Rather, he had turned himself into my enemy.

He was running with a gang of rough fellows called the McCall boys.

They drank and fought, using clubs or stones or knives.
They were suspected of trying to rob the stage when it was driven by the poor wretch who had died of the cholera two summers before.

That driver was noted for his courage, his ready use of the rifle; and he had frightened the marauders off, and had wounded one of them, who limped away until the trail of his blood was obscured.
Every time I came into town I was subjected to wolfish leers from some member of this gang.

Evidently they had taken up Lamborn's cause.
Something was preying upon him.