"Not unless he comes over and inspects the cars."
"Okay."
After a few minutes, Scotty reported again. "He's hiking in the direction of Whiteside. Thumb out. He wants a ride."
"Don't give him one," Barby interjected urgently. "He might recognize you."
"He's hitchhiking," Scotty explained. "He doesn't even know I exist."
"What are his chances?" Rick asked.
"Good. There's a fair amount of traffic."
Rick waited, alert for Scotty's next report. It came almost immediately. "I'm moving. A truck picked him up. Stand by."
Then soon afterward, "We're coming into the outskirts of town."
Rick walked from the newspaper office to the sidewalk and leaned casually against the building, eyes on the direction from which the quarry and Scotty would come. He felt just fine. The little network was taking all the strain out of shadowing. He thought of the many times when such communications would have come in very handy indeed.