“That’s true,” mused Mr. Dacre thoughtfully. “I quite see where this Bully Banjo’s power comes in. But——”
He broke off short. Some instinct made him turn at the moment and he saw that Fu, the Chinaman, had been eagerly drinking in every word that had been said. As he met Mr. Dacre’s eyes, the Mongolian muttered something and dived into the cabin, ostensibly very busy washing dishes.
“You needn’t worry about Fu,” laughed Mr. Chillingworth. “He’s faithful as the day is long.”
“I don’t know,” said Mr. Dacre seriously. “Somehow I never like to trust a Chinaman. They remind me of cats in their mysterious way of moving about you. If that fellow wanted to, he could cause you a lot of trouble now.”
“Ah, but he won’t,” laughed Mr. Chillingworth, “and, in any event, what could he do?”
“Why,” said Mr. Dacre slowly, “he could inform Bully Banjo, for instance, that you have written to Washington and that the Secret Service may start an investigation.”
“Jove! That’s so!” exclaimed the rancher. “But,” he laughed lightly, “there’s no fear of that. Fu is as honest as the day is long. Besides, he is in my debt. I, and some friends of mine, rescued him from a gang of white roughs, who had falsely accused him of a theft, and who were going to string him up.”
“Just the same,” said Mr. Dacre, “I have found it is a good rule to trust a Chinaman just as far as you can see him, and in most cases not so far as that. But, to return to Bully Banjo’s reason for buoying his anchor, it evidently means that he intends to come back here.”
“Yes, and something else,” said Mr. Chillingworth.
“What is that?”