“Yes; but are you going on with Mr Gunson here?”
Quong looked at the prospector and then at me and at Esau, his little black eyes twinkling, and his face as full of lines as a walnut-shell; but Gunson made no sign, only went on with his breakfast.
“No wantee me,” said Quong, shaking his head. “Go washee washee gole, no wantee Quong.”
“Then if I offered you work, would you like to stay here for a while?”
“Make blead, flesh blead? Yes, Quong going stop.”
He looked at us and laughed.
Then Gunson spoke.
“Yes,” he said, “he had better stay. I can carry my own pack and cook all I require. There,” he said, rising, “I’m ready for my start now. Will you lads walk a little way with me?”
“Yes,” I cried; and two minutes later we were outside, with Esau shouldering the pack, while its owner stood for a few minutes talking earnestly to Mr Raydon. I could not hear his words, but from his glancing two or three times in my direction, I guessed the subject of their conversation.
Gunson would not let us go far, but stopped short at the rise of a steep slope, at the foot of which the river ran.