It was the sound of a running horse which stopped down by the corral. Roper stepped to the door and flung it open, while the others crowded in behind him. They could hear a voice swearing—Angel McCoy’s voice.
Jim Langley shoved the other men aside and went striding down to the corral, followed by the others. It was so dark they could not see Angel and his horse until they were close to him. He was laughing drunkenly.
“What is wrong with you, Angel?” demanded Langley.
“Wrong with me?” Angel laughed drunkenly. “Nothin’ wrong with me. But I made that town set up and notice. They’ll remember me, damn their dirty skins! Whoa, Sally Ann!”
“Who have you got there?” snapped Langley. “A—a woman! Angel, you fool! What have you done now?”
“My woman!” rasped Angel. “Git away from her, Langley!”
“A woman?” gasped Briggs.
“His woman?” wondered Fohl. “Why, the fool ain’t——-”
Langley scratched a match, shielding it from the breeze. Angel was backed against his horse, one arm flung around Lila, the other hand holding a cocked six-shooter. Lila’s face was bloodless, her waist torn, a sleeve fluttering in the wind. Then the match went out.
“Oh, you fool!” wailed Briggs. “You awful fool!”