Grant County herald. [volume] (Lancaster, Wis.) 1850-1968, 1909-09-01

front door there and everything be-
hind the screen, and l can get close to
Du Sang. Look for thinnish, yellow
faced man with a brown hat and a
brown shirt-and pink eyes-shoot-
ing craps under this window. I'll shoot
craps with him. Is your heart pump
ing, George? Never mind, this is
easy! Farrell you're first!
The dive, badly lighted and Ventl-
lated, was counted tough among tough
places. White men and colored mixed
before the bar and about the tables.
When Smith stepped around the
screen and into the flare of the hang
ing lamps, Du Sang stood in the small
corner below the screened street win
dow. McCloud, though vitality inter
ested in looking at the man that had
come to town to kill him, felt his at
tention continually wandering back
to Whispering Smith. The clatter of
the rolling dice, the cultural jargon
of the negro gamblers, the drift of
men to and from the bar, and the
clouds of tobacco smoke made a hazy
background for the stoop-shouldered
man with his gray hat and shabby
coat, dust-covered and travel-stained.
Industriously licking the broken wrap
per of a cheap cigar and rolling it
fondly under his foref1nger, he was
making his way unostentatiously to-
ward Du Sang. Thirty-odd men were
in the saloon, but only two knew what
the storm center moving slowly
across the room might develop. Ken
needy, seeing everything and talking
pleasantly with one of the barkeepers,
his closest teeth cleaning 20 feet
away, stood at the end of the bar slid
ing an empty glass between his hands.
Whispering Smith pushed past the on
lockers to get to the end of the table
where Du Sang was shooting. He
made no effort to attract Du Sang's
attention, and when the latter looked
up he could have pulled the gray hat
from the head of the man whose
brown eyes were mildly fixed on Du
Sang's dice; they were lying Just in
front of Smith. Looking indifferently
at the intruder, Du Sang reached for
Whispering Smiths right hand, the
finger-tips extended on the table,
rEE5eu in front of them; it might have
been through accident, or it might
have been through design. In his left
hand Smith held the broken cigar, and
without looking at Du Sang he passed
the wrapper again over the tip of his
tongue and slowly across his lips.
Du Sang now looked sharply at him,
and Smith looked at his cigar. Others
were playing around the semi-circular
tablet might mean nothing. Du
Sang waited Smith lifted his right
hand from the table and felt in his
waistcoat for a match. Du Sang, how
ever. made no effort to take up the
dice. He watched Whispering Smith
scratch a match on the table, and,
either because it failed to light or
through design, it was scratched the
second time on the table, marking
cross between the two dice.
The meanest negro in the joint
would not have stood that, yet Du
Sang hesitated. Whispering Smith,
mildly surprised, looked up. Hello,
Pearline! You shooting here?" He
pushed the dice back toward the out
law. Shoot again!"
Du Sang, scowling, snapped the
dice and threw badly.
up jump the devil, is it? Shoot
again!" And, pushing back the dice,
Smith moved closer to Du Sang. The
Tn
threatened in a way wholly new to
him, waited like a snake braved by a
mysterious enemy. His eyes blinked
like a badgers. He caught up the
dice and threw. rs that the best you
can do?" asked Smith. See herei"
He took up the dice Shoot with mel"
Smith threw the dice up the table to-
ward Du Sang. Once he threw craps,
but, reaching directly in front of Du
sang, he picked the dice up and threw
eleven. Shoot with me, Du Sang"
whats your gamer" snapped Du
Sang, with an oath.
What do you care, If I've got the
coin? I'll throw you for $40 gold
pieces"
Du Sang's eyes glittered. Unable TO
understand the reason for the affront,
he stood like cat waiting to spring.
"This is my camel" he snarled.
"Then play it."
Look here, what do you want?" he
demanded, angrily.
Smith stepped closer. "Any game
you've got. I'll throw you left-handed,
mNI2nmrm. ~