“Ham an’ eggs,” said Rathburn shortly when the waiter entered.
Sautee smiled again. He was covertly inspecting the man across the table from him and evidently what he saw caused him to arrive at a satisfactory conclusion.
He gave his order with a nod and a mild flourish of the hand, indicating that he would take the same.
“Oh––waiter,” called Rathburn. “Four eggs with mine.”
Sautee laughed. It was a peculiar laugh in that it seemed to convey little mirth. It was perfunctory.
He gazed at Rathburn quizzically. “They tell me you’re a gunman,” he said in a low voice.
Rathburn’s brows shot up. “They? Who’s they?”
Sautee waved a hand impatiently. “I am the manager of the Dixie Queen. I have been around a bit, and I have eyes. I can see. I know the signals. I witnessed the play in the Red Feather last night.”
“That ain’t a bad name for the place,” Rathburn mused.