“Where is the express box?” asked the sheriff.

“I do not know,” answered Rand, defiantly.

“Cached away up on the mountain, I suppose, where the others are.”

“Sir!” thundered Rand, “I have brought in, the bandits, as I promised, to clear my own namen — all but Digger Dan, who escaped.  When I say that I do not know what happened to the box, you will please understand that - "

“Here comes Digger Dan now, carrying something.”

“No Indian ever carried anything in baskets slung on a pole!”

“Hel-lo, Missie Jo, how you do?” blandly remarked Digger Dan’s double.

“Hop Sing!”

“Ketchem Missa Land’s money, nis bas-a-kit.”

“What’s in the other one.

“Nat one, lock (rock).  Makern heap easy carry-em.”

“Where did you get the box?”

“You savvey place him horse get scare; him wagon, he fa’ over top-side down.  Him money, he fa’ out.  Him stop place snow melt away by heap big tlee tlunk.  Me see.  Missa Land, I know he like.  I ketchem.”

When Rand took Jo home they were met by a smiling Sing in a snowy white apron.

“Where’s the other boy?” asked Jo.

“Him boy?  I tellum get out quick, or I killum, sure!”

“Ah Sing, how can I ever thank you for all the six months you’ve spent in the brush?”

“He all-li, Massa Land.  You ketchem me come out nat jail.  I heap savvey you come see Missie Jo.  Missie papa, lo-ong time now, he ketchee me no die.  Missie Jo, alla same my girl-o.”

“Those Indians — "

“Were Sing’s friends, dear, dressed up.”

“Chinamen?”

“Yes.”

“Sing, where did Digger Dan go to?”

“He go hell,” remarked Sing, pleasantly.  “He lun away to Oustamah (Indian village).  Me ketchum.  Alla squaw ketchern plenty tar on head, makern big cly (cry, Indian word for wake).  Me killum him.  Goo-bye, me go cookem velly fine dinner.  Missie Jo, Massa Land, you get marry now.  Me hope you ketchem plenty boy!” From his point of view what greater blessing could he wish them?  Later, he peeked in curiously from the kitchen, but, as kisses are not included in the Chinese curriculum, he failed to be interested and returned to his baking.

The Barstow Lynching

X

“This is my story, sir; a trifle, indeed, I assure you. 
Much more, perchance, might be said —
     but I hold him of all men most lightly
Who swerves from the truth in his tale.  No, thank you
Well, since you are pressing,
Perhaps I don’t care if I do:  you may give me the same,
Jim — no sugar.”

- Bret Harte.

Contests of every sort were the order of the day in ’49.  Any ferocious encounter which would promulgate betting was countenanced, and even encouraged.  There were dog fights, bull fights, bobcat or mountain lynx fights, and fights between game chickens.