That night, long after the hour for Mrs. Barrett’s regular trip, and long past the time for his supper-song, Fong Wu heard slow, shuffling steps approach the house. A moment afterward, the knob of his door rattled. He put out his light and slipped a knife into his loose sleeve. After some mumbling and moving about on the porch, a man called out to him. He recognised the voice. “Fong Wu! Fong Wu!” it begged. “Let me in. I want to see you; I want to ask you for help--for something I need. Let me in; let me in.” Fong Wu, without answering, relit his lamp, and, with the air of one who is at the same time both relieved and a witness of the expected, flung the door wide. Then into the room, writhing as if in fearful agony, his hands palsied, his face a-drip and, except for dark blotches about the mouth, green-hued, his eyes wild and sunken, fell, rather than tottered, Anthony Barrett. “Fong Wu,” he pleaded, from the floor at the other’s feet, “you helped my wife, when she was sick, now help me. I’m dying! I’m dying! Give it to me, for God’s sake! give it to me.” He caught at the skirt of Fong Wu’s blouse. The Chinese retreated a little, scowling. “What do you want?” he asked. A paroxysm of pain seized Barrett. He half rose and stumbled forward. “You know,” he panted, “you know. And if I don’t have some, I’ll die. I can’t get it anywhere else. She’s found me out, and scared the drug-clerk. Oh, just a little, old man, just a little!” He sank to the floor again. “I can give you nothing,” said Fong Wu bluntly. “I do not keep--what you want.” With a curse, Barrett was up again. “Oh, you don’t,” he screamed, leering frenziedly. “You yellow devil! You almond-eyed pigtail! But I know you do! And I must have it. Quick! quick!” He hung, clutching, on the edge of Fong Wu’s wide ironing-table, an ashen wreck. Fong Wu shook his head. With a cry, Barrett came at him and seized his lean throat. “You damned highbinder!” he gasped. “You saddle-nosed monkey! You’ll get me what I want or I’ll give you away. Don’t I know why you’re up here in these woods, with your pretty clothes and your English talk. A-_ha_! You bet I do! You’re hiding, and you’re wanted;”--he dropped his voice to a whisper--“the tongs would pay head-money for you. If you don’t give it to me, I’ll put every fiend in ’Frisco on your trail.” Fong Wu had caught Barrett’s wrists. Now he cast him to one side. “Tongs!” he said with a shrug, as if they were beneath his notice. And “Fiends!” he repeated contemptuously, a taunt in his voice. The white man had fallen prone and was grovelling weakly. “Oh, I won’t tell on you,” he wailed imploringly. “I won’t, I won’t, Fong Wu; I swear it on my honour.” Fong Wu grunted and reached to a handy shelf. “I will make a bargain with you,” he said craftily; “first, you are to drink what I wish.” “Anything! anything!” Barrett cried.