“You--What?” “My arms,” said Wint cheerfully. “With a fist on each one and a punch in each fist.” Chase looked uncertain. “They’ll try some trick.” Wint touched the other’s arm. “Don’t worry. They’ve got to fight in the open, now. The time’s short. And I’m not afraid of them in the open.” “They’re treacherous. They’ll strike behind your back.” “I’m not worried.” But the older man was worried. He said little more; nevertheless his concern was plain. Wint was sorry, a little disappointed. His father’s uneasiness did not affect his own confidence. He was as sure of himself as before. But he had expected his father to be as confident as himself, as sure. To him, the matter of Lutcher simply offered an opportunity for a telling blow; but it was evident that to his father the incident was rather a threat than an opportunity. He and his father walked downtown together; they separated when Wint turned aside toward the fire-engine house where his office was. The older man gave him a word of warning there. “Go carefully, Wint,” he urged. “Watch yourself.” “Don’t worry.” “Be sure of the law, Wint. Don’t make a mistake. They would jump on it.” “That’s Foster’s job. And I’m no ... I’ve studied up a bit.” “Take care.” “Right, dad.” They separated, and Wint went on to his office. Radabaugh was not there, but he appeared a little later. “I’ve just had Lutcher up to Sam O’Brien’s for breakfast,” he explained. “He wanted to go to the hotel; but I told him Sam had the contract to victual the city prisoners.” Wint chuckled. “Where is he now?” “Down in the calaboose.” “Does he still want to furnish bail?” “Says he does.” “Kite comes home to-morrow, doesn’t he?” “Yeah.” “Well, we’ll let Lutcher out on bail till then. I’m curious to hear what Kite will have to say.” Radabaugh shifted the plug in his cheek. “Think he’ll have anything to say?” “Don’t you?” “We-ell, he might.” “Bring Lutcher up, and we’ll turn him loose.” Lutcher came. Wint chuckled inwardly at sight of what Radabaugh had called a yellow vest. It was an ornate affair; no doubt of it. He was inclined to expect an outbreak from Lutcher, but the big, bald man was cheerfully amiable. Wint said: “Sorry we had to hold you in jail. The marshal tried to get me, but I’m a sound sleeper.” “Well, the bed wasn’t soft,” Lutcher admitted. “But I can stand it.” “I’m going to hold you till to-morrow,” Wint said. “Unless you want to plead guilty and accept sentence now.” “Guilty? No, sir. You can’t pin anything on me, Wint. You ought to know that.” “We’ll see,” Wint told him. “Want to stay in jail, or furnish bail?” “Bail, of course. I can get any one.” “I’d rather have money.” “Check any good?” “I’ll cash it before you leave here.” Lutcher said amiably that that was all right, and asked the amount. Wint said “Four hundred.” And Lutcher whistled, and protested: “That’s pretty hard.” “Harder than the bed in the calaboose?”