“Choke that fool off, will yuh?” rasped Angel.
“That’s him!” panted Briggs. “I know his voice. Jess, I can’t—my God, I’m as weak as a rabbit. Funny, ain’t it? He hit me in the chest, Jess. I’m awful hot inside.”
“What are they doin’ outside?” wondered Langley.
“Fixin’ to git us,” said One-Eye, his voice filled with discouragement. “Let’s send the girl out, Jim. She’s what they want, anyway.”
“Like hell, you will!” exploded Angel. “She’s our ace-in-the-hole, you fool. As long as she’s in here, they don’t dare shoot at us.”
“What’s that noise?” asked Langley.
They listened closely. From the rear of the building came a sharp bump, followed by a scraping sound. None of the men were able to explain it. Langley crawled back into the front room and went to the window on the right-hand side, but it was so dark he could not see anything.
He slid along the wall toward the front of the room. That open front door intrigued him. Once in the open he would have a fighting chance, he thought. The rest of them could take care of themselves. He reached the doorway, where he waited, straining his ears for any sound. Except for the slight rustle of the wind, all was quiet.
He stretched out flat, gun in hand, and began inching over the doorsill. His belt-buckle caught on the sill, and he twisted sideways to release it, when something crashed down on his head and he ceased crawling. But he still continued to move slowly ahead across the porch, drawn by the arms of a man who chuckled softly. It sounded much like the chuckle of Sleepy Stevens.
Roper Briggs had been talking brokenly, deliriously.