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Updated: June 16, 2025
"Know what?" Ah Cho was beginning to feel a vague alarm. "Won't Schemmer let me work for him any more?" "Not after to-day." Cruchot laughed heartily. It was a good joke. "You see, you won't be able to work after to-day. A man with his head off can't work, eh?" He poked the Chinago in the ribs, and chuckled. Ah Cho maintained silence while the mules trotted a hot mile.
Nobody who died that way ever came back to say." He considered this last an excruciating joke, and permitted himself to be convulsed with laughter for half a minute. Part of his mirth was assumed, but he considered it his humane duty to cheer up the Chinago. "But I tell you I am Ah Cho," the other persisted. "I don't want my head cut off." Cruchot scowled.
Well, he was only a Chinago. Besides, he died of sunstroke, as the doctor's certificate attested. True, in all the history of Tahiti no one had ever died of sunstroke. But it was that, precisely that, which made the death of this Chinago unique. The doctor said as much in his report. He was very candid.
They spoke in French, and Ah Cho, who did not understand a word of it, nevertheless knew that they were determining his destiny. He knew, also, that the decision rested with the sergeant, and he hung upon that official's lips. "All right," announced the sergeant. "Go ahead with it. He is only a Chinago." "I'm going to try it once more, just to make sure."
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