<hr/><div class="floatleft">(http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v622/Jagwaar/Sloane_zps29c9cdf3.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>Morning<br/><strong>Location:</strong>Casino Morongo<br/><strong>Tagged:</strong>Christian, Open<br/><hr/><br/>Specter turned towards him slowly, flashing Sloane what could only be called a professional glare.  Sloane knew it well.  After all, he’d spent several years wearing the same practiced glower, if not to the same degree or effect.  It was impressive, he’d give Specter that; but Sloane was not intimidated by the gunslinger’s hard expression or the way his hand brushed against the Peacemaker hanging from his hip as he turned to face the Morongo’s proprietor.  He stood his ground, shot of whiskey in hand as he met Specter’s stare, and waited for the man to answer his question.   Turned out that his hand managed to lift his hat in a gesture of politeness before he spoke.<br/><br/>“Well, ain’t that a coincidence,” Sloane drawled, raising the glass to his lips and tossing the shot back. “We just happen to have a sheriff that got himself killed.” As Specter continued to speak, describing the man that he was looking for, Sloane calmly poured himself another shot, corking the bottle again before he replied.<br/><br/>“Maybe. Could you be a bit more specific?” he asked, lifting the glass and gesturing broadly with it to take in the entire room.  “That description could fit half the town’s male population, including the senior deputy.”  The second glass of whiskey went down as smooth as the first, and he set the glass back down on the bar next to the bottle.  Subtly, Sloane’s eyes caught movement at the upstairs railing, noting Yanko watching the proceedings between the newcomer and his boss with increasing interest.  He blinked twice to signal the man to hang fire, but stay alert.<br/><br/>“Sounds like you’ve been looking for this man for a while,” Sloane remarked, returning his attention to Specter.  “You got a reason for thinking he isn’t Black Jack?  Or is that confidential information?”<br/>