the room.

"Nor was it the most humiliating feature of his defeat," murmured
Lefever, as the door closed behind his discomfited champion. "What do
you think, William?" he grumbled on. "The Morgans ran in a girl to
shoot against us--true as there's a God in heaven. They put up Nan
Morgan, old Duke Morgan's little niece. And what do you think? She
shot the fingers clean off our well-known Black Hand scout. I never
before in my life saw Henry so fussed. The little Music Mountain skirt
simply put it all over him. She had five bull's-eyes to Henry's three
when the lever snapped. He forfeited."

"Some shooting," commented Jeffries, rapidly signing letters.

"We expected some when Henry unslung his gun," Lefever went on without
respecting Jeffries's preoccupation. "As it is, those fellows have
cleaned up every dollar loose in Sleepy Cat, and then some. Money?
They could start a bank this minute."

Sounds of revelry continued to pour in through the street window. The
Morgans were celebrating uncommonly. "Rubbing it in, eh, John?"
suggested Jeffries.

"Think of it," gasped Lefever, "to be beaten by an eighteen-year-old
girl."

"Now that," declared Jeffries, waking up as if for the first time
interested, "is exactly where you made your mistake, John. Henry is
young and excitable----"

"Excitable!" echoed Lefever, taken aback.

"Yes, excitable--when a girl is in the ring--why not? Especially a
trim, all-alive, up-and-coming, blue-eyed hussy like that girl of
Duke Morgan's. She would upset any young fellow, John."

"A girl from Morgan's Gap?"

"Morgan's Gap, nothing!" responded Jeffries scornfully. "What's that
got to do with it? Does that change the fire in the girl's eye, the
curve of her neck, the slope of her shoulder, John, or the color of
her cheek?" Lefever only stared. "De Spain got to thinking about the
girl," persisted Jeffries, "her eyes and neck and pink cheeks rattled
him. Against a girl you should have put up an old, one-eyed scout like
yourself, or me, or Bob Scott.

"There's another thing you forget, John," continued Jeffries, signing
even more rapidly. "A gunman shoots his best when there's somebody
shooting at him--otherwise he wouldn't be a gunman--he would be just
an ordinary, every-day marksman, with a Schuetzenverein medal and a
rooster feather in his hat. That's why you shoot well, John--because
you're a gunman, and not a marksman."

"That boy can shoot all around me, Jeff."

"For instance,