knew
the chink yet that could resist a chicken coop. He's even worse than
the nigger is for that.

"I can hear music down at Sing's now; let us go quietly along and see
what he is up to."

They went on to Sing's shack and peeped cautiously in at the window.

The Chinaman was sitting in a chair before his stove, scraping away on
a Chinese fiddle, bringing the most unearthly cat-calls from the thing
and singing to himself in a thin falsetto voice.

"He's nothing if he is not musical," remarked Jim.

Suddenly Sing stopped and laid down his fiddle. He rose, opened the
oven door and brought out two beautifully roasted chickens, laid the
pan down on top of the stove and rubbed his hands in pleasant
anticipation.

"Well I'll be darned!" whispered Jim.

"And we blamed it on the coyotes," answered Phil. "Let us go in and
scare the daylights out of him."

For a moment Jim seemed inclined to follow Phil's suggestion, but he
relented.

"Och!--what's the good? The poor deevil hasna a body to make frien's
o', nor a thing to do to keep himsel' out o' mischief. Besides it is
Christmas Eve. Let us bide in the spirit o' it and leave the poor
heathen to enjoy himsel' for this once.

"Come on up hame to our virtuous cots!"

CHAPTER XXI

A Maiden, a Lover and a Heathen Chinee

Next morning, while inspecting the ravaged chicken coop and
endeavouring to follow the trail of the light-footed coyotes, Jim and
Phil discovered a trickle of blood here and there on the snow on top
of the knoll, telling them that Phil's flying shot had come much
nearer its billet than they had at first surmised.

"By jove!--what do you think of that, Philly, my boy? You pinked one
of those brutes after all. What do you say to following up a bit?"

Sing had promised to look after the cooking of the Christmas dinner,
so, as there was nothing in particular for them to do for the next few
hours, Phil readily agreed. They went back for their rifles, muffled
themselves up a bit more and donned their heavy boots.

It was a glorious morning when they set out from the ranch. A fresh
fall of snow the night before had already been crusted over by the
cold north wind which so often tore in through the rifts in the hills
at that time of the year, squeezing the thermometer almost to
disappearing point at twenty-five to thirty below. The sun's
brightness looked eternal. The sky was never so blue. Great fleecy
clouds rolled and frolicked in well-nigh h