“I don’t believe a word of it!” said English Ed.
Whap!
Jimmy Moran struck English Ed across the face with an open hand, and the sound of it could have been heard across the street. It caused the gambler to half-turn on his heels; and before he could recover his balance Jimmy swung a hard right fist against English Ed’s jaw, knocking him backward into the deserted poker table, where he went down in a sitting position, his eyes set in a silly stare.
The room was in an uproar. A woman screamed, another laughed. Jimmy grinned widely and nudged Pete with his elbow.
“Better get out, Pete,” he said. “If ye want Mallette, he’ll be spendin’ your money for dollar bottles of beer in one of our houses of ill fame.”
Pete wiped the back of his hand across his bleeding lips and headed for the back door, still carrying the gun in his hand. No one made any attempt to molest him. Jimmy Moran backed against the wall and watched English Ed regain his senses.
The big gambler was punch-drunk. He slowly got to his feet, tried to smile, but merely grimaced. A gambler came with a wet towel; but he motioned it aside and went to the bar. Some of the men followed him. The gambler with the towel came in closer to Jimmy.
“Mallette was drunk,” he said, as if excusing him for what he had done. “All day he’s been drinking absinth with his whisky. Maybe he didn’t know what he was doing.”
“Yeah, I know,” said Jimmy. “He was dead drunk. My, my, he was so drunk he could steal a card and none of us seen him. Drunk, hell! What’re you tryin’ to do, protect him?”
“Oh, no, I just thought—do you suppose the half-breed will try to get him?”