THE LIGHT was just going from gray to a light, watery yellow when the shouting woke him. Dallin was asleep one second, wide awake the next, with his hand on the butt of his gun before he realized there was no real alarm. And when the initial surge of adrenaline wore off a little, his next task was to decide whether to growl or laugh.
"They were mine!" Wil was shouting--none of the warbling fear from yesterday in his voice, but real anger and furious indignation. "You had no right, I didn't say you could, you never even asked!"
Locke's voice came next, even and hard, but with obvious bewilderment beneath it: "As I said, they were past repair. There was nothing else to be done with them, and now you've better to replace them with."