CHAPTER III—LILA’S DEPARTURE
Morning at the Circle Spade still found Rance McCoy humped in his chair beside the table in the old living-room. The lamp had burned dry long since, and the chimney was soot-streaked. “Chuckwalla Ike” Hazen, the old cook, was in the kitchen, wrestling with the cooking utensils. Chuckwalla Ike was as old as Rance McCoy, a weather-beaten old desert cook, crooked in the legs from riding bad horses in his youth, with his left elbow slightly out of line from stopping a bullet.
Chuckwalla wore a long, sad-looking mustache, and his head was as bald as a baseball. His nose was generous, and one cheek was habitually pouched from tobacco. He was clad in a sleeveless undershirt, overalls, and moccasins, as he peered into the living-room at Rance McCoy.
“Up kinda early ain’t yuh, Rance?” he drawled.
“I was—uh—I reckon I better put me on a shirt. Plumb forgot we’ve got a lady among us. Say, whatsa matter with yuh? Look like hell this mornin’.”
“I’m all right,” said Rance huskily.
“Which yuh ain’t a-tall. Yuh can’t fool Chuckwalla. What time does the Queen of Sheber come among us f’r nourishment?”
“I dunno,” wearily.
“Well, I s’pose not.”
Chuckwalla scratched his shoulder against a corner of the doorway.
“She shore growed up purty, didn’t she, Rance? Five year ago she was a tow-headed kid with long legs and freckles, and she used to yell at me, ‘Chuckwalla Ike, go set on a spike,’ and now she pokes out her hand and says, ‘Mr. Hazen, how do yuh do.’ There’s only one thing that improves with age, and that’s liquor.”
“They grow up,” said Rance slowly.
“Don’t they? Well, I s’pose I’d better scare up a flock of biscuits. She allus liked ’em. Mebby I better put on a shirt. She might not like a cook in dishabelle, as they say. And my lingeree is kinda mournful, too. And yuh might tell Monty Adams and Steve Winchell to cut out their profane greetin’s to me this mornin’. As far as the human voice is concerned, this ranch-house leaks like a sieve.”
Rance McCoy turned his head and looked curiously at old Chuckwalla.
“You heard what was said last night?”
“That don’t bother me,” said Chuckwalla quickly. “But I shore was curious to know who got that black ace, and quit on the job.”
“I got it,” said Rance softly, glancing toward the stairs.
“Uh-huh.” Chuckwalla opened his mouth widely, blinked his eyes and backed toward the stove, where he turned and began shaking up the fire. Rance walked out to the front porch, and the old cook looked after him, a quizzical expression in his eyes.
“Rance,” he said to himself, “you’re addin’ lies to the rest of yore sins.”
Rance McCoy sat down on the steps of the old ranch-house which had been his home for eighteen years. There were a few stunted rosebushes in the yard. Near the corner of the house grew a gnarled cottonwood tree. The barbed-wire fence sagged badly in spots, and the weeds grew unmolested. To his left was the long, low stable, and beyond it was the series of pole-corrals. On the hill beyond the stable a bunch of cattle were stringing away from the ranch waterhole in the willows. Several miles away to the south he could see a streamer of black smoke from a train, heading toward Red Arrow, northwest of the ranch.
The Circle Spade had never been a big cattle outfit. Only two cowboys were employed by Rance McCoy. He had never been well liked in the Red Arrow country. Gun-men are usually respected, but rarely liked. They let old Rance alone when he came to town and got drunk, which he did at rare intervals; but never blind drunk.
He could hear Monty Adams and Steve Winchell, the two cowboys, noisily washing their faces at the old wash-bench near the kitchen door, and joking with Chuckwalla Ike. Came a step on the porch, and he turned to see Lila. She was a tall, slender girl, her shapely head piled high with a wealth of golden-blonde hair, and wearing a pale blue dress.
Her eyes were slightly red, as though she had been crying. She leaned against the left side of the doorway and looked at the man she had always believed to be her father.
“How didja sleep, Lila?” he asked.
She shook her head slowly.
“Not very well.”
“Uh-huh.”
His shoulders hunched beneath his coarse blue shirt, and he turned his gaze away from her.
“Well, go ahead,” he said slowly. “No use sparrin’ around. Angel told yuh a lot of things last night, didn’t he?”
“Yes.”
“Well, what do yuh think about it?”
“Oh, I don’t know what to think. He said you killed my father.”
Old Rance lifted his head and stared across the hills, his left hand caressing his stubbled chin.
“Yeah, he told me the same thing, Lila.”
“I heard what was said.”
“Didja? What did yuh hear?”
“You—you forced him to deal those cards.”
Rance laughed harshly.
“Busted his nerve, didn’t I?”
“Did you? Do you suppose he would have shot you, if he had drawn the card?”
“I hope so; I hate a quitter.”
“But you are his father!”
“It never meant much to Angel.”
“Would you have shot him?”
“If I had drawn that ace of spades—sure.”
She did not know that the ace of spades had been left in the drawer.
“Where is my father buried?” asked Lila softly.
Rance McCoy shook his head.
“I can’t tell yuh, Lila.”
“Does Billy DuMond know?”
“He don’t know anythin’ about it, except what he heard.”
Chuckwalla Ike came to the doorway and called:
“You folks ready to eat?”
“Better go in and eat, Lila,” said Rance.
But Lila shook her head, and after a sharp glance at Rance McCoy, Chuckwalla went back to the kitchen, complaining to himself.
“Where is my mother?” asked Lila.
“Yore mother?” Rance frowned heavily. “Oh, yeah—yore mother. Well, I dunno, Lila.”
“Didn’t my father tell you?”
“No-o-o, he didn’t say.”
“But you killed him.”
Rance McCoy hunched his shoulders helplessly.
“Let’s me and you not talk about it, Lila. It’s all gone and forgotten now. You’ve been my little girl ever since yuh wasn’t knee-high to a nail; you’re still my little girl.”
The old man’s voice was not very steady and he did not look at her.
“It’s not forgotten,” said Lila bitterly. “Why didn’t you tell me a long time ago? I haven’t any right to—I’m not your daughter. You haven’t any adoption papers, have you?”
Rance shook his head sadly.
“Wasn’t anything like that, Lila. I didn’t never want yuh to know. I wish I’d killed Billy DuMond before he ever told Angel. The drunken bum ain’t hardly fit to hang on the hot end of a bullet. Angel wants to marry yuh, Lila. Mebby yuh heard him say it last night. But don’t do it.”
“That has nothing to do with the case,” said Lila evenly. “You know I can’t stay here any longer.”
Old Rance turned and looked keenly at her.
“Yuh—uh—yuh can’t stay here?” he faltered.
“Don’t you see how it is?” helplessly. “I don’t belong here. I—I’ll try and pay you back for what I’ve cost you. I don’t know how it can be done, but I’ll try. You’ve been good to me.”
Lila turned abruptly on her heel and went back into the house. The old man sank a little lower on the step, when he heard her tell Chuckwalla she did not want any breakfast. She was talking to the two cowboys, but Rance could not hear what was said.
A few minutes later Monty Adams came out to him. He was industriously picking his teeth and trying to appear at ease. Monty was tow-headed, rather flat-faced, and of medium height.
“Lila asked me to hitch up the buckboard and take her to town,” said Monty. “Is it all right, Rance?”
“Sure.”
Rance cleared his throat harshly, but did not look around. When Monty went back into the house Rance got up and walked down to the stable, where he sat down on an overturned box and looked gloomily at the ranch-house. He watched Monty and Steve hitch up the old backboard, and saw Chuckwalla carry Lila’s trunk out to the ranch-house porch.
There was no good-bye spoken. Lila came down and Steve helped her into the vehicle. She shook hands with Chuckwalla, and drove away with Monty. Steve sauntered down to the bunk-house, followed by a collie pup, which carried a piece of board in its mouth, while Chuckwalla sat down on the porch and rolled a cigarette.
He looked up quizzically as Rance came up to the porch, but the owner of the Circle Spade said nothing. For possibly five minutes they sat there together, saying nothing. Chuckwalla was the first to break the silence.
“Wimmin,” he said solemnly, “do beat hell.”
“Men, too,” said Rance sadly.
“Yeah, that’s right, Rance; they shore do. If I was you, I’d slap Billy DuMond to a peak and then kick the peak off.”
Rance McCoy smiled bitterly.
“What would yuh gain by that, Chuckwalla?”
“I dunno. Mebby he ain’t worth the effort, Rance. Oh, you can set there and pull yore old poker-face, Rance McCoy. But I know yuh. I know how yuh feel toward Lila. It’s jist like takin’ pincers and pullin’ out yore finger-nails. I may not have a lot of brains, but I ain’t dumb.
“She ain’t showin’ any sense, I tell yuh. My God, you’ve done everythin’ for her. What if yuh ain’t her daddy? Yuh shore been good to her, old-timer. Even if you did kill her real father. I don’t know a thing about it, and I don’t want to. I’ve been with you goin’ onto eight year, Rance; and her own dad couldn’t ’a’ been better to her. It’s that school she’s been to. They done give her top-heavy ideas, that’s what.”
“I know,” said Rance softly. “But don’t blame her too much. It was a shock to her, Chuckwalla.”
“To know you killed her dad? Shucks, what’s that? She didn’t know him no better than I knowed Gineral Custer—and I don’t hold no grudge ag’in’ the Injuns. That’s why I allus say that wimmin do beat hell. There ain’t never been no wimmin in my life, Rance. And I was a likely critter in m’ youth. Lots a girls looked sideways at me.”
“And now you’re jist a cow-outfit cook,” said Rance seriously.
“Yea-a-ah—and what are you? Owner of the outfit; eatin’ your tough old heart out over a girl that don’t deserve it; father of a son that ort to be kicked in the pants and showed the error of his ways. You ain’t got no edge on me, Rance. I tell yuh what I would like to do. How much money have I got comin’?”
“About eighty dollars, Chuckwalla.”
“Plenty. I’ve got a notion to go to Red Arrer and git so drunk that all m’ previous libations would look like the mornin’ meal of a day-old calf. I ain’t been drunk since they quit callin’ the Platte River Nee-brath-kah. That’s what’s makin’ us old, Rance. By God, pretty soon me and you will be so old we’ll be preachin’ temp’-rance.”
Old Rance shook his head sadly.
“I’d be scared to, Chuckwalla. If I got six drinks under my hide, I’d kill somebody.”
“Well, don’t be so finicky about it. Come on in and throw some ham and aigs into yuh. Yessir, I b’lieve it’s time that me and you blowed off steam. Eig’hty dollars, eh? Sounds like joybells to me. Jist forget that little lady with the queer ideas. If she marries that jug-headed son of yours, she’ll still be in the fambly.”
Monty Adams took Lila to Red Arrow and she got a room at the Valley Hotel. She had little to say to Monty on the way to town, except that she would probably stay in Red Arrow until she heard from some friends in the East. Angel saw them drive up to the hotel, and lost no time in joining them. When he saw Lila’s baggage he knew she had left the Circle Spade, and was secretly glad. Monty drove the team over to the Eagle Saloon, leaving Lila and Angel together.
“I left the ranch,” she said simply.
“That’s what I thought, Lila. Well, I suppose it was the best thing to do. What are yore plans?”
“I haven’t any, Angel. I just think in circles. But first of all I want to have a talk with Billy DuMond.”
“I’m afraid yuh won’t,” smiled Angel. “Bill is scared of his life. I told him the old man knew what he told me. He’s scared of Rance McCoy—and I don’t blame him.”
“Not after what happened last night,” said Lila.
Angel’s face flushed hotly.
“You heard that, Lila?”
“I did.”
“I’m sorry about that. But it doesn’t matter, I suppose. I lost my nerve, Lila. It was one of the most cold-blooded games I ever heard about. But that was like him. The man has no conscience, no nerves at all. He’s a born killer. Friendship means nothin’ to him.”
“I wonder if it does,” sighed Lila.
“Not a thing in the world. He don’t know the meanin’ of the word friendship. Oh, I don’t care if he is my father. I’m old enough to know things. He’s been good to me, in his own queer way. But we never agreed. Last night was the climax. If he had drawn that ace of spades, he’d have killed me.”
“I think he would,” said Lila. “Anyway, he said he would.”
“And been glad of the chance,” growled Angel. “Well, I’m all through with him. I’ll get somebody to help put yore trunk into the hotel, Lila. You just stay here until yuh make up yore mind what yuh want to do, and don’t worry about the money end of it. The owner of this hotel owes me a fat gamblin’ bill, and this will be a good way to collect it.”