“Yeah? How ’bout you?”
Casy grinned at him. “Somebody got to take the blame. I got no kids. They’ll jus’ put me in jail, an’ I ain’t doin’ nothin’ but set aroun’.”
Al said, “Ain’t no reason for—”
“Go on now,” Casy said sharply. “You get outta this.”
Al bristled. “I ain’t takin’ orders.”
Casy said softly, “If you mess in this your whole fambly, all your folks, gonna get in trouble. I don’ care about you. But your ma and your pa, they’ll get in trouble. Maybe they’ll send Tom back to McAlester.”
Al considered it for a moment. “O.K.,” he said. “I think you’re a damn fool, though.”
“Sure,” said Casy. “Why not?”
The siren screamed again and again, and always it came closer. Casy knelt beside the deputy and turned him over. The man groaned and fluttered his eyes, and he tried to see. Casy wiped the dust off his lips. The families were in the tents now, and the flaps were down, and the setting sun made the air red and the gray tents bronze.
Tires squealed on the highway and an open car came swiftly into the camp. Four men, armed with rifles, piled out. Casy stood up and walked to them.