"Hi! Yi! Yip!"

"Woo-o-o-o! Wah! Zut!"

"Here we come!"

What was coming seemed to be a thunderous cloud of dust, from the midst of
which came strange, shrill sounds, punctuated with sharp cries, that did
not appear to be altogether human.

The dust-cloud grew thicker, the thunder sounded louder, and the yells
were shriller.

From one of a group of dull, red buildings a sun-bronzed man stepped
forth.

He shaded his eyes with a brown, powerful hand, gazed for an instant
toward the approaching cloud of animated and vociferous dust and, turning
to a smiling Chinese who stood near, with a pot in his hand, remarked in a
slow, musical drawl:

"Well Hop Loy, here they are, rip-roarin' an' snortin' from th' round-up!"

"Alle samee hungly, too," observed the Celestial with unctious blandness.

"You can sure make a point of that Hop Loy," went on the other. "Hungry is
their middle name just now, and you'd better begin t' rustle th' grub, or
I wouldn't give an empty forty-five for your pig-tail."