"I was lonesome," Billy excused himself. "I've got to talk to somebody. And anyway, a feller hardly ever gets more'n ten years for a hold-up where nobody's killed."
"But where somebody is killed the penalty is worth considerin'," pointed out Guerilla Melody. "And Tip O'Gorman was found yesterday morning lying on the floor of his front room dead as Julius Cæsar, with your quirt beside him, and your snakeskin hatband inside the door."
"Tip killed! Tip!"
"Yes, Tip, and on account of the quirt and the hatband there's a warrant issued for you for the murder, and two posses are out looking for you."
"I saw them," said Billy placidly. "I thought it was on account of the stage hold-up. And they think I downed Tip?"
"Half the town's sure you did, and half is sure you didn't, and the other half is straddlin' the fence."
"That makes three halves," Billy said dryly. "Golden Bar must have considerably increased in population since I left."
"You know what I mean," snapped Guerilla, irritated at what he chose to consider callous flippancy on the part of his friend. "And Tip ain't the only one cashed. Rafe Tuckleton passed out last night."
"How?"
"Throat cut, head cut, and three knife cuts through his heart. Hazel Walton is in jail charged with the job."