“Yes, that’s it; you work for us, and we’ll pay you.”
“How moche?” inquired the cautious Celestial.
“Five dollars a day,” replied Ned.
The Chinaman put on a broad grin, and offered to shake hands, which offer was accepted, not only by Ned, but by the whole party; and the contract was thus settled on the spot, to the satisfaction of all parties.
After this they spent some time in examining the bed of the stream, and having fixed upon a spot on which to commence operations, they prepared, about sunset, to return for their tent and mining tools, intending to make a moonlight flitting in order to avoid being questioned by over-curious neighbours. All their horses and mules, except Ned’s charger, having been sold a few days before to a Yankee who was returning to Sacramento, they expected to get off without much noise, with their goods and chattels on their backs.
Before starting on their return, while the rest of the party were crowding round and questioning Ko-sing, Bill Jones—whose mind since he arrived in California seemed to be capable of only one sensation, that of surprise—went up to Ah-wow, and glancing round, in order to make sure that he was not observed, laid his hand on his shoulder, and looked inquiringly into the Chinaman’s face. The Chinaman returned the compliment with interest, throwing into his sallow countenance an expression of, if possible, blanker astonishment.
“O-wow!” said Bill, with solemn gravity, and pausing, as if to give him time to prepare for what was coming. “O-wow! wot do you dress your pig-tail with?”
“Ho!” replied the Chinaman.
“Ho!” echoed Bill; “now, that’s curious. I thought as how you did it with grease, for it looks like it. Tell me now, how long did it take afore it growed that long?” He lifted the end of the tail as he spoke.
“How!” ejaculated the Chinaman.