There were only two men in the world who would laugh like that in the very face of death, and they were both there, standing in the doorway, Angel with his motor goggles about his neck and Jimmy slowly peeling his gloves.
Then she looked at Spedding.
The hand that held the revolver did not tremble, he was as self-possessed as he had been a few minutes before.
“If either of you move I’ll shoot the girl, by God!” said Spedding through his teeth.
They stood in the doorway, and Jimmy spoke. He did not raise his voice, but she heard the slumbering passion vibrating through his quiet sentences.
“Spedding, Spedding, my man, you’re frightening that child; put your gun down and let us talk. Do you hear me? I am keeping myself in hand, Spedding, but if you harm that girl I’ll be a devil to you. D’ye hear? If you hurt her, I’ll take you with my bare hands and treat you Indian fashion, Spedding, my man, tie you down and stake you out, then burn you slowly. Yes, and, by the Lord, if any man interferes, even if it’s Angel here, I’ll swing for him. D’ye hear that?”
His breast heaved with the effort to hold himself, and Spedding, shuddering at the ferocity in the man’s whole bearing, lowered his pistol.
“Let us talk,” he said huskily.
“That’s better,” said Angel, “and let me talk first. I want you.”
“Come and take me,” he said.