“’Cause he don’t ’low nobody to cut in on his gamblin’ in Calico,” replied Loper.
“He ain’t never told ’em they can’t run a game here, has he?”
“That’s none of your business—nor mine,” said Loper. “Silver Sleed pays yuh, don’t he?”
“Yeah,” admitted Fane slowly, “he pays. But I’m gittin’ tired of bein’ hired to shoot folks. I ain’t no danged milk eater, Loper, but I believe in lettin’ a man have a even break.”
“You better not let Sleed hear yuh talk thataway,” cautioned Loper. “He ain’t got no use for that kind of arguments.”
Fane grinned crookedly and put his hand on Loper’s arm.
“Loper, who are we to let Silver Sleed hire us to do his dirty work? Why are we afraid of him? What did he ever do to make us afraid of him? Either one of us could bump him off with a gun. Are we afraid of his damn money?
“I got to lookin’ him over today and wonderin’ why we’re afraid to speak out loud about him. You tell me not to let him hear me talk thataway. Why should I be any more afraid to let him hear it than you and Mendez?”
Loper drew away from Fane, but the question had found root in his brain.