“You’re wanted, Phil,” he announced.
“Wanted where?”
“You got a visitor in there,” Neil said, with a grin and a jerk of his thumb toward the house. “Came blundering into the draw sorter accidental-like, but some curious. So I asked him if he wouldn’t light and stay a while. He thought it over, and figured he would.”
“Who is it?” asked Leroy.
“You go and see. I ain’t giving away what your Christmas presents are. I aim to let Santa surprise you a few.”
Miss Mackenzie followed the outlaw chief into the house, and over his shoulder glimpsed two men. One of them was the Irishman, Cork Reilly, and he sat with a Winchester across his knees. The other had his back toward them, but he turned as they entered, and nodded casually to the outlaw. Helen’s heart jumped to her throat when she saw it was Val Collins.
The two men looked at each other steadily in a long silence. Wolf Leroy was the first to speak.
“You damn fool!” The swarthy face creased to an evil smile of derision.
“I ce’tainly do seem to butt in considerable, Mr. Leroy,” admitted Collins, with an answering smile.
Leroy’s square jaw set like a vise. “It won’t happen again, Mr. Sheriff.”