“Money,” said Mendez, “Just money. I jus’ so good as Sleed, but Sleed has de money. Man got to live.”
“I reckon that’s it,” nodded Loper. “I never thought much about it before, Bill. I reckon any of us could more than hold his own against Sleed in a gun-fight, but he’s got the money. Anyway, I told him we’d take care of this for him.”
The three of them strolled to the doorway. Far out on the desert was a strip of gold, marking the last of the sunset, but Calico was already hazy with the evening light. The Saint and Duke Steele came out of the Alley and into the street, walking slowly toward the Silver Bar saloon.
“Them is the ones,” grunted Loper. “I dunno what Sleed wants done in case they don’t open that game.”
“He’s doin’ this ’cause he wants to stop ’em from gamblin’, ain’t he?” queried Fane. Loper nodded.
Mica Cates came thumping down the street and up to the saloon door, where he turned and looked up at the sky. He shaded his eyes for a moment and turned to the three men.
“Did yuh notice how the buzzards been hangin’ around here all day?”
“What’s that got to do with us?” grunted Loper.
“I dunno,” admitted Cates. “I never said who it concerned. They’ve circled Calico all day, and sometimes they come down awful low, with their wattled heads turnin’ from side to side—kinda lookin’.” Cates shook his head and started into the saloon, but stopped and glanced at the sky again.