“Have a drink,” growled Butch. “I hear Lila’s home.”
“Yeah,” said Angel shortly.
“Growed up much?”
“Sure.”
“You’re sure talkative. Where yuh been—out to see the old man?”
Angel nodded moodily.
“I thought so,” grinned Butch, as he filled his glass. He knew that Angel and his father usually quarreled.
“What made yuh think that?” demanded Angel.
“Jist from yore actions. Oh, I don’t blame yuh. He jist the same as told me to keep off his place last week. And I’m goin’ to stay off, too. Ask Dell why.”
“Cinch,” laughed Dell. “I dropped in there a couple weeks ago and found the old man practicin’. I tell yuh, he was shootin’ pepper cans off the corral fence at sixty feet. Stuck up six in a row, about two feet apart, and hit every danged one of ’em. You jist try hittin’ three-inch squares every time at sixty feet with a forty-five.”