
“I mean where did you come from last?”
The bright almond eyes twinkled as he answered:
“Malysville.”
“Marysville, eh?”
“Sule, Mikee,” with a grin.
“And you walked all the way here from that town?”
“Yep, me ’spect so.”
“What made you come out here into the wilderness?”
“Wantee wolkee.”
“You could get all the work you wanted in Marysville, couldn’t you?”
“Not muchee.”
“I know better, John.”
“You know bettee?”
“That’s what I do. Don’t imagine you can fool me, you almond-eyed Mongolian. If you don’t tell us the truth we’ll run you out of this camp in a brace of shakes.”
“Whatee fo’ lun out? Me wolkee lots. Like stay.”
“How much wages do you want?”
“S’pose you pay me one dollah day; me satisfied.”
“Well, we’ll think it over. Go over there and sit down.”
The Celestial took the hint and moved himself several yards away.
After that the future prospects of the mine occupied the attention of the party.
“When the company is formed the general offices could be located at Trinity,” suggested Jack.
“Why not at Helena?” said Charlie. “It would look more important.”
“The directors will decide that,” said Gideon Prawle.
“Am I to be a director?” asked the doctor’s son.
“I’ll see that you get stock enough to entitle you to a representation,” said the prospector. “It will be fixed so that we four hold the controlling interest. Of course, I will have a great deal the biggest share; but I’ll arrange matters so that if anything happens to me you lads will step into my shoes, for I haven’t kith nor kin in the world.”
“I’m going to turn in,” said Jack, with a yawn.
“Same here,” put in Charlie Fox.
“Und I dink I’ll yust go py mine ped also likevise,” said Meyer, sleepily.
“You boys couldn’t do better,” acquiesced Prawle. “You are not used to roughing it yet. By the time the flatboat is loaded you will begin to feel hardened.”
Prawle showed the Mongolian where he could curl himself up for the night, and then, after making a tour of inspection around the immediate vicinity, he entered his tent.
Meyer was snoring loudly in his blankets.
The prospector picked up his Winchester rifle and assured himself that it was ready for action if wanted.
Then he pulled off his boots and lay down on his blanket without wrapping it about him.
A profound stillness reigned outside.
Not the slightest breath of wind was stirring the leaves of the trees scattered round about.
It was midsummer, and the night air was warm and as clear as a bell.
An hour passed, and everything remained unchanged.
Then a lightening up of the distant horizon heralded the coming of the full moon, which soon rose clear of all obstructions and shot a silver pathway along the surface of the creek.
The mouth of the mine, the tents, and every object of the little camp was brought out in full relief.
At that moment something issued from the cave opening.
It was Meen Fun.
Like a shadow he glided up to the tent which sheltered Jack and Charlie.
He listened intently, and then cautiously drew back the flap, inch by inch, until his yellow face was framed in the opening.
Satisfied the two boys were asleep, he softly retreated and went through the same performance at the other tent, with even more caution.
He noted the positions of the two sleepers—Meyer making weird music with his open mouth as he lay on his back thoroughly tired out.
Insinuating himself into the tent on all fours, he crept over to the center pole, and slipped Prawle’s jacket off the nail from which it hung.
With that in his possession he made his escape from the tent.
Outside he thrust his fingers into the pockets, one after another, and extricated a new pocketbook Gideon had bought to replace the old one stolen from him.
This he opened, took out a small wad of bills, which he thrust into some crevice of his loose garments, then, with the pocketbook in his hand, he started off in the direction of the trail leading to Rocky Gulch.