"There was another shooting in town last night," the feed store man, Mr.Ledbetter, said.

"What did they shoot up this time? " a farmer said, from back behind the stove. "They’ve blamed near took over the town."

"What shooting?" Dad said.

"Iff’en you-uns ain’t heard," Mr. Ledbetter said, "it’s been a spell since you’ve been in town."

Dad and I had come to town at first light. We made the feed store on the edge of town our first stop. To catch up on the farm news, Dad called it. Mama allowed it was gossip.

"We been grubbing on a new ground, and it being planting time, I guess it’s been a couple of months," Dad said.

"Them hellions dang near ruint the town, shot up a bunch of stuff and stole everything that ain’t nailed down, " Mr. Ledbetter said. " Last night it was a streetlight, road signs, and one of the tires on the police car."

"What police car?" Dad said, "We don’t have no police car. What about the sheriff?"

"He don’t give a tinker’s damn," the farmer said. "Says it’s out of is jury-diction."

I moved close to Dad. I have never seen a police car. I wondered if it has a siren and a light on top.

"That bunch at the courthouse is all a kin," Mr. Ledbetter said, spitting tobacco juice across the counter and out the door." Besides, they all live out of town a’ways, anyhow."

"Let me tell it straight." The farmer got off his nail keg. "The whole county bunch is laying out ever night down at the Poplar Lodge. They have a hootenanny thar ever night."

"Sheriff too?" Dad said.

"High Sheriff too," Mr. Ledbetter pulled at the sleeve garter on his right arm.

"What’s folks to do?" Dad said.

"Well, I heard they went and hired Az Stoker for a town police," the farmer said. "Mr. Strubbs and Seth Vest made’um."

"Oh, they hired him all right," Mr. Ledbetter nodded. "Even bought an old Packard police car."

"Have to pay him an arm and a leg, I’ve heard," another farmer said. "Course they’ll fire him the minute he gets things settled down. Then them thugs’ll gang up and flog him before they run him out of town. They all’us do."

"Yesterday was his first day," Mr. Ledbetter said.

"I knew Az Stoker," Dad said, "when they built the dam over at Rimer’s Ferry."

"A real hard knot," the farmer said. "He’s the one that straightened out that hell-raisin bunch over in Sweetwater."

Our town is not wide, but it was plenty long. It sets on what us folks that live above town call War Woman Creek. In town they didn’t like that name and couldn’t make up their minds on what to call it. So they just call it the creek. Anyway, the town stretches out for maybe a half-mile up and down the thing. The only place in town where two roads run in the same way is where the main road forks and bends around the Courthouse Square.

The main part of town has some big fine houses that belonged to the timber bosses. The only other ones worth a hoot are the hotels and boarding houses where the work hands stay.

Dad winked and nodded toward the door. "Got to go pay some on my taxes." Paying taxes and getting nails are by-words Dad uses when he don’t want to let on what’s on his mind. We left the feed store and headed for town, I knew Dad was going to see this Az Stoker fellow.