“Goin’ on by stage?” Goatry said, vaguely, as they shook hands.
She did not reply, for she was looking down the street, and presently she started as she gazed. She laid a hand suddenly on Foyle’s arm.
“See—he’s come,” she said, in a whisper, and as though not realizing Goatry’s presence. “He’s come.”
Goatry looked, as well as Foyle. “Halbeck—the devil!” he said.
Foyle turned to him. “Stand by, Goatry. I want you to keep a shut mouth. I’ve work to do.”
Goatry held out his hand. “I’m with you. If you get him this time, clamp him, clamp him like a tooth in a harrow.”
Halbeck had stopped his horse at the post-office door. Dismounting, he looked quickly round, then drew the reins over the horse’s head, letting them trail, as is the custom of the West.
A few swift words passed between Goatry and Foyle.
“I’ll do this myself, Jo,” he whispered to the girl presently. “Go into another room. I’ll bring him here.”