see
."
"That's cos ye've got no eyes," remarked Jim Scraggs,
with a sneer, as he stepped forward.
All tongues were now hushed, for the expected
champion was about to fire. The sharp crack of the
rifle was followed by a shout, for Jim had hit the nail-head
on the edge, and part of the bullet stuck to it.
"That wins if there's no better," said the major,
scarce able to conceal his disappointment. "Who comes