She's p'intin' out to run a laundry. Please back her play. If thar's
a Chinaman in town, run him out.

And obleege, yours,

Dick.

"'Whatever do you think, Enright?' says Doc Peets after readin' us
the letter.

"'That's all right,' says Enright, 'the Chink goes. It's onbecomin'
as a spectacle for a Caucasian woman of full blood to be contendin'
for foul shirts with a slothful Mongol. Wolfville permits no sech
debasin' exhibitions, an' Lung must vamos. Jack,' he says, turnin'
to Jack Moore, 'take your gun an' sa'nter over an' stampede this
yere opium-slave. Tell him if he's visible to the naked eye in the
scenery yere-abouts to-morrow when this lady jumps into camp, he's
shore asked the price of soap the last time he ever will in this
vale of tears.'

"'What's the matter of lynchin' this yere Chink?' says Dan Boggs.
'The camp's deadly dull, an' it would cheer up things a whole lot,
besides bein' compliments to this young female Old Monte's bringin'
in on the stage.'

"'Oh no,' says Enright, 'no need of stringin him none. On second
thought, Jack, I don't reckon I'd run him out neither. It dignifies
him too much. S'pose you canter up to his tub-camp an' bring him
over, an' we'll reveal this upheaval in his shirt-burnin' destinies
by word of mouth. If he grows reluctant jest rope him 'round the