es a lot to kill a Chinaman,
but we'll have no end of a shindy over this; they'll lose days of work,
and the worst is, Jones has disappeared--no one knows where he is."

All the afternoon the place is in a blaze of excitement, and, as Mr.
Clay foresaw, no work is done. Every now and then we can see, from where
we are sitting on the verandah, a band of Chinamen burst out of their
house flourishing knives and shouting and rushing about and then
quieting down and slinking back. If Jones shows himself now his life
won't be worth an instant's purchase! I try to get out of Clay what he
means to do, but he won't tell me, yet I am sure, from something he let
fall, that he has discovered the whereabouts of his junior, and I should
not be surprised if the man was in this house.

When we turn in at last to our beds nothing more has happened, and Jones
has not appeared. I have been asleep for a little while when I hear a
subdued whispering on the verandah outside my window, and jumping up I
put my head out. There stands Clay in his pyjamas with a man I recognise
as the night-watchman, a European. Clay sees me and waves his hand, and
as the watchman disappears he comes over to me. "Strang has just been up
to tell me that the Chinamen have carried the poor beggar out of the
house and laid him on the bank of the river," he says in a low voice;
"that means to say they think he's dying, and they wouldn't have him in
their house, or his spirit would settle down there. That's a good job
for us, or by the morning he'll be spirited away! There's the little tug
ready, and it will soon run him up to New Westminster hospital. I'm just
going down to see the poor chap aboard."

"What about Jones? Aren't you going to send him off too?" I asked.

"No fear! He'll have to swallow his gruel. We can't spare him. Where
would I get another man from at this time of the season? Besides, that
would look as if he were afraid of them. We've lost hours of precious
time with his foolery already," he adds savagely, and I can guess the
headstrong Jones has "caught it" from his chief!

Next morning still no Jones, and all seems as usual; work is resumed,
the Chinamen ask no questions as to their wounded comrade, and peace
reigns. About eleven o'clock Clay comes up from the works hurriedly and
gives a whistle, and from one of the bedroom doors emerges Jones,
looking rather like a schoolboy who has been in disgrace and means to
carry it off with swagger.

Whe