CHAPTER V—FATHER AND SON
In the meantime Chuck Ring and Scotty McKay had gone to the Eagle, where they learned that Angel had won twenty-five hundred dollars from old Rance McCoy.
“That’s a lot of money,” declared Chuck, accepting a drink on the house. “I seen old Chuckwalla separatin’ the suits of a deck of cards over there on the sidewalk, and I wondered who he was tryin’ to freeze a deck onto. Here’s how, gents.”
“Separatin’ the suits, eh?” said Angel thoughtfully.
“I’ll bet that was yore deck,” said one of the men. “But what was his idea of separatin’ the suits, I wonder?”
“Probably tryin’ to see if it was a full deck,” laughed the bartender.
“Well, he ought to know it wasn’t. There was four cards left on the table. I saw Angel tear ’em up and throw ’em in a cuspidor. Old Chuckwalla Ike’s drunk.”
Angel nodded slowly, thoughtfully. He knew—and deep in his soul he cursed old Chuckwalla heartily, as he turned away from the bar and went back to his room.
“Kind of a funny deal,” said one of the men. “It ain’t none of my business, but nobody seen Angel’s cards on that last deal. He jist said he’d pay eighteen, which would indicate that he had seventeen. But did he? The old man walked right out, and Angel tore up them four cards.”
“He wouldn’t cheat his own father, would he?” asked Chuck.
“I didn’t say he did. But on one hand he drew a deuce, ace, ace, to tie the old man’s twenty-one.”
“That don’t pr-r-rove anythin’,” said Scotty.
“It don’t. But if it had been anythin’ but an ace, it would have busted the Eagle.”
“The divil looks after his own—mebby,” grinned Scotty.
“With a little personal assistance,” laughed Chuck. “But it’s nothin’ to us. Personally, I like Angel. The old man is a hard character. But as far as that’s concerned, none of us are growin’ any wings.”
Later on in the evening Billy DuMond came to town, and Angel took him to the hotel to see Lila. DuMond didn’t want to go. He had been sure to find out that Rance McCoy was not in town before he would come in, and he didn’t want to say anything more. But Angel insisted that he tell Lila all he knew about it.
They went up to Lila’s room, and Billy DuMond slouched on the edge of a hard chair, doubling his old hat in his nervous hands.
“Like I told Angel—I dunno anythin’,” he said to Lila. “I jist heard things a long time ago, and I—I prob’ly was drunk when I told Angel what I did.”
“What did you tell Angel?” asked Lila.
DuMond twisted the hat a few more times.
“Well, I dunno how true it is. A feller told me a long time ago that you wasn’t Rance McCoy’s girl. He said yore name was Stevens, and that old Rance killed yore father in a gun-fight. You was a little baby, I reckon, and there wasn’t no place to put yuh. Angel’s mother jist died a while before that, and somehow old Rance kinda adopted yuh.”
“And that is all you know about it?”
“Yes’m. I don’t want to git dragged into it, ma’am. It’s none of my business.”
“And my father’s name was Stevens?”
“That’s the name.”
“And where did all this happen?”
“I ain’t right sure,” said DuMond. “It seems to me that it was in the Twisted River country. This feller that told me about it mentioned a town named Medicine Tree. It’s been a long time ago, yuh know; and I might be mistaken.”
“Thank you very much,” said Lila.
“Oh, you’re welcome, ma’am.”
DuMond got to his feet, thankful that the interview was over.
“I—I hope yuh won’t say nothin’ to Rance McCoy.”
“Don’t mind him,” said Angel quickly.
“That’s all right t’ say,” DuMond grinned sourly.
After Billy DuMond had left the room, Angel asked Lila what she intended doing.
“You heard what I told the old man the other night, Lila. When I said I wanted to marry you, I told the truth.”
“But I don’t want to marry anybody—yet,” said Lila. “My mind is all upset and I hardly know what to do. Angel, I was wondering if they I have already engaged the teacher for the coming term of school? I could qualify, I think.”
“We can find out, Lila. I know the trustees. But I’d a lot rather have yuh marry me. I’m makin’ good money.”
“Not yet, Angel.”
“Well, all right,” grudgingly. “I’ll find out about the school. But you know what I told the old man, Lila. You’re goin’ to marry me some day. How are yuh fixed for money?”
“I have enough—if I get that school.”
“Well, if yuh need any—just yelp.”
Lila promised she would, and Angel went back to his business.
But in spite of the fact that Angel was well liked by the cattlemen of the Red Arrow country, his trade fell off badly in the following days. Where he had been able to use four dealers, he was now able to handle his games with but two men. On the next payday the Red Arrow Saloon got the big play.
Nothing was said, but Angel knew that in winning the twenty-five hundred from his father he had caused somebody to have a deep, dark suspicion that there had been something crooked about the game. And this suspicion had been voiced sufficiently to cause the gambling public to seek their games elsewhere.
Angel had made no effort to see the school trustees in behalf of Lila. He did not want her to teach the school. That savored too much of independence—and Angel did not want Lila to be independent. He did not know that she had seen them and had secured the position, because she did not mention it until everything was settled.
Old Rance McCoy received the news with a grim smile.
“Which means she ain’t aimin’ to marry that crooked son of yours, Rance,” observed old Chuckwalla thankfully.
“Yuh don’t know he’s crooked,” retorted Rance.
“Mebby not; but his games is all shot to hell.”
“Yuh mean that the gang has quit him, Chuckwalla?”
“Jist about, Rance. The Red Arrer is doin’ the bulk of separation. The fool and his money ain’t goin’ near the Eagle these days.”
“Chuckwalla, did you tell anybody about that deck?”
“Nossir. Didn’t need to, Rance. There was other men at that table, and they had eyes in their heads. I tell yuh, Angel made a big mistake.”
“Four thousand dollars would have busted him flat.”
“Nobody hates a square gambler that goes busted.”
“Do yuh reckon they’re sayin’ that Angel crooked me out of that twenty-five hundred?”
“Mebby not sayin’ it, Rance.”
“Believin’ it, anyway.”
“Somethin’ like that. I look for Angel to sell out or close up pretty quick.”
“He’s got everythin’ he owns tied up in the Eagle.”
“Owns!” snorted Chuckwalla. “He didn’t own anythin’. You was a big enough fool to give him a third of the Circle Spade stock. He didn’t deserve anythin’. You paid him a puncher’s salary since he was big enough to work, and then gave him that split of the stock. You’re a fool, Rance.”
“Mebby.”
“Mebby! Yuh make me sick. I suppose you’ll sell off half the stock you’ve got left and give the money to Lila.”
“She wouldn’t take it.”
“No, I don’t reckon she would. She always was an independent little critter. But Angel—well, he took anythin’ that wasn’t tied down. And you kinda favored him, Rance. I used to kinda wonder why it was, but since I heard what I did that night, I re’lize things. Blood is thicker’n water, after all is said and done.”
Old Rance turned and looked at Chuckwalla wistfully.
“Wasn’t I good to Lila?”
“Good? Shore yuh was. But yuh kinda favored Angel.”
“I’ve tried to be good to both of ’em, Chuckwalla.”
“I know yuh did, Rance. Hell, don’t mind me.”
“Yessir, I tried to be,” wearily. “It was pretty rough in them days—when my wife died. She left me with the baby. I didn’t know nothin’ about babies, Chuckwalla. But I learned about ’em.”
Old Rance smiled softly.
“Oh, I shore learned ’em. There wasn’t many wimmin in that country, and them that was here had plenty to do without helpin’ with mine. Packin’ a six-gun in one hand and a diaper in the other. And then—I took another, Chuckwalla. Them two was almost of an age. They couldn’t even talk English. Angel talked what sounded like a Cree language, while Lila runs pretty close to Navajo. I got so I could sabe both of ’em. It wasn’t no fun. My God, I turned milkmaid. Fact. Got me a cow.” Old Rance sighed deeply and shook his head. “She was a good cow.”
“And yuh worked like hell to raise ’em—for this.”
“Yeah. Well, I didn’t have this in mind, Chuckwalla.”
“Well, I reckon it’ll turn out all right, Rance. You’ve played the game straight with the kids. But you’re all through. They took the play away from yuh.”
Chuckwalla got up from the steps and started to go into the house, but stopped. Angel was riding in through the old ranch-house gate. He dismounted at the porch, and stood with one foot on the lower step. Old Rance glanced up from under the brim of his sombrero.
“Howdy, Angel,” he said.
“All right,” replied Angel thoughtfully, looking at Chuckwalla. “You might as well stay, Chuckwalla. I want to talk with both of yuh.”
Chuckwalla came back and leaned against a porch-post.
“I’m comin’ right down to brass tacks,” said Angel coldly. “What did you two say about me after that game the other day?”
Old Rance McCoy studied his son’s face for several moments.
“Just what do yuh mean, Angel?”
“Chuckwalla swiped the deck of cards,” said Angel slowly.
“I shore did!” snapped Chuckwalla. “And I found——”
“Wait a minute!” exclaimed Rance hoarsely. “This is for me to talk about, Chuckwalla. Now, what about the deck, Angel?”
“That’s what I want to know,” said Angel angrily. “Since that day I haven’t had two-bits worth of play in my place. I’ve had to cut down to one man, besides the bartender; and if this keeps up I’ll have to shut up the place. What I want to know is—what did you two say about me?”
Old Rance shook his head slowly.
“You’re wrong, Angel; we didn’t say a word to anybody. Was there somethin’ crooked about yore dealin’?”
“Didn’t say anythin’, eh?” Angel ignored the question.
“There was other men around the table,” reminded Chuckwalla. “They wasn’t blind, young feller.”
“You keep yore mouth out of this!” snapped Angel. “You took that deck over there on the sidewalk and—and——”
“And what?” demanded Chuckwalla. “You know what I done with it, Angel. Don’t start gettin’ tough with me, or I’ll hang yore hide on the fence.”
“Chuckwalla,” said Rance mildly, “I’d like to talk with Angel alone.”
“Shore thing.”
Chuckwalla went into the house and began preparing a meal.
“Well, go ahead and talk,” said Angel impatiently.
“You do the talkin’. You’re more interested than I am.”
“I’m sure interested enough,” agreed Angel. “Do you think I made a crooked deal against you?”
“I watched pretty close, Angel.”
“You would,” sneered Angel. “You never trusted me very far.”
“Too far—mebby. But that’s outside the question. No matter what me and Chuckwalla thought—we kept still, Angel.”
“Well, somebody talked,” growled Angel. “My business is all shot—and it all happened that day. I haven’t dealt a card in my place since. I know what they’re sayin’. I’m no fool. They think I skinned you out of that money. They’re sayin’ that Angel McCoy was so crooked he skinned his own father. They say that you knew I skinned yuh. Oh, I heard it. No, I didn’t hear it said, but I heard it was said.”
“That ain’t a—a good reputation, is it, Angel?”
“Reputation be damned! My business is——”
“Worth more than yore reputation, Angel?”
“Money talks.”
“It does to some folks.”
“Don’t talk to me about reputation,” said Angel hotly. “Yore own won’t stand much, yuh know.”
Old Rance blinked slowly, but the lines of his old face did not change. Perhaps his eyes clouded momentarily, but he was not looking at Angel.
“What do yuh want me to do?” he asked dully. “Why did yuh come out here, Angel?”
“I wanted to find out what you or Chuckwalla had said.”
“We said nothin’.”
“Uh-huh.”
It was evident that Angel did not believe this.
“You heard that Lila was goin’ to teach school?” Old Rance nodded.
“Yeah, I heard she was.”
“I wrote to Medicine Tree to find out more about her father—about Jim Stevens.”
Old Rance turned slowly and looked at Angel, his eyes as hard as flint.
“Yuh did, eh? And what business was it of yours? What do you care about him?”
“Lila wanted to know more about him.”
“Billy DuMond talked some more, eh?”
“No; not any more. He told me all he knew a long time ago. But that ain’t got anythin’ to do with my troubles. If this keeps up, I’m broke. I’ve got to prove I played on the square with you.”
“How?”
“I’ll be damned if I know.”
“Did yuh, Angel?”
For several moments the young man looked at his father, turned on his heel, and went back to his horse.
“I suppose it’s the proper thing to do—to squawk about a crooked deal when yuh lose a few dollars,” he said, as he mounted his horse.
Old Rance watched him ride away. Old Chuckwalla came to the doorway, carrying a skillet in his hand, and looked down the road, where a cloud of dust showed the swift passing of the horse and rider.
“And I suppose you’re feelin’ sorry for him,” said Chuckwalla.
Rance nodded slowly, but did not look around.
“Blood’s a hell of a lot thicker’n water; but if he was my son, I’d kick the seat of his pants up so high that they’d tilt his hat forward.”
“You never had a son, didja, Chuckwalla?”
“No, thank God!”
“Amen,” said old Rance piously.
“Is that supposed to be a smart remark?” asked Chuckwalla.
“No; I just thought it fit the case, Chuckwalla. If yuh never had a son, yuh ain’t fit to pass judgment on a father.”
“I suppose there’s a lot of truth in that remark. But I know Angel pretty well, Rance. By golly, I’m glad Lila’s got a job. She’ll make good. And she won’t demand no split of yore money, old-timer. There’s a girl!”
“Yeah,” muttered Rance. “She’s independent. But I—I wish she’d stay here and be independent.”