“Who took that deck?” demanded Angel quickly.
But no one seemed to know. Old Rance and Chuckwalla were already outside the place.
“That’s damned funny!” snorted Angel hotly.
“You got damned well paid for it,” laughed one of the men.
“Yeah?” Angel swept up the money and went to the rear of the room. The loss of that deck seemed to annoy him. He came back and walked to a front window, where he looked out. Old Rance had gone into the Shanghai Cafe, but Chuckwalla was sitting on the sidewalk, looking through what appeared to be a deck of cards.
Old Chuckwalla was drunkenly deliberate. He sorted out the different suits, holding them between his knees. Chuck Ring and Scotty McKay came along, and stopped to watch the old cook.
“Ar-re ye fixin’ to tr-r-rim somebody?” asked Scotty.
“Betcher life,” grunted Chuckwalla.
“You’re drunk, Chuckwalla,” boomed Chuck Ring. “Lemme fix up yore deck. I shore can mingle a cold deck, if I’ve got plenty time.”
“Let ’em alone,” said Chuckwalla seriously. He put all the suits together, got unsteadily to his feet, and went into the cafe, where he found old Rance seated at a table. Chuckwalla sat down heavily at the opposite side of the table and leaned on his elbows.