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.”