they said they'd be here by noon.
stay off the bandstand, herb.
don't go up-
i want all of you folks to go home!
i can't remember deputizing a single one of you!
the law has a name for what you men are planning. it's private justice, and private justice is about a step and a half away from lynch mobs and hang ropes. i'm no j. edgar hoover, but i am the law in tarker's mills, and i want you men to go home.
herb. i know how upset- how grief-stricken you must be. but-
yes. yes, but-
let them go.
this is that spirit of community you were talking about. grand, ain't it? maybe they'll shoot a hitchhiker or something and andy can mount the head and raffle it off. to benefit the medcu van, of course.
sure. we can pray to christ that none of them get killed.
putting on my sherlock holmes deerstalker cap, i deduce that they are leaving.
she's not the only one. lot of people leaving town. and i guess if we want a beer, we'll have to drink it at home.
it was the kincaid boy. i looked at him.  and i felt it happen. it was no big deal. no worse than pissing down your own leg. you ever do that? maybe when you were real scared?
one minute i had me some guts- as much as the next man, anyhow- and then, poof. gone.
that's just about the craziest damn story i've ever heard, al.
i appreciate that. now, the next question: do you believe any of this? you do, don't you?
that can be arranged.