“Well, I’ll be damned!” The big man exploded into a booming laugh.
“Who is he?” asked Baldy, after Meline’s mirth had subsided.
“Who is he? Kern, that young man is my son—Jack Meline.”
“No!”
“Yes.”
“Uh-huh.” Baldy drew the team to a slow walk. “Doc, did you send him in here to spy on us?”
“Spy on you?”
“Yeah, spy on us. Now listen to me, Doc. If you don’t think that we’re givin’ you a square deal, hire somebody else. Don’t spy. We’ve got to trust each other, or go bust. We’re both crooks, but we can’t afford to be crooked with each other. I’ll run this end of the game and you run your end.”
“Fair enough, Kern, but remember this: I can get men to run your end of it, but you can’t replace me.”
“That won’t keep me from quittin’,” replied Kern softly. “If I’ve got to watch you and watch some other gang who are tryin’ to bust up our game, I’ll quit. One of my men was killed the night that Lee Yung left for Frisco.”