and beneath a lot of this
deviltry around Calabasas? You take Gale Morgan: why, he trains with
Dave Sassoon; take his uncle, Duke: Sassoon never is in trouble but
what Duke will help him out." Jeffries exploded with a slight but
forcible expletive. "Was there ever a thief or a robber driven into
Morgan's Gap that didn't find sympathy and shelter with some of the
Morgans? I believe they are in every game pulled on the Thief River
stages."

"As bad as that?"

Jeffries turned to his desk. "Ask John Lefever."

De Spain had a long talk with John. But John was a poor adviser. He
advised no one on any subject. He whistled, he hummed a tune, if his
hat was on he took it off, and if it happened to be off, which was
unusual, he put it on. He extended his arm, at times, suddenly, as if
on the brink of a positive assertion. But he decided nothing, and
asserted nothing. If he talked, he talked well and energetically; but
the end of a talk usually found him and de Spain about where they
began. So it was on this trying day--for Lefever was not able wholly
to hide the upsetting of his confidence of victory, and his
humiliation at the now more distant yells from the Calabasas and
Morgan Gap victors.

But concerning the Morgans and their friends, Lefever, to whom
Jeffries had rudely referred the subject at the close of his talk with
de Spain, did abandon his habitual reticence. "Rustlers, thieves,
robbers, coiners, outlaws!" he exclaimed energetically.

"Is this because they got your money to-day, John?" asked de Spain.

"Never mind my money. I've got a new job with nothing to do, and
plenty of cash."

De Spain asked what the job was. "On the stages," announced Lefever.
"I am now general superintendent of the Thief River Line."

"What does that mean?"

"It means that I act for the reorganization committee in buying
alfalfa for the horses and smokeless pipes for the guards. I am to be
your assistant."

"I'm not going to take that job, John."

"Yes, you are."

"Not if I know it. I am going back to Medicine Bend to-night." Lefever
took off his hat and twirled it skilfully on one hand, humming softly
the while. "John," asked de Spain after a pause, "who is that girl
that shot against me this afternoon?"

"That," answered Lefever, thinking, shocked, of Jeffries's words, "was
Nan Morgan."

"Who is she?"

"Just one of the Morgans; lives in the Gap with old Duke Morgan, her
uncle; lived there as long as I can remember. Som