Then shrieking aloud for help, she ran, as swift as any hind
Toward the Chinese laundry hut—the wolves came fast behind;
Nearer and nearer on they came; then reaching Charley’s door,
The mother, with her precious load, fell prone upon the floor.
Bill and I were talkin’ when we heard the fearful cries,
And rushing to the laundry the sight that met our eyes
Was far too horrible to tell, for thar was Charley Wong
Dead, and a blood-stained knife in hand full fifteen inches long.
He’d fought a fearful battle; one brute wer by his side
With its entrails all hanging out, and blood stains on its hide;