They lifted his club and admired it.
"To cotch a man jes' right with a stick liken this!"
"Boy, they teach a man things in Memphis!"
The woman in the sunbonnet kept clearing her throat, trying to say something more. "Claude!" she finally said. "Them Reilly brothers—Hugh, Eugene, Hoss, Timothy and the one that ain't got no name—they all riled up and fix-in' on gettin' the killer." She lifted a gnarled hand. "Y'all better clear the stranger out o' heah afore the Reillys git to him."
The three quieted down.
The golfer nodded his head. "Yes," he said. He was thinking about the Reilly who didn't have a name.
One of the hillbillies took out a watch and inspected it. "The local's goin' through," he said. "Mebbe we can flag her down."
They hurried down the dusty street toward the railroad crossing. They could hear the whistle, thin and sifting through the pine woods, and they reached the crossing in time for Claude to pull a tattered flag from a turpentine bucket by the track and wave it for the engineer to see. The train pulled up. It had a mail car and one coach.
"Yo'all come on back when you have half a chance!" they were shouting at him. "Come on back real soon. Mullins thinks a peck of you!"
The golfer hurried on up into the car without a word, and the train began to slip ahead almost immediately. The hillbilly hats were moving along beneath the windows as the three men trotted to keep up to wave goodby and call, "Come on back to Mullins, you heah? Welcome anytime!"