Old Rance was silent for several moments.
“I don’t reckon Angel got the truth of the matter,” he said softly. “You forget it, Lila. Goodnight.”
He turned and faded out in the darkness, going back to the main street. The bulk of the crowd had gone back to the Red Arrow, and there was much speculation regarding what had happened at the Eagle.
Old Chuckwalla Ike had gone back there with the crowd, and was drinking prodigious quantities of raw liquor. One of the men asked him what Angel had meant by telling the girl what he did. But Chuckwalla swore he didn’t know.
“Angel’s crazy,” he declared. “Allus been crazy. Never did have the sense that God gave geese in Ireland.”
“Well, he shore got trimmed,” declared Jim Langley. “Think of dealin’ first ace for five thousand! I figure old Rance won pretty close to eight thousand from Angel; and if Angel can pay him off, I’m an Eskimo in Florida.”
“Old Rance owns the Eagle right now,” stated another. “He shore paid Angel for his crooked dealin’.”
Old Chuckwalla got pretty drunk before he left the Red Arrow and went on a hunt for old Rance. The Eagle was dark. Chuckwalla managed to paw his way along the hitch-rack and to locate his horse. It was only after several tries that he was able to get into the saddle. Once he went all the way over the horse, but had presence of mind enough to cling to the reins.
“Shore gettin’ active in m’ old age,” he told himself as he tried to get his foot out of his hat. “Ain’t many men of my age that can leap plumb over a bronc in the dark.”
He finally got seated and rode out of town, swaying in his saddle, and trying to sing. It was about eleven o’clock when he reached the Circle Spade. By this time he was sober enough to unsaddle his horse, turn it loose in a corral, and go up to the ranch-house, where he went to bed. His horse had picked up a small stone in the frog of its right front foot, and was limping badly, but Chuckwalla didn’t know it.