“How much money do you suppose he’ll lose, Jim?”
“Who—Rance? All he’s got. No, I’m not jokin’. Rance is a gambler, and he’ll bet as long as he’s got a cent.”
Lila got to her feet and picked up the pale blue shawl. She could go downstairs without passing the Parkers’ room; so she tiptoed softly down, let herself out through the front door, which was never kept locked, and went quickly out to the street.
It did not take her long to reach the Eagle Saloon. Some cowboys stared at her as she came into the lights, but she paid no attention to them. A cowboy was at the bar, singing a plaintive melody in a drunken tenor, and there was a babel of voices, the clatter of poker chips.
Angel was back in the game again. She could see the back of Rance McCoy’s grizzled old head, his sombrero tilted forward to shield his eyes. The room was full of tobacco-smoke. Chuckwalla Ike saw her first. He blinked foolishly and stumbled toward her, trying to tell her to get out of there, but she eluded him and came in behind old Rance, putting a hand on his shoulder.
Angel was dealing, but halted quickly. Every one in the room was staring at her. Old Rance turned his head and looked up at her white face, a puzzled expression in his eyes.
“What do yuh want, Lila?” he asked.
“Don’t play against him,” she said hoarsely, pointing at Angel. “Please don’t. He admitted that he dealt crooked to you. He’s a cheat. He—he told me he did.”
The room was silent. Angel’s face flushed hotly and he surged to his feet, kicking back his chair.
“That’s a lie!” he hurled at her. “I never told yuh any such a thing. You get out of here! This is no place for you.”