But Kite was in no mood for rage at Amos. “I don’t know,” he said. “This looks like Wint’s doing. It’s a boy’s trick. A man like Amos would have seen the harm for Hardiston in such a move. No, Jack, Wint did this, himself.”
Routt shook his head. “I know better. You get after Amos, and Wint will come to heel. I know them both, I tell you.”
“I can’t believe it,” Kite insisted. “What motive could he possibly have?”
“Trying to get on the band wagon,” Routt told him. “That’s Amos. Trying to get on the dry band wagon.”
“No, no, it’s Wint. He’s the one we must go to. He’s the one we must work on. He’s got to be stopped, Routt.” Something of the old fire was reviving in Kite. “He’s got to be stopped. Scared off. Called off. Something. I won’t stand for such a state of affairs. Such a thing.... In Hardiston.”
Routt grinned. “Well, what are you going to do about it?”
“Get after him. There must be a way. Don’t you know a way to get hold of him and bring him to time? Must be some way, Routt. Think, man; think. What can we do? Scare him off?”
Routt looked at Kite in a curious, intent way, as though he thought there might be a hidden meaning in what the other man had said. “What’s your idea exactly?” he asked. “What’s up your sleeve?”
“Idea?” Kite echoed. “Idea is to get something on that young skate and make him call Radabaugh off. That’s the idea. Get after him, heavy. There must be a way. Some way.”
Routt smiled faintly, tilting back in his chair, looking at the ceiling; and he blew a long stream of smoke straight upward. Kite snapped: