“What do yuh want?”
Fohl’s voice was high-pitched, nervous.
“The game is up, boys,” said Hashknife Hartley. “Unless I’m mistaken, Jim Langley is plumb safe. Angel is out of the fight. One of yuh light the lamp.”
“Well, I’ll be a liar!” exclaimed One-Eye. “It’s Hartley, Jess. Go easy. My God, we’re——”
“I’ll light it,” said Fohl. “I’m through; so don’t shoot.”
He managed to find the lamp, and after breaking several matches he lighted the wick. Hashknife squatted on his heels against the kitchen door, his six-shooter leveled from his knee, a grin on his lips. Angel was stretched out on his face, while nearer the corner was Lila, bracing herself on one elbow, wide-eyed, a smudge of dirt across her cheek.
Roper Briggs was lying against the opposite wall, his head fallen forward on his chest, and near him was One-Eye Connell, blinking his remaining optic at everything. Fohl had backed away from the table, where he had placed his gun, and was holding his hands shoulder-high.
“All right, cowboy?” yelled Sleepy from the front door.
“All set!” yelled Hashknife, and in came Sleepy, Slim, and Chuck, their guns ready for anything that might happen.
“Yuh kinda busted up the nest, didn’t yuh?” laughed Sleepy.