"Which bunch?"
"Any and all—come stand up and down it."
"We'll be there when you call our numbers, sister. You comin'?" asked Pars Long, nodding toward Overland.
"Me? Nope.... I'm goin'. I'm goin' to ask you boys to kindly allow me the privilege of gettin' my drink first and by my lonesome. There will be a gent there with sore eyes. He got sore eyes waitin' and watchin' for me to call. I expect to cure him of his eye trouble. After that you will be as welcome as Mary's little lamb—fried."
"Bur-rie me not on the lo-o-ne prai-ree," sang Bud Light.
"Not while you got the fastest hoss in the outfit," said Williams.
"Collie's hoss is here," said Overland. "I'm ridin' her this trip. I kind of like the idea of usin' his hoss on this here errand of mercy."
"Three—to-morrow mornin'!" called Billy Dime, as Overland disappeared in the shadows.
Brand Williams, the taciturn, the silent, stepped from the fire and strode across the meadow. He paused opposite the Yuma colt and gazed at her in the moonlight. He jerked up his chin and laughed noiselessly. "Two-gun Jack Summers on that red Yuma hoss, ridin' into Gophertown with both hands filled and lookin' for trouble.... God! He was bad enough when he was dodgin' trouble. Well, I'm glad I'm livin' to see it. I was commencin' to think they wasn't any more men left in the country. I'm forty-seven year old. To-morrow I'll be twenty again ... or nothin'."