Eh--what--damn the dog,
he's scored another center shot!"
"It would be hard to beat that--" they heard Murrell say.
"At least it would be quite possible to equal it," said
Carrington, advancing with Hannibal's rifle in his hands.
It was tossed to his shoulder, and poured out its contents in a
bright stream of flame. There was a moment of silence.
"Center shot, ma'am!" cried the judge.
"I'll add twenty dollars to the purse!" Norton addressed himself
to Carrington. "And I shall hope, sir, to see it go in to your
pocket."
"Our sentiments exactly, ma'am, are they not?" said the judge.
"Perhaps you'd like to bet a little of your money?" remarked
Murrell.
"I'm ready to do that too, sir," responded Norton quietly.
"Five hundred dollars, then, that this gentleman in whose success
you take so great an interest, can neither equal nor better my
next shot!" Murrell had produced a roll of bills as he spoke.
Norton colored with embarrassment. Carrington took in the
situation.
"Wait a minute--" he said, and passed his purse to Norton.
"Cover his money, sir," he added briefly.
"Thank you, my horses have run away with most of my cash,"
explained Norton.
"Your shot!" said Carrington shortly, to the outlaw.
Murrell taking careful aim, fired, clipping the center.
As soon as the result was known, Carrington raised his rifle; his
bullet, truer than his opponent's, drove out the center. Murrell
turned on him with an oath.
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