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At that early period in the settlement of California, a few Chinamen had found their way to the Pacific coast; but the full tide of immigration did not set in till a considerable time later, and, therefore, the miners regarded one as a curiosity. "Who have you got there, O'Reilly?" inquired one of his mining-comrades. "A yeller haythen!" answered O'Eeilly. "Look at the craythur!
"What have you come here for, Cy King, or whatever your name is." "My name Ki Sing." "Well, it's a haythen name; anyhow," remarked Mr. Patrick O'Eeilly. "Before I'd have such a name, I'd go widout one intirely. Did you hear the gintleman ask you what you came here for?" "You bling me," answered Ki Sing shrewdly. There was another laugh. "That Chinee ain't no fool!" said Dick Roberts.
"Give me your knife, then." "I won't. It's my own." "The errand on which you come is my warrant for demanding it." "I won't give you the knife, but I'll go back," said O'Reilly. "That won't do." "Don't you go too far, Dick Dewey. I'm your aiqual." "No man is my equal who creeps to my tent at the dead of night. Do you know what the camp will think, O'Eeilly?" "And what will they think?"
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