"I should say so," answered Hadley.
There was something equivocal in this speech, and Bill Mosely looked vexed.
"Can't you say anything but that?" he grumbled. "It looks as if you doubted my statement. No man doubt my word—and lives."
Tom Hadley merely shrugged his shoulders. He was not a man of brilliant intellectual ability or of rare penetration, but there were times when even he was led to suspect that his companion was a humbug. Yet Mosely had greater force of character, and took uncommon pains to retain his ascendency over his more simple-minded companion, and had in the main been successful, though in the matter of the gold-dust he had been obliged to score a defeat.
As Hadley did not see fit to express any doubt of this last statement, Bill Mosely was content to let the matter drop, assuming that he had gained a victory and recovered his ascendency over his echo.
They had met no one for some hours, and did not look for an encounter with anything wearing the semblance of humanity, when all at once Tom Hadley uttered an exclamation.
"What is it, Tom?" asked Mosely.
"Look there!" was the only answer, as Hadley, with outstretched finger, pointed to a Chinaman walking slowly up the hill.
"It's a heathen Chinee!" exclaimed Mosely with animation.
"I should say so," echoed Hadley.