Fishers -- Fiction; Fishing villages -- Fiction; Immigrants -- Fiction; San Francisco Bay Area (Calif.) -- Fiction; Short stories
"They're too many for us," he whimpered. "We can't fight them all."
I turned my back on him in disgust. The salmon boat had long since
passed from sight behind a little archipelago known as the Marin
Islands, so no help could be looked for from that quarter. Yellow
Handkerchief came up to me in a familiar manner, the water in the
cockpit slushing against his legs. I did not like his looks. I felt that
beneath the pleasant smile he was trying to put on his face there was an
ill purpose. I ordered him back, and so sharply that he obeyed.
"Now keep your distance," I commanded, "and don't you come closer!"
"Wha' fo'?" he demanded indignantly. "I t'ink-um talkee talkee heap
good."
"Talkee talkee," I answered bitterly, for I knew now that he had
understood all that passed between George and me. "What for talkee
talkee? You no sabbe talkee talkee."
He grinned in a sickly fashion. "Yep, I sabbe velly much. I honest
Chinaman."
"All right," I answered. "You sabbe talkee talkee, then you bail water
plenty plenty. After that we talkee talkee."
He shook his head, at the same time pointing over his shoulder to his
comrades. "No can do. Velly bad Chinamen, heap velly bad. I t'ink-um--"
"Stand back!" I shouted, for I had noticed his hand disappear beneath
his blouse and his body prepare for a spring.
Disconcerted, he went back into the cabin, to hold a council,
apparently, from the way the jabbering broke forth. The _Reindeer_ was
very deep in the water, and her movements had grown quite loggy. In a
rough sea she would have inevitably swamped; but the wind, when it did
blow, was off the land, and scarcely a ripple disturbed the surface of
the bay.
"I think you'd better head for the beach," George said abruptly, in a
manner that told me his fear had forced him to make up his mind to some
course of action.
"I think not," I answered shortly.
"I command you," he said in a bullying tone.
"I was commanded to bring these prisoners into San Rafael," was my
reply.
Our voices were raised, and the sound of the altercation brought the
Chinese out of the cabin.
"Now will you head for the beach?"
This from George, and I found myself looking into the muzzle of his
revolver--of the revolver he dared to use on me, but was too cowardly
to use on the prisoners.
My brain seemed smitten with a dazzling brightness. The whole situation,
in all its bearings, was focussed sharply before me--the shame of
losing the prisoners, the worthlessness and cowardice of George, the
meeting with Le Grant and the other patrol-men and the lame explanation;
and then there was the fight I had fought so hard, victory wrenched
from me just as I thought I had it within my grasp. And out of the tail
of my eye I could see the Chinese crowding together by the cabin doors
and leering triumphantly. It would never do.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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