Of course Lew Wee dashed out after his property, hugging the sack to his chest; and, of course, he created just as much disturbance as his little pet had.  Policemen was mingling with the violence by this time and adding much to its spirit.  One public-spirited citizen grabbed Lew Wee in spite of its being distasteful; but he kicked the poor man on the kneecap and made a way through the crowd without too much trouble.

He wasn’t having any vogue whatever in that neighbourhood.  He run down a little side street, up an alley, and into a cellar he knew about, this cellar being the way out of the Young China Progressive Association when they was raided up the front stairs on account of gambling at poker.

He could hear the roar of the mob clear from there.  It took about an hour for this to die down.  People would come to see what all the excitement was about, and find out almost at once; then they’d try to get away, and run against others coming to find out, thus producing a very earnest riot.  There was mounted policemen and patrol wagons and many arrests, and an armed posse hunting for the escaped pet and shooting up alleys at every little thing that moved.  They never did find the pet—­so one of Lew Wee’s cousins wrote him; which made him sorry on account of Doctor Hong Foy and the twenty-five or mebbe thirty dollars.

He lay hid in this cellar till dark; then started out to find his friends and get something to eat.  He darned near started everything all over again; but he dodged down another alley and managed to get some noodles and chowmain at the back door of the Hong-Kong Grill, where a tong brother worked.  He begun to realize that he was a marked man.  The mark didn’t show; but he was.  He didn’t know what the law might do to him.  It looked like at least twenty years in some penal institution, if not hanging; and he didn’t want either one.

So he borrowed three dollars from the tong brother and started for some place where he could lead a quiet life.  He managed to get to Oakland, though the deck hands on the ferryboat talked about throwing him overboard.  But they let him live if he would stay at the back end till everyone, including the deck hands, was safe off or behind something when the boat landed.  Then he wandered off into the night and found a freight train.  He didn’t care where he went—­just somewhere they wouldn’t know about his crime.

He rode a while between two freight cars; then left that train and found a blind baggage on a passenger train that went faster and near froze him to death.  He got off, chilled in the early morning, at some little town and bought some food in a Chinee restaurant and also got warm.  But he hadn’t no more than got warm when he was put out of the place, right by his own people.

It was warm outside by this time, so he didn’t mind it so much.  The town did, though.  It must of been a small town, but he says thousands of men chased him out of it about as soon as he was warmed up enough to run.  He couldn’t understand this, because how could they know he was the one that caused all that trouble in San Francisco?