If V. R. Kite had been wise enough to let Wint severely alone, in the days that followed, it is not at all improbable that Wint’s resolution would have weakened. But if knaves were wise, they would not be knaves. So, instead of being left alone with his depression, and his doubts of himself, Wint was attacked front and flank; and the stimulus of battle proved to be exactly what he needed to forge his determination and whip his courage to the sticking point. Kite first heard the news of what Wint had done from Lutcher, the amiable man in the distinctive vest, whose stock in trade Jim Radabaugh put under seal. Lutcher went straightaway to Kite when Radabaugh left him; and he found Kite still ignorant of what had come to pass. Lutcher took a decided pleasure in breaking the news to Kite. He found the little turkey of a man at his desk in the Bazaar; and he stuck his thumbs into the armholes of his vest and said in his husky, whispering voice: “Well, Kite, we’re closed up.” Kite had greeted Lutcher as pleasantly as he greeted any one. He was a little afraid of the big, bald man, and Lutcher knew it. He was as much afraid of Lutcher as Lutcher was of Jim Radabaugh. But he forgot to be afraid of Lutcher in this moment. He came up out of his chair like a Jack-in-the-Box--and Kite looked not unlike the conventional Jack-in-the-Box with his lean neck and his poised head and his side whiskers flying--and he snapped at Lutcher: “What’s that you say?” Lutcher grinned, and wheezed: “I say we’re closed up.” “Closed up?” Kite repeated, in something like a shout. “Closed up? What do you mean? Talk English, man.” Lutcher ran his thick finger around the soft collar of his silken shirt. “I mean Radabaugh’s given orders not to sell any more stuff,” he said. “What did you think I meant?” “You’re crazy,” said Kite flatly. “Radabaugh wouldn’t dare do that.” “Well, he’s done it!” “Jim Radabaugh? The marshal?” “Sure,” said Lutcher impatiently. “Can’t you hear what I say? Came and sealed me up this morning. Said it was orders.” “Orders? Whose orders?” “Mayor’s.” Kite’s clenched fists went into the air. “He can’t do that,” he said fiercely. “I won’t stand for it. By God, if he tries to do that, I’ll leave town. Or I’ll kill the pup. Or kill myself. I won’t stand for it, I tell you, Lutcher.” “Don’t tell me,” said Lutcher, amiable again in the face of the other’s excitement. “Don’t tell me; tell the Mayor.” Kite stood for a minute with staring, thoughtful eyes, as though Lutcher were not there. Then he grabbed his hat and started for the street. Lutcher looked after him, grinning with amusement. “The old buzzard does take it hard,” he told himself. “Well, I should worry. What’s he up to now?”