times. “If you ever catch me raping—” He wiggled his tongue in order to free himself of the words he knew he had to repeat. “If you ever catch me touching a white girl—” He paused again, choked with words. “If you ever catch me, they ought to cut the gizzard out of me.”
He swayed unsteadily until he leaned back and placed his hands against the wall for support.
Jeff glanced uneasily at Judge Allen, his mind on the verge of urging him to try to persuade the Judge to let him go down to the creek at least until daylight. He had faith in Judge Allen’s wisdom at a time like that, but he could not keep from remembering his wife’s advice to stay away from Flowery Branch. If the crowd at Flowery Branch were given an opportunity to catch the Negro before he went out there, he would not be running the risk of making a lot of people switch their votes. His plurality in the last election was only one hundred and fifty-six votes. He was still waiting for an opportunity to suggest that he go down to the creek and stay at least until daylight when Judge Allen spoke.
“How many men can you deputize at this time of night, McCurtain?” he asked.
Jeff’s heart sank.
“I hadn’t given it any pure thought, Judge. It’s hard to say, offhand. I reckon I could find a few, anyway. Maybe everybody’s gone out to join the hunt, though.”
Judge Allen walked from behind his desk, kicking the nightgown with his knees. He looked to Jeff like an old man getting ready to say his prayers.
“You’d better get busy and deputize as many men as you can lay your hands on,” he said. His voice sounded measured and authoritative in the high-ceilinged room. “You ought to be out there within the next hour and see what you can do without taking action. Just as soon as I can determine which way we’re going to jump, I’ll send you word with the expectation that you’ll act accordingly. In the light of a new day it may even appear wise for me to take steps to scotch Mrs. Narcissa Calhoun’s actions. I would see to it that the court issued a writ of non compos mentis. That would be effective in constraining her for some time to come.” He started towards the door. “I’m glad I was able to catch you before you hid yourself down on that creek, McCurtain.”
Jeff got to his feet, pushing his weight upward and balancing it on his legs.
“But, Judge,” he said protestingly, unable to hold himself back any longer, “a deputized posse at a time like this might rub a lot of fur the wrong way. I’ve always believed in not going against the will of the common people. Besides, I want to see this lynching kept politically clean.”
Judge Ben Allen stopped in the doorway and turned around for a moment.
“This lynching is going to be as clean as a cake of soap, McCurtain,” he said. “I’m seeing to that.”
The Judge turned and walked through the doorway, leading the way out of the room. When they reached the hall, Jeff went towards the door. Wardlaw held it open for him, closing it noisily after he had passed through it.
Chapter V
A LARGE CROWD of men had collected in the Barlow front yard. Groups of them were milling around and around between the house and the barn, while some were standing in the fields surrounding the house in twos and threes. Most of the men were friends and neighbors who, like Shep himself, were tenants on Bob Watson’s plantation.
The first ones to reach the house had started a smudge fire in the yard to keep the mosquitoes away. As time went on it began to look more and more like the beginning of one of the regular weekly possum hunts that nearly everybody in that part of the county took part in.
An automobile’s headlights suddenly appeared in the lane a quarter of a mile away. Within a few moments word had spread through the crowd that it was Sheriff Jeff McCurtain coming to ask them to go home and let him capture Sonny Clark. Very little was said while they watched the car approach the house,
He swayed unsteadily until he leaned back and placed his hands against the wall for support.
Jeff glanced uneasily at Judge Allen, his mind on the verge of urging him to try to persuade the Judge to let him go down to the creek at least until daylight. He had faith in Judge Allen’s wisdom at a time like that, but he could not keep from remembering his wife’s advice to stay away from Flowery Branch. If the crowd at Flowery Branch were given an opportunity to catch the Negro before he went out there, he would not be running the risk of making a lot of people switch their votes. His plurality in the last election was only one hundred and fifty-six votes. He was still waiting for an opportunity to suggest that he go down to the creek and stay at least until daylight when Judge Allen spoke.
“How many men can you deputize at this time of night, McCurtain?” he asked.
Jeff’s heart sank.
“I hadn’t given it any pure thought, Judge. It’s hard to say, offhand. I reckon I could find a few, anyway. Maybe everybody’s gone out to join the hunt, though.”
Judge Allen walked from behind his desk, kicking the nightgown with his knees. He looked to Jeff like an old man getting ready to say his prayers.
“You’d better get busy and deputize as many men as you can lay your hands on,” he said. His voice sounded measured and authoritative in the high-ceilinged room. “You ought to be out there within the next hour and see what you can do without taking action. Just as soon as I can determine which way we’re going to jump, I’ll send you word with the expectation that you’ll act accordingly. In the light of a new day it may even appear wise for me to take steps to scotch Mrs. Narcissa Calhoun’s actions. I would see to it that the court issued a writ of non compos mentis. That would be effective in constraining her for some time to come.” He started towards the door. “I’m glad I was able to catch you before you hid yourself down on that creek, McCurtain.”
Jeff got to his feet, pushing his weight upward and balancing it on his legs.
“But, Judge,” he said protestingly, unable to hold himself back any longer, “a deputized posse at a time like this might rub a lot of fur the wrong way. I’ve always believed in not going against the will of the common people. Besides, I want to see this lynching kept politically clean.”
Judge Ben Allen stopped in the doorway and turned around for a moment.
“This lynching is going to be as clean as a cake of soap, McCurtain,” he said. “I’m seeing to that.”
The Judge turned and walked through the doorway, leading the way out of the room. When they reached the hall, Jeff went towards the door. Wardlaw held it open for him, closing it noisily after he had passed through it.
Chapter V
A LARGE CROWD of men had collected in the Barlow front yard. Groups of them were milling around and around between the house and the barn, while some were standing in the fields surrounding the house in twos and threes. Most of the men were friends and neighbors who, like Shep himself, were tenants on Bob Watson’s plantation.
The first ones to reach the house had started a smudge fire in the yard to keep the mosquitoes away. As time went on it began to look more and more like the beginning of one of the regular weekly possum hunts that nearly everybody in that part of the county took part in.
An automobile’s headlights suddenly appeared in the lane a quarter of a mile away. Within a few moments word had spread through the crowd that it was Sheriff Jeff McCurtain coming to ask them to go home and let him capture Sonny Clark. Very little was said while they watched the car approach the house,
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