“He didn’t have anything to do with it!” Dewey twisted toward the car; the chauffeur had fled, no one had seen him go. Someone climbed into the driver’s seat, found the keys, started the motor, making more noise revving it up than was necessary. The driver was calling to the others to climb in, and Dewey heard the doors slam, one—two—three—four. He tried to scramble to his feet, still yelling after them, but he had not even gained his knees when it sped off, up the Highway in the direction of Tucker Caliban’s farm. Even when he could no longer see it, he could still hear the motor.

“But he didn’t have anything to do with it.” He slumped, like a baby sitting down, and began to cry.

The street was empty; peaceful like a spot where a rock has been newly turned, after the bugs have scampered away and there is no sign of bugs ever having been there. Dewey was sitting almost on top of the white line, crying in the stillness.

Then he heard the squeaking wheels, the constant, piercing scream of the unoiled joints; saw the chair and the erect, limp-haired woman and the old man coming out of the shadows. He said nothing and they did not see him at first. Then they were close enough to hear his quiet crying and started toward him. “Who they got, Mister Willson?” Before Dewey could answer, the old man turned to his daughter. “Untie him, honey.”

She let go the back of the chair and came around behind him. He felt her soft hands on the coarse ropes; the pain stopped as his bonds loosened. “Reverend Bradshaw. They think he did it…started the Negroes off. I have to hurry. Maybe I can save him.” He jumped to his feet as soon as she untied them.

“You might as well not try, son. You won’t get there in time. And they’ll be worse after they’ve done it. None of them’ll come to town tomorrow…won’t be able to face each other for a while.” The old man looked sad.

“You actually feel sorry for those bastards! Well, maybe you won’t do anything, but I have to do what I can.” He took a step away from them.

“You can’t do anything, boy.” The old man raised his voice. It rang quietly down the empty street.

The lights of an oncoming car shone on the buildings. The old man’s daughter rushed to the chair and wheeled it closer to the curb.

“Boy! Look at this car!” The old man swiveled and shouted at him. “Study it!”