Summer 1882 – Not a Chinaman’s Chance

 

Morrow spat, the tobacco juice missing the spittoon by a good foot. “Yup. There been dead Chinee. What of it? We got more than we know what to do with and they keep coming. A few dyin’ don’t dam the river.”

I considered breaking his jaw but the prospect of getting bloody chew on my person kept my actions checked.