“I don’t doubt that.”
Angel exhaled a cloud of smoke through his shapely nostrils.
“But as far as you marryin’ Lila—you’ll not,” declared Rance McCoy flatly. “I raised the two of yuh together, and I know all about both of yuh. I’ve heard that you’re a crooked dealer, Angel. Men don’t hint things like that unless there’s some truth in it. Crooked at cards, crooked at everythin’.”
Angel McCoy jerked forward, his dark eyes glittering in the yellow light.
“Crooked, am I?” he laughed harshly. “No man dares say it to my face. They come and whine to you, do they? And you believe things like this of yore own son! That’s why you won’t let me marry Lila, eh? All right; I’ll tell Lila that she ain’t yore daughter. I’ll tell her you killed her father. I’ll tell——”
“If yuh do”—Rance McCoy’s old face twisted harshly and he leaned forward, shoving his right shoulder against the table—“If yuh do, Angel—I’ll kill yuh. A long time ago yuh ceased to be my son. Oh, yuh’ll get an even break. I never killed any man without givin’ him an even break.”
“Even break!” exclaimed Angel. “What man ever had an even break with you? I’ve seen yuh draw and shoot, old man.”
The old man laughed mirthlessly. Few men could draw and shoot with Rance McCoy.
“Yuh always did lose yore nerve in a showdown,” he said.
“I never lost my nerve,” growled Angel. “But this ain’t a shootin’ proposition.”