"Hey, shut up! Can the racket! Ain't the Chink got some stuff fer that? Sure he has.
"Hey, John—come through with yer snake dope. Bring it here!"
Prince Chu was standing about fifteen feet from the pair. Now he drew from his inner pocket the little flat case of medicines. Selecting the vial of white crystals, he replaced the case in his pocket and drew the cork from the bottle. Before he made any move toward the distressed Shorty, he emptied the contents of the vial into the palm of his hand. Sufficient wind yet stirred within their shelter to disturb the light pulverized stuff. So he closed his fingers over it. Holding it thus, he waited, while the flicker of a smile touched his impassive features.
The smitten Shorty caught the inkling of some subtle purpose back of the Chinaman's pause.
"Hey!" he yelled. "Wot'sa matter?"
He tried to draw his gun. It was packed solid in his pocket with sand. Frantically he dug it out, while his partner stood by, half-amused.
"No tricks, Chink! Come through with it!" he frenziedly commanded. He drew the pistol finally.
The old Chinaman maintained his distance. "Why should you shoot me?" he questioned. "If you should do that, the powder would spill from my hand and be lost in the sand."
A startled look overspread the features already terrified.
"If you come any nearer," was the mild assurance, "I will let the powder scatter."