Nan of Music Mountain | Page 2

thought to this often, and after knowing him, one
forgot about the birth mark in the man that carried it. Lefever's
reproach was naturally provocative. "I hope now," retorted de Spain,
but without any show of resentment, "you understand I can't."
"No," persisted Lefever good-naturedly, "I only realize, Henry, that this
wasn't your day for the job."
The door of the outer office opened and Jeffries, the superintendent,
walked into the room; he had just come from Medicine Bend in his car.
The two men rose to greet him. He asked about the noise in the street.
"That noise, William, comes from all Calabasas and all Morgan's Gap,"
explained Lefever, still fondling the rifle. "The Morgans are celebrating
our defeat. They put it all over us. We were challenged yesterday," he
continued in response to the abrupt questions of Jeffries. "The Morgans
offered to shoot us offhand, two hundred yards, bull's-eye count. The
boys here Bob Scott and some of the stage-guards put it up to me. I
thought we could trim them by running in a real gunman. I wired to
Medicine Bend for Henry. Henry comes up last night with a brand-new
rifle, presented, I imagine, by the Medicine Bend Black Hand Local,
No. 13. This is the gun," explained Lefever feebly, holding forth the
exhibit. "The lever," he added with a patient expletive, "broke."
"Give me the gun, John," interposed de Spain resignedly. "I'll lay it on
the track to-night for a train to run over."
"It was a time limit, you understand, William," persisted Lefever,

continuing to stick pins calmly into de Spain. "Henry got to shooting
too fast."
"That wasn't what beat me," exclaimed de Spain curtly. And taking up
the offending rifle he walked out of 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 JeflPries'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," continued Jeffries, tossing off signatures now with a
rubber stamp, and developing his incontestable theory at the same time,
"if you had put Gale Morgan up against Henry at, say five hundred
yards, and told them to shoot at each other, instead of against each
other, you'd have got bull's-eyes to burn from de Spain. And the
Calabasas crowd wouldn't have your money. John, if you want to win
money, you must study the psychological."
There was abundance of raillery in Lefever's retort: "That's why you are
rich, Jefé?"
"No, I am poor because I failed to study it. That is why I