Radabaugh went there first. He had been there before, in his personal capacity. He had no scruples about such visits. Lutcher was a lawbreaker, of course; but the lawbreaking was tacitly accepted. There had been no orders against it. And Jim Radabaugh had no objection to a drink now and then. So he climbed the stairs from the alley to Lutcher’s door, and knocked, and Lutcher opened the door and admitted him. This Lutcher was not a bad fellow, say what you will of his business. A big, bald man with a husky, whispering voice, and a habit of appearing in his shirt sleeves. He wore rather attractive silk shirts, chosen with no mean taste; and his vests were often remarked. Also, he smoked good cigars, instead of the well-nigh universal stogie of Hardiston; and he gave these cigars freely to his regular customers. Lutcher had not heard the news, the night before. So he greeted Marshal Radabaugh good-naturedly, and told him it was pretty early in the day for a drink, and that he would lose his reputation if he came here by daylight in this fashion. Jim laughed at that, and asked cheerfully whether Lutcher had a good stock on hand. “Ice chest full, and a sawdust bin packed with bottles,” Lutcher told him. “What’s yours? The same.” “Any reserve supply?” Radabaugh asked. Lutcher said there was no reserve; that he was expecting a shipment in a day or two. Radabaugh nodded. “Got bad news for you, Lutch,” he said. Lutcher beamed. He was always an amiable man. “Can’t make me feel bad, Jim,” he said. “Shoot the wad.” “Going to close you up,” said Radabaugh. Lutcher laughed. “Fat chance, I guess. What’re you trying to do? Work me for a snifter. All right. Say the word.” “Straight goods,” Radabaugh assured him. “Mayor’s orders.” “Wint’s orders? That’s a hot one.” Lutcher chuckled, his gay vest heaving with his mirth. “Why, Wint’s one of my regular customers.” “Ain’t been in lately, has he?” Radabaugh suggested. “No, not just lately. It wouldn’t look right.” Radabaugh nodded. “He’s in earnest, I’d say,” he told Lutcher. “Anyway, I do what he says. He didn’t say anything about confiscating the stuff, or destroying it. Said to stop the sale. So I’ve got to seal you up, Lutch.” Lutcher had been losing some of his amiability. He told Radabaugh so. “I’m a good-natured man,” he said. “But this is no joke.” “No,” said Jim. “It’s no joke. Where’s your ice box?” “What in time do you think you’re going to do?” “Put a seal on it, and on that bin of yours. And drop in and look at the seals every day or two. And I’ll take charge of shipments that come in, unless you cancel them. If you bust the seals, I’ll have to take you into court, and Wint will soak you.” “You’ve got a Chinaman’s chance,” Lutcher told him scornfully. “Why, I’ve given that pup his pap for two years. I’m not going to stand for this. Not for a minute. You tell him so.”