"Maybe I'd better go with you?" offered Guerilla.
"No," said Bill decidedly, "I'd rather you were here in Golden Bar. Then you can tell me the news now and then. Outside of you and Shotgun and Riley, there ain't a soul in town I can trust, and for official reasons I can't go near the deputies. So I guess you're elected, Guerilla."
"Aw right," said his friend. "You're the doctor. Have another drink?"
"Not to-night. Look at the time. Here we've been gassin' a solid hour. I didn't have any business coming into your house anyway. Never can tell who might walk in on us."
"You better wait till I find out from Riley if Rale kept his word about Hazel Walton."
"I won't have to wait here for that. When you come back from talking to Riley, if everything is O.K. and Hazel has started with Shotgun for Prescott's, you set a lamp on your kitchen table and open and close your kitchen door four times. If Rale hasn't moved, open your kitchen door and stand in the door-way for half a minute. I'll be watchin' from the ridge— Huh? Sure, I've got field glasses. Borrowed a pair from Sam Prescott same time I borrowed a horse. So long, Guerilla!"
Guerilla Melody blocked off the light of the lamp with his hat while Billy opened the door and vanished into outer darkness.
Twenty minutes later, Billy, sitting his horse on the crest of the aforementioned ridge, saw a rectangle of light at the tip end of town, show and go out four distinct times. He clucked to his horse and moved quartering down the slope in the direction of the Hillsville trail. His goal was Prescott's, his intention to obtain from Hazel a detailed account of what had happened at the ranch the night of the Tuckleton murder.