<hr/><div class="floatleft">(http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v622/Jagwaar/Sloane5_zpsfbdee107.jpg)</div><br/><strong>Name:</strong>Deacon Sloane<br/><strong>Faction:</strong>Unknown<br/><strong>Date:</strong>May 3, 1876<br/><strong>Time of Day:</strong>Early evening<br/><strong>Location:</strong>In front of the Casino Morongo, Main Street<br/><strong>Tagged:</strong>Open<br/><hr/><br/><em>"The Prince might be."</em><br/><br/>At this, Sloane openly laughed.  Judging by the haughty use of inflection to place specific emphasis on her words, his visitor seemed to be mistakenly under the impression he was talking about himself.<em>Himself</em>, the<em>devil</em>?  Sloane could only<em>wish </em>he had that kind of power.  “Well, when you meet him,” he said, rolling the cigar between his fingers and thumb before flicking the ash away, “You be sure to say hello for me.”  But her next words sobered him, even though he found her rapid trip from high literature to low as a reliable source for the truths of life highly amusing.<br/><br/>“If dime novels are where you did your research my dear, then I’m afraid you’re aiming to be disappointed on all fronts,” Sloane remarked.  “This isn’t Boston, and you’re not like to find the same kind of civility here, whether it’s counting on the kindness of strangers or how men are removed from office.”<br/><br/>Sloane gave a nod to Nicodemus in return for his greeting, relishing the moment to simply smoke and observe the activity around him, listening as the woman explained herself to Whately and he offered to escort her back to her hotel.  Of course, he wasn’t sure which of the two of them was the lesser evil as far as that was concerned.<br/><br/>“Doesn’t matter, really,” Sloane replied, when she asked about the story concerning Coleman.  “Whether Black Jack walked in here or not, the sheriff’s still dead.”  Whateley was quick to offer his own answer, and Sloane left him to it. He didn’t even register any surprise when the still unnamed woman prattled on about Nate Hunter with the conviction of saint – though he noted the fact that she knew of him, or more, with some interest, casually tucking it away for a later time.  Though he did lift an eyebrow when she suddenly turned on her heel and walked away, watching the woman’s sudden departure for several moments.<br/><br/><em>“Enjoy your evening, Mr. Sloan.”  He said to the casino owner before continuing his casual stroll along main street.</em><br/><br/>“Same to you,” Sloane said to Nicodemus.  “Must o’ been something I said,” he mused, before jamming the cigar back between his teeth and turning towards the Casino.<br/>