do I. Ki Sing is a good fellow, if he is a heathen, and I'd like to scalp the man that ill-treats him."
"There are not many travellers among these mountains."
"No, but there are some. Some men are always pulling up stakes and looking for better claims. Besides, we are here, and why shouldn't others come here as well?"
"That is so."
"I think, Ben, we'll keep along in this direction," said Bradley, indicating a path on the eastern slope of the hill. "I haven't any particular reason for it, but I've got a sort of idea that this is the right way."
"All right, Jake; I will be guided by you. I hope you're mistaken about Ki Sing's fate. Why couldn't he have fallen and sprained his ankle, like Mr. Dewey?"
"Of course he could, but it isn't likely he has."
"Why not?"
"Because Chinamen, I have always noticed, are cautious and supple. They are some like cats; they fall on their feet. They are not rash like white men, but know better how to take care of their lives and limbs. That's why I don't think Ki Sing has tumbled down or hurt himself in any way."
"Of course he wouldn't leave us without notice," said Ben, musingly.
"Certainly not: that isn't Ki Sing's way. He's faithful to Dick Dewey, and won't leave him as long as Dick is laid up. I never had much idea of Chinamen before, and I don't know as I have now, but Ki Sing is a good fellow, whatever you may say of his countrymen. They're not all honest. I was once robbed by a Chinaman, but I'll bet something on Ki Sing. He might have robbed Dick when he was helpless and dependent, before we came along, but he didn't do it. There are plenty of white men you couldn't say that of."
"For instance, the gentlemen who stole our horses."
"It makes me mad whenever I think of that little transaction," said Bradley. "As for that braggart, Mosely, he'll come to grief some of these days. He'll probably die with his boots on and his feet some way from the ground. Before that happens I'd like a little whack at him myself."
"I owe him a debt too," said Ben. "His running off with my mustang cost me a good many weary hours. But hark! what's that?" said Ben, suddenly.
"What's what?"
"I thought I heard a cry."
"Where away?"
"To the left."
Jake Bradley halted and inclined his ear to listen.
"Ben," said he, looking up, "I believe we're on the scent. That cry came either from a Chinaman or a cat."
Ben couldn't help laughing, in spite of the apprehensions which the words of his companion suggested. "Let us push on, then," he said.
Three minutes later the two came in sight of poor Ki Sing, chafing in his forced captivity and making ineffectual attempts to release himself from his confinement.
"That's he, sure enough," exclaimed Jake Bradley, excited. "The poor fellow's regularly treed."
The Chinaman had not yet seen the approach of his friends, for he happened to be looking in another direction.
"Ki Sing!" called Ben.
An expression of relief and joy overspread the countenance of the unfortunate captive when he saw our hero and Bradley.
"How came you here, Ki Sing?" asked Bradley. "Did you tie yourself to the tree?"
"No, no," replied the Chinaman, earnestly. "Velly bad men tie Ki Sing."
"How many of them bad men were there?" queried Bradley.
"Two."
"That's one apiece for us, Ben," said Bradley. "There a job ahead for us."
At the same time he busied himself in cutting the cord that confined the poor Chinaman to the tree, and Ki Sing, with an expression of great relief and contentment, stretched his limbs and chafed his wrists and ankles, which were sore from the cutting of the cord.
"Now, Ki Sing, tell us a little more about them men. What did they look like?"
The Chinaman, in the best English he had at command, described the two men who had perpetrated the outrage.
"Did you hear either of them call the other by name?" inquired Bradley.
"One Billee; the other Tommee," answered Ki Sing, who remembered the way in which they addressed each other.
"Why, those are the names of the men who stole our horses!" said Ben, in surprise.
"That's so!" exclaimed Bradley, in excitement. "It would be just like them scamps to tie up a poor fellow like Ki Sing.—I say, Ki, did them fellows have horses?"
"Yes," answered the Chinaman.
"I believe they're the very fellows," cried Bradley. "I hope they are, for there's a chance of overhauling them.—Why did they tie you, Ki Sing?"
Ki Sing explained that they had tried to induce him to guide them to Richard Dewey's cabin, but that he was sure they wanted to steal his gold, and he had led them astray.
"That's the sort of fellow Ki Sing is," said Bradley, nodding to Ben; "you see, he wouldn't betray his master."
"So they tie me to tlee," continued the poor fellow. "I thought I stay here all night."
"You didn't take us into the account, Ki Sing. When these scoundrels left you where did they go?"
Ki Sing pointed.
"And you think they went in search of the cabin?"
"Yes—they say so."
"Did they know we were there—Ben and I?"
"No; me only say Dickee Dewey."
"Did you say that Dewey was sick?"
"Yes."
"It is clear," said Bradley, turning to Ben, "that them rascals were bent on mischief. From what Ki Sing told them they concluded that Dewey would be unable to resist them, and that they would have a soft thing stealing his gold-dust."
"They may have found the cabin and be at work there now," suggested Ben.
"So they may," answered Bradley, hastily. "What a fool I am to be chattering here when Dick may be in danger!—Stir your stumps, Ki Sing. We're goin' back to the cabin as fast as our legs can carry us. I only hope we'll be in time to catch the scoundrels."
Not without anxiety the three friends retraced their steps toward the little mountain-hut which was at present their only home.
CHAPTER VIII.
TURNING THE TABLES
When the three friends came in view of the cabin, the first sight which attracted their attention was the two mustangs, who stood, in patient enjoyment of the rest they so much needed, just outside. Their unlawful owners, as we know, were engaged inside in searching for gold-dust, without the slightest apprehension or expectation of interference.
