Bill said, “You ought not talk to the boys like that.”

“These boys are lazy if you let ’em be.”

They met Hillbilly coming toward them. He smiled and waved a hand at them. Don pulled the mules to a halt.

“Excuse me,” Hillbilly said, “but I’m looking for work.”

“We ain’t the ones to talk to,” Bill said.

“Do you know who to talk to?”

“The Captain,” Don said. “But now ain’t a good time.”

“When will be?”

“Ain’t certain. His boy, Pete, got killed yesterday.”

“Accident?”

“Not unless you call getting shot in the head an accident,” Bill said. “Boy’s wife shot him. Pete was the constable.”

“Why’d she do it?”

“I hear he was beating on her.”

“Can’t say I blame her then,” Hillbilly said. “I don’t like a hand laid on me in anger.”

“She was his wife,” Bill said.

“Don’t give him no call for that,” Hillbilly said.

“What I been saying,” Don said. “Been telling Bill just that.”

“This woman shot him,” Hillbilly said. “She wouldn’t be a redhead, would she?”

“Hair don’t get no redder than hers,” Bill said. “How’d you know?”

“Just a guess,” Hillbilly said. “Redheads are known for shooting husbands.”

“I know a redhead that was known for other things,” Bill said. “Talk about fire in the hole.”

“All your goats got black or white or gray fur,” Don said. “Ain’t seen no redheaded ones, so you don’t know nothing there.”