Lila faced him defiantly.
“I came to tell Rance McCoy what you did to him, Angel. If he wants to play now—all right.”
“You came to warn him, eh?” sneered Angel. “Playin’ politics, are yuh? Tryin’ to get in good with the old man. Lemme tell yuh somethin’ about yourself. I just got a letter tonight. Yore father was a thief—a bank-robber! He was killed——”
Old Rance sprang out of his chair and leaned across the table toward Angel.
“Shut up, you dirty pup!” he gritted. “Give me that letter!”
“What if I won’t?” snapped Angel.
“Then I’ll take it off yore dead carcass.”
The old man had swayed sideways and his right elbow was bent slightly. The men behind Angel sagged aside quickly.
“It’s in yore coat pocket,” said Rance warningly.
Slowly Angel reached into his pocket, took out the letter, and flung it down in front of his father. Quickly the old man tore it into small pieces, flinging them aside with a flip of his wrist.