“Yeah?” Sleed squinted at the Saint and back to Steele.
“Whatcha goin’ to do in Calico?”
“You didn’t expect an answer to that, did yuh?” asked Steele, with a smile.
Sleed grunted softly. One of the men from the graveyard stepped in and spoke to Sleed.
“The graybeard’s a preacher, Sleed. He said a few things for Preacher Bill, and they was damn well said, after he got put right.”
Sleed looked at the Saint curiously, and found the Saint looking straight at him. Something in that glance seemed to bother Sleed. It was as though this tall, white-bearded, hawk-eyed man was peering into things that Sleed did not want anyone to see. Sleed glanced down at the floor for a moment and nodded.
“I reckon there’s places to live in. Yuh can have Preacher Bill’s place or yuh can have—” Sleed looked up and glanced toward the door—“I think yuh can have the place where Ace Ault lived.”
“We both thank you, sir.” The Saint’s voice boomed like the deep notes of a pipe-organ.
Sleed glanced quickly at him and saw that the Saint’s eyes were closed, as though he had shut out material things while he thought deeply.
“I’ll show ’em the places, Sleed.”