This raised a noisy laugh at Snake’s expense, which he took good-naturedly. Shoshone Pete turned and asked:
“Where’s the Angel?”
“Yes; where is she?” asked Dan.
“The Angel of Hellandgone. Where is she?” inquired Mike.
“She’s sure all right, eh?”
“She went down the gulch and over the range to Silver Bill’s shack. His wife’s got a new baby, and the Angel went down to help her out,” said Snakes, with conviction.
“She can have all mine—dust, sombrero, cayuse, saddle, bridle, lariat, and all!” said Shoshone Pete, earnestly. “The Angel is IT. She is certainly IT, and I can lick the first son of a gun that denies it!”
“No chance for a mix-up there, Shoshone. There is not a man from Cheyenne to the Gulch who would not fight for the Angel,” returned Mike.
“She is IT, I say. She sure is IT. She is white and gold. That is what she is. White outside and gold within. Set ’em up to the Angel, Snakes.”
“My treat,” declared Snakes.