Anson and his two comrades exchanged bewildered glances with one another.
"A-huh! Say, what's thet got to do with us hyar? asked Anson, presently.
"Thet gurl is dyin'!" retorted Wilson, in a voice cracking like a whip.
The three outlaws stiffened in their seats, incredulous, yet irresistibly swayed by emotions that stirred to this dark, lonely, ill-omened hour.
Wilson trudged to the edge of the lighted circle, muttering to himself, and came back again; then he trudged farther, this time almost out of sight, but only to return; the third time he vanished in the impenetrable wall of light. The three men scarcely moved a muscle as they watched the place where he had disappeared. In a few moments he came stumbling back.
"Shore she's almost gone," he said, dismally. "It took my nerve, but I felt of her face.... Thet orful wail is her breath chokin' in her throat.... Like a death-rattle, only long instead of short."
"Wal, if she's gotta croak it's good she gits it over quick," replied Anson. "I 'ain't hed sleep fer three nights. ... An' what I need is whisky."
"Snake, thet's gospel you're spoutin'," remarked Shady Jones, morosely.
The direction of sound in the glen was difficult to be assured of, but any man not stirred to a high pitch of excitement could have told that the difference in volume of this strange wail must have been caused by different distances and positions. Also, when it was loudest, it was most like a whine. But these outlaws heard with their consciences.
At last it ceased abruptly.
Wilson again left the group to be swallowed up by the night. His absence was longer than usual, but he returned hurriedly.
"She's daid!" he exclaimed, solemnly. "Thet innocent kid--who never harmed no one--an' who'd make any man better fer seein' her--she's daid!... Anson, you've shore a heap to answer fer when your time comes."
"What's eatin' you?" demanded the leader, angrily. "Her blood ain't on my hands."
"It shore is," shouted Wilson, shaking his hand at Anson. "An' you'll hev to take your medicine. I felt thet comin' all along. An' I feel some more."
"Aw! She's jest gone to sleep," declared Anson, shaking his long frame as he rose. "Gimme a light."
"Boss, you're plumb off to go near a dead gurl thet's jest died crazy," protested Shady Jones.
"Off! Haw! Haw! Who ain't off in this outfit, I'd like to know?" Anson possessed himself of a stick blazing at one and, and with this he stalked off toward the lean-to where the girl was supposed to be dead. His gaunt figure, lighted by the torch, certainly fitted the weird, black surroundings. And it was seen that once near the girl's shelter he proceeded more slowly, until he halted. He bent to peer inside.