d with malaria or
suffering from an injury, found ready and efficient attention. The bark
of dogwood, properly cooked, gave a liquid that killed the ague; and oil
from a diminutive bottle, or a red powder whetted upon the skin with a
silver piece, brought out the soreness of a bruise.

Thus, keeping his house, herb-hunting, writing, studying, entertaining,
doctoring, Fong Wu lived on at Whiskeytown.

Each evening, daintily manipulating ivory chopsticks, he ate his supper
of rice out of a dragon-bordered bowl. Then, when he had poured tea from
a pot all gold-encrusted--a cluster of blossoms nodding in a vase at his
shoulder the while--he went out upon the porch of the square-fronted
house.

And there, as now, a scarlet-buttoned cap on his head, his black eyes
soft with dreaming, his richly wrought sandals tapping the floor in
time, his long queue--a smooth, shining serpent--in thick coils about
his tawny neck, Fong Wu thrummed gently upon the three-stringed banjo,
and, in peace, chanted into the twilight.

* * * * *

Flying hoofs scattered the gravel on the strip of road before Fong Wu's.
He looked through the gloom and saw a horse flash past, carrying a
skirted rider toward Whiskeytown. His song died out. He let his banjo
slip down until its round head rested between his feet. Then he turned
his face up the gulch.

Despite the dusk, he knew the traveler: Mrs. Anthony Barrett, who, with
her husband, had recently come to live in a house near Stillwater. Every
evening, when the heat was over, she went by, bound for the day's mail
at the post-office. Every evening, in the cool, Fong Wu saw her go, and
sometimes she gave him a friendly nod.

Her mount was a spirited, mouse-dun mustang, with crop-ears, a roached
mane, and the back markings of a mule. She always rode at a run,
sitting with easy erectness. A wide army hat rested snugly on her fair
hair, and shaded a white forehead and level-looking eyes. But
notwithstanding the sheltering brim, on her girlish face were set the
glowing, scarlet seals of wind and sun.

As he peered townward after her, Fong Wu heard the hurrying hoof-beats
grow gradually fainter and fainter--and cease. Presently the moon topped
the pines on the foot-hills behind him, bathing the gulch in light. The
road down which she would come sprang into view. He watched its farthest
open point. In a few moments the hoof-beats began again. Soon the glint
of a light waist