en
he would return, Mrs. Mills seemed distraite, too, when I first got to
the house, but she soon brightened up and was as animated as ever. The
dinner was perfect. Colonel Mills is quite an epicure, and he and Mrs.
Mills have a reputation for serving choice and dainty things on their
table. We returned to the little parlor after dinner, and were talking
and laughing, when something went bang! like the hard shutting of a
door.

Mrs. Mills jumped up instantly and exclaimed, "I knew it--I knew it!"
and rushed to the back part of the house, the rest of us running after
her. She went on through to the Chinaman's room, and there, on his cot,
lay the little man, his face even then the color of old ivory. He had
fired a small Derringer straight to his heart and was quite dead. I did
not like to look at the dying man, so I ran for the doctor and almost
bumped against him at the gate as he was passing. There was nothing that
he could do, however.

Mrs. Mills told us that Sam had been an inveterate gambler--that he had
won a great deal of money from the soldiers, particularly one, who had
that very day threatened to kill him, accusing the Chinaman of having
cheated. The soldier probably had no intention of doing anything of the
kind, but said it to frighten the timid heathen, just for revenge. Sam
had eaten a little dinner, and was eating ice-cream, evidently, when
something or somebody made him go to his room and shoot himself. The
next morning the Chinamen in the garrison buried him--not in the post
cemetery, but just outside. Upon the grave they laid one or two suits
of clothing, shoes--all Chinese, of course--and a great quantity of
food--much of it their own fruits. That was for his spirit until it
reached the Happy Land. The coyotes ate the food, but a Chinaman would
never believe that, so more food was taken out this morning.

They are such a queer people! Hang's breakfast usually consists of a
glass of cold water with two or three lumps of sugar dissolved in it and
a piece of bread broken in it also. When it is necessary for Hang to be
up late and do much extra work, I always give him a can of salmon, of
which he seems very fond--or a chicken, and tell him to invite one or
two friends to sit with him. This smooths away all little frowns and
keeps things pleasant. Volmer killed the chicken once, and Hang brought
it to me with eyes blazing--said it was poor--and "He ole-ee hin," so
I found that the only way to satisfy th