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Updated: June 23, 2025
I'll throw you for twenty-dollar gold pieces." Du Sang's eyes glittered. Unable to understand the reason for the affront, he stood like a cat waiting to spring. "This is my game!" 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, Du Sang."
In the light of the lanterns they lifted him back, but he was bleeding slowly at the mouth, quite dead. The surgeon, afterward, found two fatal wounds upon him. The first shot, passing through the stomach, explained Du Sang's failure to kill at a distance in which, uninjured, he could have placed five shots within the compass of a silver dollar.
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.
I always, said they was mineralised enough to make a good prospect." This was unsatisfactory. Senor Johnson grew more restless. His critical eye began to take account of small details. At the ranch house one evening he, on a sudden, bellowed loudly for Sang, the Chinese servant. "Look at these!" he roared, when Sang appeared. Sang's eyes opened in bewilderment.
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