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title: 'The Day book. (Chicago, Ill.) 1911-1917, August 10, 1914, LAST EDITION, Image 18',
meta: 'News about Chronicling America - RSS Feed',
Image provided by: University of Illinois at Urbana-Champaign Library, Urbana, IL
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By Augustus Goodrich Sherwin.
(Copyright by WG. Chapman.)
Twelve men clamped down twelve
ugly looking loaded revolvers on a
great flat rqck at the work. Gib Dor
kell, bully and x former leader of the
group, spoke the word. "Bad Gib," as
The Glittering Eyes of Bad Gib Fol
he was familiarly known, looked
wickeder than ever as he aspirated
gutturally, his eye shielding a hidden
fire of hatred, his tee'th gritting, his
sinewy throat muscles convulsing.
"Don't get riled, Gib," spoke bold
Dan Perkins. "You've had the run of
the camp while we were working.
Now thr. we disband .fairness and
equity is , he rule. The jcajorit? says J
equal division on the crumbs of
splints. As to the Rajah, that goes
"That nigger in on the deal, too, I
suppose!" growled Gib.
"Didn't 'the nigger' find it?" chal
lenged Dan, coolly.
Bad Gib was silent, but he darted a
harming glance of enmity at the lithe,
shrinking native who was the cook of
"See here," proceeded Dan, "you
bossed us into cutting away from a
find where later comers found ten for
tunes. Then you got' your dander up
and nigh well killed old Dinah, the
mother of Ramon here, 'the nigger,'
as you call him. Clyde Burridge de
fended her and well, you found your
Bad Gib winced. A flashing quiver
crossed the face of the native, but in
stantly repressed. It showed, how
ever, a lurking blaze in that dusky
"You drove the woman into the wil
derness to die and sent Burridge on
the same route. It didn't please us,
but you was sworn boss. You ain't
now. The pact is broken when we
stop work. That was the bargain. So
the majority rules."
"And the majority," piped in Big
Ben Boulder, the giant of the camp,
"votes for an even division on the
chicken feed and draw lots on the
As Ben spoke he threw across the
rock a chamois bag and, lifting one
end, tipped out into the sunlight a
thousand prismatic sparkles of radi
ance. Then he selected a dull, yel
lowed lump from the mass.
"Two hundred carats, if anything!"
he gloated, gloatingly twisting the
big diamond between forefinger and
thumb so all could catch the prismatic
glow shining past the interstices in
its overcoat of native soil. "Mark
some chips one to twelve, some of
you. Leave one blank, throw them in
the bag and here's tothe lucky man!"
"Line up, men!" ordered Dan, jan
gling, the gambling ivories. Bad Gib