all questions aside.

"After you've had some sleep," I insisted. "Then I'll tell you the whole
jolly story." And I just got him to his room myself, despite his
distress and protests over my attention.

"Thank you, sir, and good night," he said as I left him. And he murmured
placidly, "I guess we're all right now."

But I was not so sure as to _him_, when I viewed the broken chair and
scattered fragments of glass--ominous reminders of the scene through
which I had passed. And so, though I threw the pistol on top of a
bookcase, I spent the rest of the night upon the soft cushions of my big
divan.

CHAPTER IV

JENKINS DECLARES FOR THE WATER WAGON

"But this savage-looking Chinaman that you saw, Jenkins--how was he
dressed?" I adopted a careless tone of inquiry.

It was high noon, and I was toying with an after luncheon, or rather
after breakfast, cigar.

Jenkins' head shook dubiously. "I just remember something blackish. My,
sir, I didn't have time to notice nothing like clothes!"

His tone conveyed aggrieved protest. He went on:

"Just as I'm telling you, sir, I saw some one sitting there by the
window and walked toward him, thinking it was you. Then, all of a
sudden, I see his awful face a scowling at me there in the moonlight."

"And he was smoking, you say?"

Jenkins sniffed indignantly. "Free and easy as a lord, sir! He held a
long stick to his ugly mouth, and smoke was curling out of a little bowl
near the end."

"Oh, opium pipe, eh?"

"Likely, sir," agreed Jenkins; "but I never saw one."

By Jove, I had my own opinion about that! I knew he _must_ have seen one
before; but I just went on questioning, to gain time, you know, and
wondering all the while how I should ever be able to break the truth to
the poor fellow.

"Tell me again what he was like," I said. "How did you know he was a
Chinaman?"

"Why, by his long black pigtail, sir, and his onery color. But I never
saw no Chinaman as ugly as this one--no sir. Oh, he was just too awful
horrid to look at, sir. His forehead sloped away back, or maybe the
front part of his head being all shaved made it look that way. And the
skin about his eyes was painted white with red streaks shooting around
like rays of light."

"No beard or mustache, I suppose?" I suggested, feeling my own
smooth-shaven face. Jenkins' reply was a surprise:

"Yes, sir; there were long black kind of rat tails that dropped down
from the sides of his mouth. And then his