“Haven’t seen Kite, have you?”
“Hear he’s out of town. Be back Thursday.”
“All right. We’ll hold Lutcher till then and have it out.”
Wint heard a gulp that told him Radabaugh was shifting that bulge in his cheek. “He’s wanted to furnish bail,” the marshal said.
“Nothing doing,” Wint told him.
“We-ell—he’s got a right to want to.”
“We’re sound sleepers here. You couldn’t raise me with the telephone,” Wint suggested.
“Lutcher’s all dressed up in a yellow vest and everything; and he didn’t fetch his jail pajamas with him.”
“He can sleep in the yellow vest.”
“It’s your funeral,” Radabaugh decided philosophically. “Whatever you say.”