“No, no; they don’t want tea at this time of night.”
“Yes, please give me some,” I said, for I was hot and faint with exertion. “I shall be glad of a mug.”
“Hot flesh tea,” cried Quong, beginning to rake the fire together. “Makee cakee dleckly.”
“Why, Gordon, what brings you here?” cried Mr Gunson. “You belong to the opposite camp. Raydon hasn’t let you come gold-washing?”
“No,” I said, hurriedly. “Have you seen those men?”
“What men? There are plenty about here.”
“I mean those men you quarrelled with on the steamer about Quong.”
“Eh? ’Bout Quong?” cried the little Chinaman, looking up sharply. “Bad man on puff-boat pullee tail neally off. No.”
“Yes; they have been at the Fort to-day—yesterday—which is it—and they are down below yonder now.”
“What, those fellows?” cried Gunson, excitedly; and he gave vent to a long low whistle. “That’s awkward.”