Lon interrupted the scowman fiercely: "Nuther is he goin' to marry her--ye can bet on that! No kid of Vandecar's gets a boost up from me--a boost down, more like!"
"I'll kill the feller if he touches her," growled Lem, "and ye can make up yer mind to that, Lon!"
Lon Cronk shrugged his shoulders disdainfully.
"Take her if ye want her, Lem. I won't put no straw in yer way. But I never could see what ye wanted her fer. She's a big mouth to feed, let me tell ye!"
For some moments the two men sat in the darkening scow and smoked in silence. Suddenly Lem looked up.
"We couldn't get ahead of the nasty scamp, could we, Lon? I mean, could we git the money, and then keep the gal?"
"I don't want her," growled Lon; "she couldn't stay with me no more."
"We oughter make him pay the money, though," Lem insisted.
"Then, if ye has Flea, Lem," said Lon, looking keenly at the scowman, "and ye git yer share of money, ye has to share up yer half with me. See?"
"Yep," muttered Lem. "Will ye bring the feller down here some day, and we'll talk it over?"
Lon acquiesced by a nod of his head, saying only, "Come on out, and let's get a drink."
"When's he goin' to git 'em--Flea and Flukey, I mean?"
"I dunno. The boy's too sick to come to court. He's liable to die any minute."
Lem started forward at the unexpected word.
"If he croaks, be ye goin' to leave Flea there?"
"Not by a damn sight! We'll git her, and I don't care if the boy goes dead afore mornin'. I only want him to suffer, and die if he wants to. And, Lem," Lon smiled evilly, and, looking into the swart face of his pal, said, "and I guess ye can make the gal come to yer likin'."
Lem's throat worked visibly, his face reddened by the silent laughter that shook him.
"I only want the chance," he said. "Come on and let's git a drink."