"Going to spend some of the reward money, I expect. Joke on you, Riley, having to dig up a thousand plunks you haven't got."
"I'd rather owe it to him than cheat him out of it," grinned Riley, who had long since spent the money obtained from Jack Murray. "Alla same, I'll pay him when I get it. You lend me a hundred, Shotgun."
"Go 'way from me!" snarled Shotgun, flapping both hands at him. "If you're looking for easy money, sit into a game of draw, or rob a bank or somethin'. You won't get a single wheel from me. Nawsir!"
Billy, riding the Hillsville road, came at last to the mouth of the draw that led to Walton's. He stopped his horse and looked along the draw. Then he looked along the road.
"Of course, I was going to Hillsville," he lied rapidly to himself, "but I don't suppose it would hurt to sort of ride past her house. Seems to me I heard somethin' about her leaving Prescott's. It may not be true, and then again— Let's go, feller."
Feller headed obediently into the draw.
Hazel Walton, sewing in the front room, saw a rider coming up the draw. "That looks like Bill's horse," she muttered. "And Bill's hat. It—it is Bill."
Her heart began to pound. Her throat constricted. There was something the matter with her knees. She dropped the sewing in her lap and clasped her hands together. She breathed in little gasps.
Billy Wingo came on. He came quite close—within twenty yards and stopped his horse and rested his hands on the saddle horn, and looked at the house. Just looked.
Although she knew he could not see her through the scrim curtains, she drew her chair a little away and to one side.