That Two Eyes are Better than One in the Dark.
“Thou hast the writings of Le Toy, Wau Shun?” asked Sam Lee of his brother-highbinder, as the latter issued from the receiving hospital of San Francisco.
“Verily, or thou hadst heard my dogs bark within,” replied Wau Shun.
“And Lee Toy?”
“Lee Toy died babbling of wings, and of the white babe whose life he saved from fire this day at the price of his own, and whose father stood beside him weeping like a woman.”
“Was ever the like seen before!” exclaimed Sam Lee. “That Lee Toy, the bravest of the brave, the keenest hatchet of our ‘tong,’ should fail his brethren, and break his oaths, and worship the white babe whose abduction he had undertaken—and that the babe’s father should weep for one of our people!”
“Ay, and, what is of more importance, that Lee Toy should have given me the writings that would have hanged us, who compassed his passing! Eh, Sam Lee?”
“Yea, Wau Shun; and compassed also the hanging of Quong Lung—nay, turn not so suddenly in a narrow lane, my brother, for I have but one eye, as thou knowest, and that can not abide swift movement in the dark on the part of a man whose life is forfeit”; and Sam Lee drew a darkling revolver from his blouse.
With a deft movement, Wau Shun, who had the advantage of two eyes—though they looked in different directions and were hard to meet—threw Sam Lee’s hand up, and snatched the pistol from him.
“’Twere easy to slay thee now, Sam Lee; and ’twere profitable, too—if only Quong Lung were out of the way.”