“Now, you see here, Robert Lee,” he said. “Maybe that doggone Nick Corey don’t know the law, but you do and you know god-dang well I’m entitled to a reeward. I—”

“What?” Robert Lee started at him. “What did you say?”

“County pays a ree-ward for corpses pulled out of the river, don’t they? So why don’t I get a bounty for finding these? I not only found ‘em, I haul ‘em all the way into town an’ get nigger blood all over my wagon, an’—”

“Answer me, you incestuous skunk! Did you address me as Robert Lee?”

Henry Clay said sure, he called him that, and what about it, “What you mean callin’ me a—”

Robert Lee hit him in the mouth. Henry Clay sailed off the sidewalk, and landed in the mud on his back. His eyes were open, but he didn’t stir. Just lay there, breathing with a snuffling sound because of his bloody nose and mouth.

Robert Lee dusted his hands, nodded to me and entered his store. I followed him back to his office.

“Now, I feel better,” he sighed, sinking down in a chair. “I’ve been wanting to punch that dirty cur for years, and he finally gave me an excuse.”

I said I guessed Henry Clay didn’t really know a lot about law, after all. “If he did, he’d know that calling you by your first name would be laying a predicate for justifiable assault.”

“What?” He gave me a startled look. “I’m not sure I understood you.”

“Nothin’,” I said. “You sure gave him a punch, Robert Lee.”

“Wasn’t it a beaut? I only wish I’d broken his filthy neck.”

“Maybe you’d better be kind of careful for a while,” I said. “Henry Clay might try to get back at you.”

Robert Lee snorted. “He doesn’t have the nerve, but I wish he did. That’s one man I’d enjoy killing. Imagine him calling me by my first name!”

“Yeah,” I said, “just imagine that!”

“Now, about this other matter, Tom and Uncle John, I don’t see much point in impaneling a coroner’s jury in such a clear-cut case. The facts seem obvious enough, don’t you agree?”

“Well, it sure is a clear-cut case,” I said. “I don’t know as I’ve ever seen such a clear-cut case of killing.”

“Exactly. And everyone I’ve talked to has the same opinion. Of course, if Rose should insist on an inquest . . .”

“Or Uncle John’s kinfolks . . .”

“Oh, now—” Robert Lee laughed. “Let’s not be ridiculous, Nick.”

“I say something funny?” I said.

“Well, uh,” said Robert Lee, sort of clearing his throat. “Perhaps I chose the wrong word. I should have said impractical.”

I looked blank, and asked just what did he mean, anyways? He snapped back that I knew very well what he meant. “No doctor is going to do a post mortem on a Negro. Why, you can’t get a doctor to touch a live Negro, let alone a dead one.”