Casy moved close to Tom. “You got to git out,” he said. “You go down in the willas an’ wait. He didn’ see me kick ’im, but he seen you stick out your foot.”
“I don’ want ta go,” Tom said. Casy put his head close. He whispered, “They’ll fingerprint you. You broke parole. They’ll send you back.”
Tom drew in his breath quietly. “Jesus! I forgot.”
“Go quick,” Casy said. “’Fore he comes to.”
“Like to have his gun,” Tom said.
“No. Leave it. If it’s awright to come back, I’ll give ya four high whistles.”
Tom strolled away casually, but as soon as he was away from the group he hurried his steps, and he disappeared among the willows that lined the river.
Al stepped over to the fallen deputy. “Jesus,” he said admiringly, “you sure flagged ’im down!”
The crowd of men had continued to stare at the unconscious man. And now in the great distance a siren screamed up the scale and dropped, and it screamed again, nearer this time. Instantly the men were nervous. They shifted their feet for a moment and then they moved away, each one to his own tent. Only Al and the preacher remained.
Casy turned to Al. “Get out,” he said. “Go on, get out—to the tent. You don’t know nothin’.”