An answer was made, but the woman could not understand.
"Oh, him!" Disdain was in the voice, as though there were no longer cause for apprehension, as if the potential consequence of the situation had been dissipated by identification of the unconscious figure.
Other arrivals, fresh voices; out under the light a dozen men were clustered about the tall fellow and his burden.
"Where'd you find him?" one asked.
"Out at th' edge of town—in th' ditch. Abe, here,"—with a jerk of his head to indicate the sleek sorrel horse he led—"found him. He acted so damned funny he made me get off to see what it was, an', sure enough, here was Yavapai's most enthusiastic drinker, sleepin' in th' ditch!
"Here, let me put him down on th' porch, there,"—elbowing his way through the knot about him. "He ain't much more man in pounds than he is in principle, but he weighs up considerable after packin' him all this way."
The watching woman saw that his burden was a slight figure, short and slender, dressed roughly, with his clothing worn and torn and stained.
"Why didn't you let Abe pack him?" a man asked, as the big cowboy, stooping gently, put the inert head and shoulders to the boards and slowly lowered the limp legs. He straightened, and, with a red handkerchief, whipped the dust from his shirt. Then, he hitched up his white goatskin chaps and looked into the face of his questioner and smiled.
"Well, Tommy, Abe here ain't never had to carry a souse yet, an' I guess he won't have to so long as I'm around an' healthy. That right, Abe?"
He reached out a hand and the sorrel, intelligent ears forward in inquiry, moved closer by a step to smell the fingers; then, allowed them to scratch the white patch on his nose.