As he spoke he moved out from under the protecting smoke, but a sharp trumpeting hum sent him back directly with his head in the cloud.
“Wants a good sharp wind to blow ’em away,” he muttered, as he began to rub at the bites viciously, while Gunson turned to the Chinaman and nodded toward the remains of our food.
“Have some tea,” he said, “and something to eat?”
The little fellow nodded and smiled.
“All a done?” he said. “Tea velly good?” and filling himself a tin mug from the supply in the kettle, he sat sipping it with his eyes closed. Then helping himself moderately to the remains of the bread and bacon, he rinsed out the kettle and mugs, and set all aside under a big fern.
“All leady fo’ bleakfass,” he said, nodding. “Keep a fi’. Quong mind. Leady fo’ bleakfass, mollow. You want?”
He looked at Gunson, who shook his head.
“You want?” he said again, looking at Esau.
“No, I don’t want you,” replied Esau; and the same question was addressed to me, of course with the same result.
“Velly ti’e. Go sleep,” said the little fellow; and, selecting a tree about half way between us and the Indians’ camp, I saw him, in the fast-fading light, put his bundle down for a pillow, and curl up directly.