“You’re pullin’ out quite a hunk, ain’tcha?” queried Chuckwalla, rather amazed at Rance.
“Why not?” asked Rance gloomily. “It ain’t worth nothin’ to me—now.”
Chuckwalla understood. Old Rance had saved for Lila. He had given Angel his share of the Circle Spade; so now there was no inducement left for him to make or save money. He gave Chuckwalla eighty dollars, and they went back to the street, where they stood on the edge of the wooden sidewalk and studied the situation.
“Whatcha want to do?” asked Rance.
“Git drunk,” said Chuckwalla. “O-o-o-oh, there is a land of co-o-o-orn and wi-i-i-ine, and all its riches truly mi-i-i-ine.”
“Don’t sing.”
“I forgot, Rance.”
They stepped off the sidewalk and went diagonally across the street and up to the Red Arrow Saloon. Rance had never been in the Eagle Saloon since Angel had bought it.
Butch Reimer was standing at the bar, talking with the bartender when Rance and Chuckwalla came in. Butch had been drinking quite heavily, and his tongue was noticeably thick.
“Hyah, Rance,” he said, grinning broadly. “Well, if here ain’t old Chuckwalla Ike! What’r yuh doin’—celebratin’ a birthday?”