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"What about barter," said the golfer after a pause. "This club is a Spalding Executive, worth a good $20. It's scarcely been swung—spanking new!"
The conductor bent over and inspected the club.
"Barter? For a stick like this? Maybe three chickens and a duck might get you to Junction City. But for a piece of stick like this here, why that wouldn't fetch you more than a couple hundred yards down this railroad line. You got anything else. Seegars maybe? A timepiece?"
"How about these Pro-Shu shoes," the golfer said. "These flaps are fancy and they are the new look on the golf courses today...that's just about a direct quote from Golf magazine."
The conductor shook his head. "Mos' folks aroun' these parts have one pair of boots for plowing, and another set for going to Nash's Falls, places like that. Anybody seen sashayin' aroun' in blue shoes like yourn, well, he'd be in line for trouble. You're not wearing a watch?"
"No," said the golfer.
He saw the conductor reach up and pull an emergency cord that ran the length of the roof.
"I'm right sorry, stranger," said the conductor. "I hope you got no hard feelings about this."
The train pulled up. The golfer could hear the panting of the engine as he stepped down from the coach to the cinders of the railroad track. The engineer was looking back. They were perfectly polite about it. The engineer made a sort of gesture that seemed a friendly wave. The conductor had a suggestion as the train started up: "This railroad runnin' in a circle, we'll be coming back 'round here about 11:30 pee-em tonight, which gives you plenty of time to mosey 'round and pick off some livestock. Now a sheep would get you jes' 'bout anywhere on this railroad line you'd be fixin' to go. The Fitzhughs got a flock t'other side of Mullins...."
The golfer trotted along with the train, listening politely if idly, and then he pulled up, panting, and the conductor's words were carried off swiftly as the train clicked down the straight track and slowly drew into the distance.