the freight house and tells me he'll plug me if I kick. Then the Chink outs with a gat and cuts loose. You should have seen Hollister soarin' off that bronc' of his, like a spread-eagle with a busted wing in a gale. Gawd! Served him right. An' the Chink is game if his skin is yeller." It wasn't, it was the exact hue of aged ivory but, to the agent, all Chinamen were yellow-skinned.
Sheridan turned to the Oriental.
"Have you got friends in Metzal?" he asked. "Are you going to start in business here?"
The Chinaman regarded him with eyes that were appraising. That Sheridan's cosmopolitan quality of speech appealed to him was clear in the manner of his reply. His pidgin-English had vanished. Even his r's were only slightly blurred.
"I am looking for work of some kind," he said, without deference.
Sheridan hesitated.
"They don't like Chinamen in Metzal," he said. "You may sense that."
"It is an ancient antipathy that still holds, outside the cities," said the other.
"They are laughing at Hollister now, "went on Sheridan, "but he trails with a gang of his own sort and they'll be starting a lynching bee in this direction inside of half an hour, if not before. What kind of a job do you want?" Jackson pressed forward.
"Did you eat any of Stoney's hotcakes this mornin'?" he asked. "They warnt hot, in the first place, they was mush in the middle an' mine is
