But no man may rule a community without assistance. Sleed surrounded himself with a few trusted men, who were paid for doing certain things without asking the why and wherefore; men who might be undesirable to a village of God-fearing folk, but passing unnoticed in Calico, where, according to the parlance of Sunshine Alley, everything went, except the cook-stove and one joint of pipe.
Just now Sleed was standing with his back to the bar, in the saloon, his eyes squinted, as though in deep thought. Beside him stood a slender, dark-featured man, dressed in the habiliments of the professional gambler. His black eyes were sullen and shifty, and his long fingers moved nervously at his sides, as he flashed a sidewise glance at Sleed.
“That’s your idea of a square deal, is it, Sleed?”
Sleed turned his head and looked coldly at the gambler.
“Ace Ault, this ain’t no deal. You killed Preacher Bill because—well, not because he said yuh dealt a crooked game, but because yuh was jealous.”
“Jealous, hell!” snapped Ault. “He said——”
“I know what he said,” interrupted Sleed coldly. “It gave yuh the chance yuh wanted, Ault. Preacher Bill was a dirty old bum and his tongue was against him, but he was educatin’ Luck. He was smart, and he was learnin’ her a lot of things. She liked him.”
“And because I protected my honor against his lying tongue I’ve got to leave the camp, eh?” queried Ault sarcastically.
“Honor?” Sleed laughed into his beard. “Honor? Good God, when did a tinhorn like you get any honor?”