“That same old yellow sinner,” confirmed Melton complacently.

The Chinaman himself was shocked for a moment out of his Oriental stolidity.  A delighted smile spread over his face and he broke into an excited jargon of “pidgin English,” of which the refrain was: 

“Velly glad slee.  Wah Lee velly glad slee.”

Then in a burst of grateful memory he threw himself to the floor and tried to put their feet upon his head, as a token that he was their slave for life.  But they jerked him upright in a torrent of eager questioning.

“You old rascal.”

“How did you ever get here?”

“I thought you were back in China by this time.”

But Wah Lee’s smile was more expansive than his vocabulary was extensive.

“Him tell,” he said, pointing to Mr. Melton.

“I thought it would be a surprise party,” that worthy chuckled as he refilled his pipe.  “So I didn’t tell you anything about it nor did I tell the Chink that you were coming.  It was a surprise, all right,” and he chuckled again.

“It won’t take very long to explain,” he went on when his pipe was drawing well.  “You remember that after you got back from your trip to the Canal you gave him money enough to go West and start a little laundry business wherever he might choose to settle down.  It seems he drifted out to Helena, where there’s quite a colony of Chinks, and started in to wash and iron.  As nearly as I can understand his gibberish, he was doing pretty well, too, until he got mixed up in one of those secret society feuds that play hob among those fellows.  It seems that he belonged to the On Leong clan and the Hip Son Tong got after him.  They sent on to ’Frisco for some highbinders—­those professional killers, you know—­and Wah Lee got wind of the fact that he was one of the victims marked for slaughter.  Naturally, he was in a fearful stew about it, and just when things were at their worst I happened to be in Helena on business and ran across him.  Of course, I’d never have known him, for all Chinks look alike to me, but he recognized me in a minute and begged me by all his gods to help him out.  He knew it wouldn’t do any good to go from one city to another, because they’d get him sure, and his only chance was to be smuggled off into some country place where they might lose track of him.  It seemed rather hard lines for the old fellow, and though I didn’t care much to mix up in the rescue stunt, I didn’t have the heart to turn him down.  So he sold out his shop to one of his own society, and I brought him out at night.  I didn’t know just what I’d do with him, but it turns out that he is a dandy cook, and Mrs. Melton insists that my running across him was a rare streak of luck.”

“It certainly was for him, anyway,” said Bert.  “I’d hate to have anything happen to the old boy.  He had a pretty rough deal in Mexico.”

“He did, for a fact,” agreed Melton reminiscently, “and he hasn’t gotten over it yet.  A little while ago one of my men brought in a snake that he had killed on his way back from town.  The boys were looking at it when the Chink happened to come along, and one of them, in a joke, threw it at him.  You never saw a fellow so scared.  I thought for a minute he was going to throw a fit.”