Sheriff Parkhouse gave Tom a sidelong glance. He began to fill his pipe with tobacco, slowly, rocking in the cane-bottomed chair. “I been living here for thirty years,” he said, “and in all that time, I ain’t never seen a nigger get hurt. Have you?”

Tom found himself actively disliking the large man. He particularly disliked the easy, slow movements, the unruffled calm. A little tobacco, up and down, gently, with the silver tool, a little more tobacco . . . “That hasn’t got anything to do with it,” he said.

“Maybe not, maybe not. But answer the question, Tom. Have you ever seen a nigger get hurt in Caxton?”

“Yes,” Tom said. “Tonight.”

The sheriff sighed. His leathery, country flesh had begun to sag from the high cheekbones, and there was something incongruous about the crewcut that kept his white hair short and flat on his head. Here, Tom thought, in this jail, he’s king. People fear him. People actually fear this ignorant man.

Parkhouse sucked fire into the scarred bowl of the pipe, released a cloud of thick, aromatic smoke. “Well,” he said, smiling, “what you got in your mind for me to do?”

“Take action,” Tom said. “Keep the peace. That’s what you’re getting paid for.”

Parkhouse stopped smiling.

“That’s right,” Tom said angrily. “You’re mighty quick to pick a drunk off the streets, Rudy, some poor fella that doesn’t care any what happens to him. But when it comes to real trouble, you just can’t bring yourself to move off that seat.”

The chair came forward with a crack. Parkhouse stared for a moment, and his eyes were hard and small. “That,” he said slowly, “ain’t very polite.”

“Polite!” Tom walked to the window and turned. “Let me get this straight. A family was attacked in this town tonight. You know who did the attacking and so do I. Property was destroyed and people were injured. There was blood. And you don’t intend to do a thing about it. Not a single goddamn thing. Is that correct?”

“Yeah, that’s correct! Now listen, it’s real easy for you to sit back and say ‘Take action.’ Yeah. But you don’t even know what you’re talking about. What kind of action?” The sheriff began to jab the air with his pipestem. “There was at least fifty people around that car. You want me to arrest all of them?”

Tom opened his mouth to answer.