"What's the idee, Lightnin'?" he rumbled, puffing at the frayed remains of a cigar.
With a gesture of calm triumph Bill pointed to the flask on the desk.
"I said I had it, Zeb," he remarked, in the tone one uses when confronting and confounding a skeptic with ocular proof, "an' there it is!"
"Why, so it be!" said Zeb, reaching out for the prize.
But Lightnin' stopped him. "Hold on a minute, partner. The evidence ain't to be absorbed just yet. In fact, brother, we better keep it intact for future use, 'cause you're goin' on a long journey, Zeb. You an' me is goin' to hit the trail again, old-timer!"
"Gosh! You mean it, Lightnin'?" Zeb showed almost human delight and anticipation. "But for why? You had a row with your old woman?"
"Nope," Bill replied. "Can't call it that, exactly. You needn't worry them brains o' yours about why we're goin', Zeb. It's just that I got a notion to teach some people 'round here a lesson, an'—an' maybe I can bring poor mother to her senses," he added, gently.
"When we goin'?" Zeb questioned, his eyes on the flask.
"Right away—this here minute, in fact," said Bill.
Zeb looked at him dazedly. "Just as we is? Where 're we hittin' fer?"