The Chinaman, who was sitting inside
the cook wagon, poring over a book by the light of a lantern, recognised
the note of fury in French's tone and raised his head, startled. A
paroxysm of fear seized him. The very moment that French threw open the
door of the wagon, he kicked the lantern across the floor and plunged at
the canvas sides of the vehicle, slipping underneath until he reached the
ground. French, left in darkness, groped around for a moment and then
emerged. The cowboys had gathered together outside.
"Say, Mr. Inspector French," one of them demanded, "what's wrong with John
Chinaman? You folks seem to have a sort of grudge against our cooks.
What's the Oriental been doing, eh?"
"Tried to commit a filthy murder," French shouted. "Brought a snake and
put it into the bed of one of the young women."
They hesitated no longer.
"Come on, boys," one of them cried. "We'll have to see this matter
through."
They found the spot where the Chinaman had escaped from the wagon, but
even at that moment they heard the sound of a horse's hoofs and saw a
flying figure in the distance.
"Said he couldn't ride!" French shouted. "Told the young lady so when she
wanted him to go and warn us of the fire. Look at him now!"
"Come on, all of you," one of the cowboys yelled, as they rushed for the
horse. "Bring your lariats. We'll have him, sure."
French, with his start, was the first to reach a horse. The cowboys
galloped off through the shadows. Dimly visible, they now and then caught
a glimpse of their quarry; sometimes he faded out of sight altogether.
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