“How do you feel, Mike?” asked Tom.
“Mighty wake,” answered Mike, “but it does my eyes good to see land once more. If I trust myself on the say ag’in, I’m a haythen.”
“Then you mean to stay in California all your life?”
“I don’t know that,” said Mike. “Maybe I’ll go back by land.”
“And get scalped by savage Indians, Mike? That’ll be worse than being seasick.”
“And what’s that, Mr. Temple?”
“They take a knife and slice off the top of your head, with all the hair on it.”
“Oh, murdther! do they now? Isn’t it jokin’ ye are?”
“Not at all, Mike. That’s exactly what they do when they get the chance.”
“Bad luck to the dirty haythen!” said Mike, horror-struck at the thought. “And what good does it do them?”