“Chinamen?”
“Yes.”
“Sing, where did Digger Dan go to?”
“He go hell,” remarked Sing, pleasantly. “He lun away to Oustamah (Indian village). Me ketchum. Alla squaw ketchern plenty tar on head, makern big cly (cry, Indian word for wake). Me killum him. Goo-bye, me go cookem velly fine dinner. Missie Jo, Massa Land, you get marry now. Me hope you ketchem plenty boy!” From his point of view what greater blessing could he wish them? Later, he peeked in curiously from the kitchen, but, as kisses are not included in the Chinese curriculum, he failed to be interested and returned to his baking.
The Barstow Lynching
X
“This is my story, sir; a trifle, indeed, I assure you.
Much more, perchance, might be said—
but I hold him of all men most lightly
Who swerves from the truth in his tale. No, thank you
Well, since you are pressing,
Perhaps I don't care if I do: you may give me the same,
Jim—no sugar.”
—Bret Harte.
Contests of every sort were the order of the day in '49. Any ferocious encounter which would promulgate betting was countenanced, and even encouraged. There were dog fights, bull fights, bobcat or mountain lynx fights, and fights between game chickens.
The tale is even told of cootie fights during long, rainy winter evenings which must be spent indoors. The harborers of the contestants simply reached under their shirts, drew forth a doughty grey-backed warrior, placed him on a child's slate which was used as an arena, and the fight was on.