Down the Mother Lode by Vivia Hemphill
page 92 of 113 (81%)
page 92 of 113 (81%)
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But the Indians did not always win, and this, then, is the tale of an encounter between Hop Sing and Digger Dan. "In a game which held accountin', On an old Sierra mountain - " * * * * * "Whassa malla, to-o much nail-o ketchem clo'e (clothes)?" snorted Hop Sing, coming around to the side verandah with two pins in his hand, to where Miss Jo Halstead was embroidering an antimacassar in bright worsteds. "Oh, Sing, did you hurt your hand?" she cried. "'Nother boy heap mad." "Another boy? Aren't you doing the washing?" "No do. Me - " but Jo had gone to the back yard. She found the tallest Chinaman she had ever seen, meekly bending to the washing, and quickly obeying the sharp orders rained upon his queue-circled poll by Hop Sing. "But - Sing," protested Jo, stifling any sort of smile. "Him no good! No got place! Me pay one-dollar-hop him stop one month, Chinee house. He no pay. Me makem work." "Yes, but - what is that? Those are shots on the stage road over the |
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