“Because the Indians will attack you this very night; they have decided upon it!”
“Is it not your apprehension on account of your shop, Yang-Po?”
“Oh, no! do not treat this matter lightly. If you remain here you are doomed; you have struck an Indian, and his friends cry aloud for vengeance.”
The fears of Yang-Po were, I saw, too well-founded; but what could I do? To shut my door and await was the safest plan.
“Thank you,” said I to the Chinese; “thank you for your kind advice, but I shall remain here.”
“Remain here, Signor Doctor! Can you think of so doing?”
“Now, Yang-Po, a service: go and say to these Indians that I have, at their service, a brace of pistols and a double-barreled gun, which I know how to use.”
The Chinese departed sighing deeply, from a notion that the attack upon the Doctor might end in the pillage of his wares. I barricaded my door with the furniture of the room; I then loaded my weapons, and put out the lights.
It was now eight o’clock in the evening. The least noise made me think that the moment had arrived when Providence alone could save me. I was so fatigued that, despite the anxiety natural to my position, I had frequently to struggle against an inclination to sleep. Towards eleven o’clock some one knocked at my door. I seized my pistols, and listened attentively. At a second summons, I approached the door on tip-toe.
“Who’s there?” I demanded.