to me whut direction to go to git some money! Gimme a sign!”
The worm started to crawl off. In his progress his head touched the
silver dollar. The worm stopped and promptly crawled back upon the
copper. He started again in another direction, but the moment its body
touched the silver dollar the worm drew back.
“Huh!” Shin grunted. “Dis worm is igernunt--he don’t know which way to
go!”
Shin watched him with intense curiosity. He picked up a straw and gave
him little pushes to assist his progress, then he suddenly took a
breath which threatened to suck in all the air in the stable-yard.
“Bless Gawd!” he exclaimed with heartfelt gratitude. “It’s a shore,
certain fack!”
He tossed the worm aside, pocketed the money and made a beeline to the
Hen-Scratch saloon.
That popular resort was crowded with the colored inhabitants of
Tickfall. They raved and bellowed and drank and laughed and rattled the
money in their pockets and discussed the races of the day.
Shin entered quietly, and after a few minutes he picked up a table and
set it in the middle of the room, placing a chair beside it. Seating
himself with great ceremony, he put his silver dollar in the center of
the table and placed his copper cent on top of the dollar.
The noise of talking and laughing ceased and the negroes crowded around
Shin Bone.
Like all negroes, Shin had a dramatic gift, and he played it to the
limit. His actions were attended by no explanations and had an air of
deep mystery. Then he spoke:
“Whut nigger in dis house is got a fishin’ worm?”
There was a long, astonished silence. Finally Pap Curtain spoke:
“Whut you want wid a fishin’ worm, Shinny? Want to eat yo’ breakfust?”
“Naw, suh,” Shin proclaimed. “I’s gwine make a bet.”
“Whut does you bet?” Hitch Diamond bellowed.
Shin Bone rose to his feet. Pointing dramatically at the money, he
shouted:
“I bets any money dat I kin put a fishin’ worm on top of dat copper
cent, an’ dat worm will starve an’ squinch up an’ die, befo’ he will
crawl across dat silver dollar an’ git away!”
This announcement was followed by intense silence. Finally Pap Curtain
remarked:
“Dat’s some kind of trick dollar.”
“’Tain’t so!” Shin howled.
“How much will you bet?” Hitch Diamond wanted to know.
“Any money!”
“Will you lemme furnish my own dollar?” Pap Curtain inquired.
“Suttinly!”
“Will you lemme furnish de copper cent?” Hitch Diamond bellowed.
“Shorely!”
“Will you lemme furnish de fishin’ worm?” Prince Total squealed.
“Yep!”
“Lawd, niggers!” Hitch Diamond roared. “Shin Bone is done gone cripple
under de hat! Less bust him!”
Shin Bone pocketed his dollar and his copper and sat down at the table.
There was a wild flurry as Prince Total pushed through the crowd to go
out and dig an earth-worm. Hitch Diamond sat down in the middle of the
sand-covered barroom floor, laid a copper cent down, placed an immense
middle finger upon it and began to scour it up and down until the penny
shone like new. Pap Curtain dropped a silver dollar upon the floor,
placed his boot upon it and scraped it up and down in the sand. When he
placed it upon the table it looked like a new-minted dollar.
A moment later Prince Total appeared with a fat red earth-worm.
“Put yo’ money on de table, niggers,” Shin Bone announced as he rose
to his feet. “I takes eve’y bet up to fo’ hunderd dollars. I bought a
eatin’-house from Marse Tom Gaitskill fer fo’ hunderd dollars, an’ dat
house covers all my bets!”
“I keeps de books!” Skeeter Butts squealed, flourishing a pencil and a
sheet of paper. “Bellow yo’ bets in a loud voice!”
“Pap Curtain, twenty dollars!” Pap proclaimed.
“Hitch Diamond, twenty!”
“Prince Total, twenty!”
“Figger Bush, twenty!”
All of this was perfectly familiar to the negroes for this reason: in
the negro churches when a collection is taken up a table is placed,
a secretary is appointed, and each donor marches to the front of the
congregation, places his gift upon the table, announces the amount in a
loud voice and retires.
In ten minutes the table contained a goodly amount of currency and
silver, and Shin Bone swept the contribution from the top of the table
into his hat.
“Two hundred an’ fo’ dollars is bet, niggers!” Shin announced. “Now,
Prince Total, advance an’ produce de worm!”
Pap Curtain laid his shiny silver dollar in the center of the table.
Hitch Diamond placed his shiny copper cent in the center of the dollar.
Prince Total placed his fat, shiny, squirmy earth-worm in the center of
the cent.
Shin Bone walked over close to the exit, climbed upon the end of the
bar so he could see by looking over the heads of the negroes, and began
to pocket the money contained in his hat.
There was the most intense and overwhelming silence as the crowd
watched the worm. It started off the cent, but it never stayed off. The
penny was small and the worm was large, and sometimes it overflowed
and touched the silver. When that happened the worm displayed the most
intense discomfort, and the most eager desire to readjust its folds and
scramble back upon the copper.
A loud groan arose from the watching negroes.
Shin Bone stood up on the end of the bar and squealed:
“Good-bye, niggers! Ef dat worm ever gits offen dat copper cent I’ll
pay de money back an’ eat de worm raw!”
He turned and walked out of the saloon a happy and wealthy man!
Ten minutes later Pap Curtain, Hitch Diamond, and Prince Total appeared
at the home of Colonel Tom Gaitskill.
“Kunnel,” Hitch said earnestly, “us niggers wants to show you somepin
an’ ax you how come!”
“What is it?” Gaitskill smiled.
Pap laid a silver dollar on the floor of the porch, Hitch Diamond
placed a copper cent on top of it, and Prince Total laid a worm on top
of the cent.
“Now, Kunnel, fer Gawd’s sake, tell us how come dat worm cain’t crawl
offen dat cent?”
Gaitskill laughed.
“That is a simple demonstration in experimental electricity, men,” he
said. “When the worm’s damp body which is in contact with the copper
touches the silver it starts a current of electricity that gives it a
shock. Of course the current thus produced is very slight, but it is
quite enough for the worm, and the worm finds it more comfortable to
stay on the copper coin.”
“Dat shore is a strange an’ expensive fack, Marse Tom,” Hitch Diamond
remarked gloomily.
“De nigger whut bets his dollars on dat exper’ment ain’t gwine git no
slight shock,” Pap Curtain declared.
“An’ he ain’t gwine hab even a copper cent to stan’ on!” Prince Total
concluded.
X
RATTLESNAKE.
All of Shin Bone’s victims were sitting in the grandstand when Shin
rode on the track that afternoon to exhibit his newly purchased horse.
“Hello, Shinny!” Hitch Diamond yelled. “Whar you git dat plug?”
“Marse Tom sold him to me fer fawty dollars,” Shin grinned. “You all
he’ped me to pay fer him when you bit like suckers at dat fishin’ worm!”
“Is you gwine race him?” Pap whooped.
“Suttinly. He goes in de las’ race.”
“Is you gwine bet on him?” Prince Total squealed.
“I bets eve’y cent I’m got,” Shin grinned. “Dis hoss’s name is
Rattlesnake, an’ he’s pure p’ison.”
Shin trotted his horse down the track, and the negroes watched the
stiff hind leg of the animal and noticed that the horse never raised
it far enough above the ground to prevent it making a long mark upon
the turf. Shin galloped back in front of his friends, and the crippled
horse awkwardly dragged his stiff leg, making a longer and deeper mark
upon the track.
“I wonder ef dat nigger really means whut he say?” Pap remarked as he
sat back in his seat.
“Whut race is you in, Pap?” Hitch Diamond asked.
“I starts Nigger Blackie in de las’ race,” Pap told him. “I bet
Doodlebug yistiddy an’ lost him, but I speck he’s gwine in dat race,
too. Of co’se Nigger Blackie kin beat Doodlebug--he done it yistiddy.”
“I thought Nigger Blackie b’longed to Skeeter Butts,” Hitch said.
“Naw, suh. I winned Nigger offen Skeeter yistiddy.”
“How many hosses in dat las’ race?” Prince Total asked.
“Gawd knows,” Pap sighed. “It’s de las’ race of de fair. It’s a
free-fer-all scramble, an’ eve’y nigger in dis parish kin git in wid a
race-hoss ef he wants to.”
“I tells you whut, niggers,” Hitch Diamond suggested. “Shin Bone is
done robbed us of a heap of money; now less go down an’ bet agin him
an’ his hoss an’ rob him of all de chink he’s got. Dat stiff-leg
Rattlesnake cain’t run--any hoss kin beat him as fur as you kin shoot a
gun.”
“I favors dat!” Pap exclaimed. “Dis is de las’ race of de las’ day of
de fair. I favors makin’ it de las’ of Shin Bone. I’s done got plum’
nauseated wid dat nigger anyhow.”
They waited on Shin in a body and proposed to take all his money away
from him.
“I bets dollar fer dollar, niggers,” Shin replied smilingly. “I is got
one hunderd an’ sixty dollars, an’ I lets it go easy.”
“Who holds de stakes?” Pap Curtain asked.
“I dunno,” Shin answered. “I ain’t figgered on dat.”
“How will Whiffle Boone suit?” Pap inquired:
“She suits,” Shin said indifferently. “Less hunt her up.”
They found Whiffle in the grandstand and explained what they wanted her
to do. She gladly consented and accepted their money, keeping a record
of the amount of their bets.
When the men left her Whiffle sat for a long time in deep meditation,
then she started on a search for Shin Bone.
Shin was busy at the stable plaiting Rattlesnake’s mane and tail into
long, hard braids, a half dozen on the mane and as many on the tail.
He was working eagerly, confidently, with the manner of a man who knew
what he was doing.
“Shinny,” Whiffle asked, “who is gwine ride yo’ hoss?”
“I’m is.”
“Is you shore you is gwine win, Shin?”
“Suttinly.”
“I don’t see how dat cripple hoss kin run,” Whiffle remarked in
troubled tones.
“It do ’pear like dat stiff leg hinders him some,” Shin grinned. “But I
done found out somepin ’bout dis hoss: he ain’t skeart of nothin’ but a
rattlesnake.”
“Dat discover don’t make him run no faster,” Whiffle replied.
“No’m. But ef I was to tie a rattlesnake to his tail I ’speck he would
run some.”
“Huh!” Whiffle snorted disgustedly. “You ain’t gwine tie no snake to
dat hoss’s tail.”
“Dat’s a fack,” Shin snickered. “I’s skeart of snakes. But I tells
you dis honest, Whiffle: ef you got any money to bet, you bet it on
Rattlesnake. I wouldn’t tell you dis ef I didn’t love you more’n
anybody!”
“I owns one hunderd dollars, Shin. Me an’ Pap winned in de race whut
busted you up yistiddy. I’s gwine bet on Rattlesnake fer yo’ sake,
because I loves you.”
It seemed a long time to Shin Bone before the last race. A good hour
before that contest of speed Shin had Rattlesnake saddled and waiting.
When at last the bell rang for the final racing event of the fair Shin
mounted his stiff-legged steed and rode slowly out upon the track. He
counted and found that fifteen other horses were entered, the only
formidable rivals to Rattlesnake being Doodlebug and Nigger Blackie.
There are various methods in use among horsemen to extract speed from
their race-horses.
Sometimes a jockey carries an electric battery in one of his riding
boots, and the battery is connected with copper wire to his spurs;
sometimes the battery is hidden in the saddle and the saddle is
stitched and lined with copper wire; sometimes the battery is concealed
in the butt end of the riding whip. These methods often lead to the
detection of dishonesty. A better way is to carry a hand buzzer and
apply the juice until the race is won; then the jockey can toss the
hand buzzer over the fence and defy the inspection of the judges.
Sometimes a groom or rubber pours a bottle of liquid called “High Life”
over the horse’s back, or administers a dose of dope; in that case the
jockey has the struggle of his life to prevent his horse from climbing
into the judges’ stand before he can get a start.
But Shin Bone pulled the most unique stunt ever attempted on a
race-track.
The best speed extractor in the world for white flesh, colored flesh,
or horse flesh is Fright. Fear will make a lame man walk, a crippled
horse run, and a paralyzed negro sprout wings and fly.
Shin rode Rattlesnake without spurs, or whip, or dope, or high life,
or electricity. All in the world that he had to induce his horse to
run was a handful of toy baby rattles which he had swiped from the
nursery of Colonel Tom Gaitskill’s grandchild. Woven in Rattlesnake’s
plaited mane were half a dozen celluloid balls, containing two or three
buckshot each and marks outside of a baby’s tiny teeth.
As Rattlesnake stumped about on his stiff leg they made no disturbing
sound; but Shin had learned by experiment that a little burst of speed
started the rattling, and the big horse did the rest!
The fifteen horses trotted down toward the starter’s stand in a pretty
fair alignment. Vinegar Atts, the starter, was tired of his week’s work
and easy to please.
“Go!” he whooped.
Rattlesnake broke into an awkward gallop. Then Shin Bone reached back
and pulled a string in the rear of his saddle.
Four noisy celluloid baby rattles, each suspended from a strong string,
dropped down around the legs of Rattlesnake.
The horse heard that deadly, venomous rattle, and felt something touch
his flanks and drop further and tap him on the legs; right behind his
ears he heard a dreadful whirring sound, as if a snake were entwined in
his mane!
He uttered a scream so shrill, so horrible, that every negro in the
grandstand shuddered.
Then he leaped forward, and the pop-eyed negroes had never seen such
running in their lives!
Rattlesnake’s body lay out in a level line, nose, shoulder, back,
and his flying legs were a yellow blur beneath his straining body.
But not all the thunder of his going could deaden the sound of that
fearful rattle, which whirred like the wind in his ears, stirring the
remembrance of suffering and sickness and the agony of the cauterizing
iron!
Faster, faster, faster Rattlesnake ran, his feet spurning the brown
carpet of turf beneath him, his crippled hind leg limbering up for the
last time in his life and shooting his body forward like the piston rod
of an engine.
The race was won in an incredible time.
As the terrified horse shot under the wire Shin reached behind his
saddle and tore loose the cords which held the rattles flapping around
the animal’s flanks; then he ran his hands through the plaited mane and
pulled off the rattles which whirred behind Rattlesnake’s ears, and the
horse slowly slackened his speed and stopped, his sides heaving, his
breath coming and going like a giant bellows.
When the other horses came in Shin rode slowly back and held up his
hand.
“Judges?” he called.
Vinegar Atts nodded his head and waved his hand toward the stable.
When Shin Bone dismounted at the stall Whiffle Boone ran forward with
the tears running down her laughing face.
She jerked Shin’s hat from his head, turned it upside down on the
ground and filled it with money. Then she threw her arms around the
graceful, throbbing, sweating neck of the big sorrel horse.
“We win!” she sobbed. “Bless Gawd! We win!”
* * * * *
All this happened three years ago, and there has never been another
race at any Tickfall Negro Fair.
For three years Shin Bone’s wife has been in charge of the restaurant
which she bought with her winnings in the last great race. For three
years Shin Bone has met every train with a light wagon drawn by a
pie-faced, stiff-legged sorrel horse. His owner “wrastles trunks an’
gripsacks fer de white folks.” His horse is as fat as butter, but he
runs away every time he hears a rattling sound.
Last fall Shin and Whiffle drove Rattlesnake out to the fairground and
entered a two-year-old negro boy in the Better Babies’ contest. Colonel
Tom Gaitskill had offered handsome prizes in this contest and was in
charge.
“This is your son, Shin?” Gaitskill smiled as he entered the
piccaninny’s name and age in a large book.
“Yes, suh.”
“I presume it is a eugenic, hygienic baby?” Gaitskill laughed.
“Yes, suh,” Shin replied, wondering at the same time what Gaitskill
meant. “Yes, suh. He gits de you-jeans from his maw an’ de high-jeans
from his paw. He’s a shore winner!”
Hoodoo Face.
I
THE STRANGER.
Dinner Gaze bore the air of a man who was perfectly satisfied with his
personal appearance and sure of making a good impression upon all who
beheld him.
He leaned back in his seat in the negro coach of the New Orleans
accommodation, using the seat in front of him as a footstool. His legs
were crossed with a display of glorious silk hosiery, his thumbs were
anchored in the armholes of his gold and purple vest, his bright green
cravat contained a bright yellow diamond, and his cigarette-stained
fingers beat a happy tattoo upon the bosom of his shirt.
The face of Dinner Gaze was black, and as expressionless as the ugly
mug of a dough man. There was a long mark upon his cheek where a bullet
had missed the center of his face about two inches. There was a long
knife-scar on the back and side of his neck. A bit of the upper part of
his left ear was missing, sliced off smoothly with a sharp knife or
razor. The end of one of his front teeth was broken off. His eyes were
as steady and unwinking and shiny as two glass beads, his voice was
low and soft and confidential in tone, and his heavy lips carried an
habitual sneer.
Hitch Diamond, who sat beside him, was similarly satisfied.
Hitch’s appearance cried aloud his profession of pugilist. His face
was a scarred ruin, battered and bruised in many a fistic battle
until it resembled the face of the Sphinx since it has been pecked at
and damaged by the souvenir hunters and sandstorms of the centuries.
His ponderous hands looked like the gnarled and twisted roots of
a scrub-oak tree, while his legs were like the Corinthian columns
supporting the portico of a temple.
Hitch had made a trip to New Orleans for pugilistic purposes. At the
end of the second round, Hitch had looked down at his opponent, then
waved his gloved fist at the whooping crowd and remarked: “I know whut
I done to dat coon! He’s gwine sleep a long time!” After which Hitch
had collected a hatful of money and remained in New Orleans long enough
to get it all nicely spent except a puny wad in one pocket of his shiny
new pantaloons.
Every rag of clothes on Hitch’s giant body was entirely new. He was
swathed in a Prince Albert coat, choked and tortured by a high collar
and a stiff-bosomed shirt; a glorious silk hat, all white silk lining
on the inside, and smooth, shiny, imitation beaver on the outside,
rode on his head; while on his feet were a pair of patent-leather shoes
which had caused him a world of trouble in the city.
He had walked for miles, in and out of the stores, seeking a pair of
shiny shoes which would fit his immense feet. Shoe clerks had taken
one look at those pedal extremities and had thrown up their hands in
despair. But Hitch had persisted in his search, and now it was plainly
apparent to all that Solomon in all his glory was not shod like such as
he.
Dinner Gaze was listening with great interest to Hitch’s talk.
“I ain’t went to N’Awleens befo’ fer mighty nigh five year,” said Hitch
as he extracted a long Perique stogie from the side-pocket of his
gorgeous yellow waistcoat.
Dinner Gaze reached out, took the stogie from Hitch’s giant hand, and
tossed it out of the window. He handed the pugilist a big, fat cigar
with a broad gold band, and grinned in a friendly way. Then he said in
his low, gentle voice:
“Ef you wants me to set by you, don’t smoke no roll of rags an’
garbage. Take a real seegar!”
“Thank ’e, suh,” Hitch murmured gratefully, removing the gold band and
fitting it carefully upon his little finger where he admired it as a
maiden admires her engagement ring. “I’s powerful sorry dar ain’t no
lady folks in dis car to see me smoke dis. I ain’t never feel like I
had enough money to ack liberal an’ buy real smokes.”
“Ain’t you spek dat you got a wad to tote home from de city wid you?”
Gaze inquired carelessly, as he tore a page from a newspaper and began
idly to roll it tightly.
“Shore!” Hitch chuckled. “I totes it in my behime hip-pocket next to
my heart, whar unpious niggers totes dey gun. But most of dat is jes’
show money--’tain’t much, an’ I got it wropped up in a roll to make it
look like a plenty. Fawty dollars is all whut is lef’ of my trip to de
city--excusin’ de mem’ry of a dam’ good time, an’ dese clothes!”
“Whar you gwine now?” Dinner asked as he fumbled with his paper.
“I’s gittin’ off at Sawtown,” Hitch replied. “I been livin’ aroun’
in dis part of de worl’ all my life, an’ I ain’t never seed dat big
saw-mill town yit. ’Tain’t been but ’bout fo’ year ago dat Sawtown
started off--when dey sot dat big mill dar in de woods.”
“I’s proud I met up wid you, Revun,” Dinner Gaze said. “I lives in
Sawtown, an’ I’ll show you all de good p’ints in de place.”
Hitch opened his mouth to deny that he was a preacher, but the negro’s
natural love of the game of make-believe prevented him. His slow mind
evolved the humor of the situation, and he bestowed a pious smile upon
the man beside him.
“Thank ’e, suh. I ain’t gwine let nothin’ git past me. I’s gwine to all
de shows, an’ drink all de ice-water I kin git, an’ chaw peanuts, an’
git right in de middle of de cullud high life.”
“Dat picayune way of seein’ Sawtown won’t git you nothin’,” Dinner
Gaze grunted disgustedly. “Bust her wide open, Revun!”
“How is dat did?” Hitch wanted to know.
“I’ll show you!” Gaze told him.
“Whut job does you wuck at in Sawtown?” Hitch asked.
“I’m gittin’ ready to sot up a little nigger gamblin’-house in Sawtown
now,” Dinner replied cautiously, after a moment’s hesitation. “Befo’
dat, I managed a string of nigger prize-fighters in N’Awleens.”
Hitch raised his battered head like an old, scarred war-horse when he
hears the bugle-call for charge. Then he remembered that Gaze thought
he was talking to a clergyman.
“Dat shore sounds familious to me,” Hitch laughed. “I used to be a
prize-fighter my own se’f!”
“Hear dat, now!” Dinner Gaze exclaimed. “I knowed you an’ me wus
kinnery when I fust cotch you wid my eye. How come you left de great
perfesh?”
“A nigger put a chunk of lead in his glove an’ battered me clean acrost
a wharf-boat,” Hitch narrated, drawing upon his imagination, and
recalling an incident in the career of his friend, the Reverend Vinegar
Atts. “Atter dat I felt a call to preach.”
“Mebbe you could come back,” Gaze suggested.
“Naw, suh,” Hitch grinned, quoting a remark he had heard Vinegar
make. “Preachin’ is a plum’ sight safer. I kin git up befo’ a lot of
Christyums an’ knock noses an’ pull hair an’ skin shins all I’m got a
mind to, an’ all dey kin do is to turn aroun’ de yuther cheek. Ef dey
hits back, dey ain’t pious!”
The odor of wet, sawed, sun-scorched lumber entered the car window. The
suction of the moving train threw sawdust upon the seat where the feet
of the two men rested. They were drawing near to the station at Sawtown.
“Revun,” Dinner asked, as he rose, “is you ever read up on dat Bible
text whut says ‘I wus a stranger an’ I got took in’?”
“Suttinly,” Hitch prevaricated.
“My last advices to you is to keep a eye on de people in dis here
Sawtown. Dey takes a stranger in good an’ plenty!”
Dinner dusted off his patent-leather shoes, adjusted his immaculate
cuffs, felt of his green tie and his yellow diamond, lifted his Panama
hat out of the rack, and brushed the cigar ashes off his gold and
purple vest.
“Drap in de Hot-dog Club an’ gimme a look-on, Revun!” Gaze invited as
he stepped into the aisle. “I handles a pretty peart gamblin’ game ef I
do say it myse’f!”
The train stopped.
Dinner Gaze waited in the aisle, courteously permitting Hitch Diamond
to precede him.
As Hitch passed out, Dinner Gaze cautiously elevated the tail of the
pugilist’s Prince Albert coat, carefully thrust two scissors-like
fingers into Hitch’s hip-pocket and drew out a small roll of money. In
its place he thrust a wad of newspaper of about the same size. When the
train had gone on, Hitch looked for his friend and could not find him.
“Dar now!” he exclaimed. “Dat wus a fine nigger man an’ I done loss him
complete, an’ I even fergot to ax him whut wus his name!”
II
“TOOK IN.”
“De fust thing I needs is a sack of peanuts an’ a awange to cut de dust
outen my throat,” Hitch said to himself, as he walked slowly down the
village street.
He entered a small grocery, made his purchases, and thrust his fingers
into his hip-pocket to bring forth his money.
Instead he extracted a wad of newspapers.