“Ask Kit!” Jimmie suggested.
“If you leave it to me,” Kit went on, still half choking with laughter, “they slid into the ragged little slashes between the rocks! One minute they were scampering along in their soft slippers, and the next they were out of sight just like they had gone up in smoke.”
“I guess we’ve struck it!” Jimmie said in a moment.
“Don’t we always strike it?” asked Carl.
“You bet we do!” returned Jimmie. “But we never struck a nest of Chinks before! What do you suppose they’re doing here, anyway?”
“Waiting to get into Frisco,” answered Ben. “They pay from four to eight hundred dollars apiece for being smuggled into the country.”
Jimmie sprang to his feet, almost overturning a can of tomatoes from which he had been feeding.
“But how did they get here?” insisted Carl.
“I know!” cried Jimmie all excitement. “I know all about it?”
“Wise little boy!” laughed Ben.