habit of never letting a
six-shooter get away from me. It's a foolish habit, I know, but I can't
lose it. If there's any part you'd like to see, just name it."

"Thanks," answered Duffy. "I guess I've seen all I want of it."

Calamity had failed; Duffy had failed. It began to look as if force of
downright numbers must settle the affair.

CHAPTER XXVIII

SALLY BREAKS A MIRROR

As Sally had remarked the night before, one does not pay much attention
to a toilet when one rises at 5 a.m. At least that is the rule, but
Sally, turning out with a groan in the chill, dark room, shut off the
alarm, lighted her lamp, and set about the serious task of dressing. A
woman, after all, is much like a diplomatic statesman; a hint along
certain lines is more to her than a sworn statement.

She had secured a large mirror, and in front of this she laboured
patiently for a full ten minutes, twisting her hair this way and that,
and using the comb and brush vigorously. Now and then, as she worked,
she became aware that a fluff of hair rolling down low over her forehead
did amazing things to her face and brought her from Sally Fortune into
the strange dignity of a "lady." But she could not complete any of the
manoeuvres, no matter how promisingly they started. In the end she
dashed a handful of hairpins on the floor and wound the hair about her
head with a few swift turns.

She studied the sullen, boyish visage which looked back at her. After
all, she would be unmercifully joked if she were to appear with her hair
grown suddenly fluffy and womanly--it would become impossible for her to
run the eating-place without the assistance of a man, and a fighting man
at that. So what was the use? She threw the mirror crashing on the
floor; it splintered in a thousand pieces.

"After all," she murmured aloud, "do I want to be a woman?"

The sullen mouth undoubtedly answered "No"; the wistful eyes undoubtedly
replied in another key. She shrugged the question away and stepped out
of her room toward the kitchen, whistling a tune to raise her spirits.

"Late, Sally," said the cook, tossing another hot cake on the growing
pile which surmounted the warmer.

"Sure; I busted my mirror," said Sally.

The cook stared at her in such astonishment that he allowed a quantity
of dough to fall from the dish cupped in the hollow of his arm; it
overflowed the griddle-iron.

"Blockhead!" shouted Sally. "Watch your step!"

She resumed, when the doug