“They all know me,” said Luck quickly. “Nothing will harm me.”
Sleed shook his head.
“I—I dunno about that, Luck. If trouble started, nobody knows where bullets will hit.”
Luck brushed the hair away from her eyes and glanced down toward the quiet street.
“Everybody says that you own Calico, Dad. If you do, why don’t you stop the trouble? Does there have to be somebody killed every day? Isn’t there some way to stop men from fighting and killing each other?”
Silver Sleed shook his head.
“No, I don’t reckon there is, not now. Maybe some day the wolf blood will thin out, I dunno.”
And without gaining Luck’s promise to keep off the street that night, Sleed turned and went back down the trail. Luck watched him disappear and turned to see Mica Cates coming down past the house, on his way from the Ruby Hill trail.
He took off his hat and mopped his brow.
“Howdy, Miss Luck. Hot, ain’t it? I been circ’latin’ around quite a bit. Wes Marks jist run into a two-inch vein of durned-near pure silver. Could almost mint dollars out of the raw stuff. Two miners from the Nola had a devil of a fight and one’s got a busted head.