And now, good comrades, what shall it be,
A dungeon cell or a gallows tree?
--_Varner's Lynching Songs._
Never, since the day you were born, have you seen such a jump, or heard
such a grunt as old Jonas gave. You would have thought the Ku-Klux had
him, for this was the year Eighteen-Hundred-and-under-the-Bushes, with
old Raw-Head-and-Bloody-Bones keeping his green eyes wide open. For one
brief and fleeting moment, old Jonas's whole body seemed to be wrenched
out of socket, as Mr. Sanders said afterward; his hat fell off, and it
was as much as he could do to keep his feet. He scowled, and then he
tried to smile, but the scowl felt very much at home on his wrinkled
countenance, and refused to be ousted by a feeble smile.
Even the visitor, whose name was Augustus Tidwell, was startled, and he
showed it in his face, but he recovered much sooner than old Jonas did.
He was one of the most prominent lawyers in that whole section, where
prominent lawyers were plentiful. He was dignified, because he had to
live up to his position, but all his dignity was dispersed by Adelaide
and her Bishop. Adelaide called Mr. Tidwell her Injun-rubber because he
wore his hair long, so that it fell in glistening waves over his coat
collar. This gave him a very romantic appearance, and when engaged in
the practice of law he always made the most of it; he could tousel his
hair and look the picture of rage; he could push it straight back from
his wide forehead, and seem to stand for innocence and virtue; and he
could ruffle it up on one side, and tell juries how they should find in
cases where the interests of his clients were concerned.
But dignity and a romantic appearance couldn't stand before Adelaide and
her Bishop. Mr. Sanders, with the red silk handkerchief thrown over his
head and tied under his chin, was a sight you would have gone far to
see. He had such marvellous control of his features that, one moment he
had the appearance of an overgrown baby, and the next, he was the living
image of an old country granny who had come to town to swap a pound of
snow-white butter for a hank or two of spun-truck. The fact is, Adelaide
was compelled to roll on the floor and kick, so acute were the paroxysms
of laughter. Mr. Sanders laughed, too, but when Adelaide glanced at him
he would wipe the smile from his face and look as solemn as a real
truly-ann Bishop; and this was worse than laughing, for Adelaide would
be compelled to roll over the floor again.
Old Jonas didn't have any of the pains that come from laughter. At first
he was frightened nearly to death at the manifestations for which
Adelaide and her Bishop were responsible; then the reaction was toward
hot anger, which finally developed into a feeling of impatient disgust
at the spectacle which Mr. Sanders presented.
"Sanders," he said, sharply and earnestly, "if I didn't know you I'd be
willing to swear you had gone crazy! Why, who under the blue sky ever
heard of a grown man indulging in such antics and capers! It's simply
scandalous, that's what it is."
"It is that-away!" blandly remarked Mr. Sanders. "An' more especially
it's a scandal when me an' that child thar can't have five minnits' fun
all by ourselves but what you come a-stickin' your head in the door, an'
try for to turn a somerset wi'out liftin' your feet off'n the floor! I
leave it to Gus Tidwell thar ef anybody in this house has cut up more
capers than what you have. I wish you could 'a' seed yourself when you
was flinging your hat on the floor, an' tryin' for to keep your feet in
a slanchindic'lar position, an' workin' an' twistin' your mouth like you
was tryin' for to git it on top of your head--ef you could 'a' seed all
that you'd agree wi' me that thar wa'n't no room in this house for youth
an' innocence."
Adelaide took advantage of the conversation to run out of the room to
see if Cally-Lou had been frightened by all the noise; and presently the
men heard her relating all the circumstances to her brown Ariel, and
laughing almost as heartily at her own recital as she laughed when Mr.
Sanders winked at her with the red handkerchief on his head.
"Who is she talking to?" Lawyer Tidwell inquired.
"Just talking to herself," responded old Jonas, with unnecessary
tartness.
"Don't you nigh believe it, Gus," said Mr. Sanders. "She ain't twins,
an' she's talkin' to some un that she can see an' we can't. Why, ef thar
wa'n't nothin' thar, she'd be the finest play-actor that ever played in
a county courthouse."
"She is certainly a wonderful child," said the lawyer. "Lucindy brought
her to see my wife the other day, and I happened to be at home. I never
enjoyed anybody's company so well on a short acquaintance as I did hers.
My wife is daft about her, and she believes with you, Mr. Sanders, that
the Cally-Lou she talks about so much is really her companion."
"Why, tooby shore, Gus. Children see an' know a heap things that they
don' say nothin' about for fear they'll be laughed at. All you've got to
do to see Cally-Lou is turn your head quick enough. I ain't limber
enough myself, an' I reckon I never will be any more."
"Speaking of Lucindy, Mr. Sanders, I wanted to see you about some little
business of hers, and it's business that she doesn't know anything
about. Moreover, she wouldn't help matters much if she knew about it. I
don't know how Mr. Whipple feels, but I know very well how you and I
feel. You don't need to be told that nearly all the negroes have fallen
out of sympathy with the whites; but there are a few we can still trust
and have a genuine friendship for--and Lucindy is one of them. Now, I
was sitting in my office to-day reading, when all of a sudden I heard
someone talking in low tones. I didn't hear everything that was said,
but I heard enough to learn that Lucindy's son Randall is somewhere in
the county."
"He shorely is for a fact!" exclaimed Mr. Sanders. "Right in the state,
county, town, an' deestrick aforesaid. Go on, Gus."
"Well you know, he's the boy that came within an ace of putting old
Tuttle out of business in 1864. But now old Tuttle is the Radical
Ordinary, elected by the niggers, and he is afraid to bring suit against
Randall in the Superior Court. But he wants the boy put out of business
if it can be done without mixing his name with the affair. I couldn't
overhear all that was said, but I heard enough to know that old Tuttle
intends to have Randall arrested on a charge of assault with intent to
murder, and run him out of the county. Now, I wouldn't care a snap of my
finger if it wasn't for the fact that Randall is Lucindy's son, and he
must be taken care of. I don't know how you gentlemen feel about it, but
that's the way I feel."
"Ef it'll do you any good to know," Mr. Sanders remarked, "me an' Jonas
feel exactly the same way; an' what's more, we don't intend that Randall
shall be run off. He's right here on this lot, an' here he's a-gwine to
stay, ef I have any sesso in the matter. I'll pay his board, Jonas, ef
that'll suit you, bekaze I've got a crow to pick wi' ol' Tuttle, an'
when I git it picked he'll have more loose feathers than he kin walk off
wi'. Jest mark that down."
"Pish-tush!" exclaimed old Jonas, smacking his thin lips, and frowning.
He rose and went to the back door, and presently the others heard him
calling Randall, who seemed to be somewhat slow in answering--so much so
that Lucindy's voice was added to his.
"Randall!" she cried, "what in de name er goodness you doin' in dar?
Don't you hear Mr. Whipple hollain' atter you? Look like you des ez
triflin' now as what you wuz when you loped off!"
Randall replied after a while, and old Jonas's command was, "Come here,
you no account scoundrel, and black my shoes!"
"Why, Jonas," said Mr. Sanders, when the former had returned to the
room, "ain't you afraid you'll take cold? You ain't had your shoes
blacked sence the war!"
The only reply old Jonas made to that was in the shape of a scowl.
Randall came running with a puzzled expression on his face. He dropped
his hat somewhere outside the door, and went in.
"They tell me," said old Jonas, somewhat curtly, "that you are studying
to be a bishop."
"That's what I laid off in my mind, suh. It come to me when I hear um
prayin' an' singin'; I allow to myself, I did, that ef it's all ez purty
an' ez nice ez that, they wa'n't nothin' gwine to keep me from bein' a
minister when the time got ripe. That's what I said to myself, suh."
"Well," remarked Mr. Sanders, reassuringly, "you've already got to be a
Boogerman, an' I reckon that's long step forrerd."
"Black my shoes!" commanded old Jonas in a tone that was almost brutal.
Randall hustled around until he found an old box of blacking that had
been in the kitchen for many years. With this and an old brush that
Lucindy found in some impossible place, he proceeded to give old Jonas's
shoes a polish that caused them to shine brightly.
"Don't you think it is beneath the dignity of a pastor to black shoes?"
old Jonas asked.
Randall chuckled. "That's the way some white folks'd feel about it," he
answered; "but me--I'm black, an' I ain't got no business for to feel
so--not me! St. Paul, or it may be St. Timothy, he says, somewhere, I
dunner 'zackly where, 'What your han' finds to do, let your heart
commend.'"
"Wa'n't it Shakespeare said that?" Mr. Sanders inquired.
"It mought 'a' been, suh," replied Randall. "All I know, it was some of
them Bible folks. They say, 'Do what yo' han' finds to do, an' do it
better'n some un else could 'a' done it.' That's why you see these shoes
lookin' like they're spang new."
[Illustration: "'That's why you see these shoes lookin' like they're
spang new'"]
"Why, I should have thought that a man who is studying to be a bishop,"
said old Jonas, sharply, "would think himself above blacking anybody's
shoes."
"It may be so, suh, in some parts of the country and amongst some
people, but it ain't that-away wid me--I may come to it, suh, but I
ain't come to it yit."
Randall finished the shoes, and offered to black those of the other men
present, but they declined, and then old Jonas fished around in his
pocket for a shin-plaster small enough to fit the job that had been
done. He found a ragged one that faintly promised to pay the bearer five
cents on demand, but Randall recoiled from it, and held up his hands in
protest. "No, suh! Oh, no, suh! It was wuth all I done jest to hear
you-all gentermens talkin' kinder friendly like. Ef you-all had all the
trouble I uv done had, all the time dodgin' an' lookin roun' cornders
fer fear er Mr. Tuttle er some er his kinnery--he's got um all up dar
whar I been--you'd be mo' than thankful for to hear some un talkin' like
de nex' minnit ain't 'gwine ter be de las'. I done got it proned inter
me that I'm gwine for to be Ku-Klucked long 'fo' I have gray ha'r. You
dunner how nice it is for to have white folks talkin' like they ain't
gwine to kill you yet awhile."
To any one who knew little of the negro race, Randall's remarks would
have sounded tremendously like a sly joke, with a little irony thrown in
for good measure; but though the negro's voice was soft and deliberate,
he was terribly in earnest, and those who heard him understood and
appreciated this simple recital of a harrowing experience already behind
him, and his lively fear of something worse to come.
"Well, when you get to be a bishop," remarked old Jonas, "I expect you
to come and black my shoes."
"I'll do it, suh, an' be glad to do it. Des take yo' stan' anywhere,
jest so it's a public place, an' holla at me, an' tell me you want yo'
shoes blacked. I'll do it, suh, in the face of ten thousand."
"I believe you would!" exclaimed old Jonas almost gleefully.
"You don't hafter b'lieve me, suh; jest holla at me, an' yo shoes'll be
blacked."
With that, Randall started out of the room, but Mr. Sanders raised his
hand. "B'ar in mind, Boogerman, that you're not to leave the lot after
dark. Old Tuttle is a rank Radical, an' a nigger-lover for what revenue
thar is in it, but he's fixin' up his tricks for to give you a taste of
the Radical-Republican movement, an' he's got to be watched. We'll do
the watchin' ef you'll do the hidin'."
"I'll be more than glad to do that, suh," said Randall, with invincible
politeness--"mo' than glad. I uv got so now, sence freedom come, that I
can hide most as good as I can eat; an' when I say that, you may know it
means sump'n."
"I reckon it does," said old Jonas, "something to me!"
Randall laughed pleasantly, and bowed himself out. In a moment the men
in the sitting-room heard him talking to Adelaide in the entry.
"My goodness, little mistiss! A little mo' an' you'd a skeer'd me
crooked--an' I ain't right straight now. I had de idee that I was to be
the Boogerman, but ef you go on this-a-way, you'll be the Boogerman."
"Oho!" laughed Adelaide; "don't you know that a young lady could never
be a Boogerman?"
"Well, I declare!" Randall exclaimed almost joyously; "that certainly is
so in these days of tribulation. But that ain't all; I uv got a bigger
Boogerman than you uv got. How is Miss Cally-Lou?"
"Oh, shucks!" replied Adelaide, "you don't have to call her miss; she
ain't right white. Don't you see her standing here by me?"
"Well, suh!" exclaimed the Boogerman in the tone of one who has just
made a remarkable discovery. "Ef I don't, I most does; an' when you git
that close to Cally-Lou it's the same as seein' her. She don't look
right well to me," said the Boogerman at a venture.
"Then you do see her," remarked Adelaide; "she hasn't been well for a
day or two."
"Make her git outdoors, an' take the fresh air," suggested the
Boogerman.
This suggestion seemed to meet the views of Adelaide, for she went out
into the yard, crying, "Come along, Cally-Lou! Come along!"
Old Jonas stirred uneasily in his chair, "Do you know, Sanders," he
said, "that my grandmother had a little mulatto girl named Cally-Lou. As
I remember her, she was the smartest little thing that ever ran about on
two legs. I wonder----" Old Jonas paused, and Mr. Sanders didn't give
him time to straighten out his thought.
"No, Jonas; you don't wonder, an' you needn't pertend to. Nuther here
nor here-arter, will that sorter thing work. When I ketch you wonderin',
I'll know you've took one of them infectious diseases that you read
about. You could see Cally-Lou, an' so could I, if our gizzards was in
the right place. But I kin say as much as that nigger did--I mighty nigh
seed her. Folks tell me that you kin see the wind ef you'll take a
handsaw at the right time of day, an' hold it so the breeze kin blow
over it. I an't got the least doubt that we could see a heap of things
that we never do see, ef we know'd when, an' whar, an' how to look."
The three men were silent a long time until Lawyer Tidwell remarked,
with something that sounded like a sigh, "I reckon we'd better be going,
Mr. Sanders." They went away, leaving old Jonas alone in the house. He
neither bade them good-bye, nor turned his head when they went. But when
he heard the door shut, he went to the window, as if to make sure they
had really gone; and when he was satisfied on this point, he shuffled to
the back porch, and called for Randall. The negro came silent, but
wondering. For years he had been in a state of uneasy expectation, and
he found it almost impossible to free himself from it now. Old Jonas was
blunt and brief.
"Go over to the courthouse, walk into the Ordinary's office, and ask if
Mr. Sanders and Lawyer Tidwell have been there. As a matter of fact,
they haven't been there, and they are not going there, but old Tuttle
will think they are coming and he'll be worried about it. I want you to
show yourself to him just once. Answer every question he asks you. Tell
him where you are staying; say that I have employed you; but pretend you
don't know him. Then walk around the public square, and through the
town, make yourself known to some of your coloured friends, and come
right back here and go to work about the lot and yard just as if you had
been here a long time."
Randall made no reply; he merely stood scratching his head, and fumbling
with his hat trying hard to come to some understanding, however dim, of
the motive and purpose that lay behind old Jonas's command; but, try as
he would, he couldn't make out the puzzle that seemed to envelope and
becloud his mind. Still fumbling with his hat, and standing on first one
foot and then the other, he remarked, with some hesitation, "Well, suh,
I'll go ef it's yo' will--but you know what St. Paul (er it may be St.
Second Timothy) tells us. He tells us, one er both, for to go not
whether we'll be treated contretemptous, not by day an' not by
night--Paul er St. Second Timothy, one er both."
Old Jonas regarded the negro with amazement; for the first time in his
life he had a whiff of the kind of education the negroes were picking up
here and there.
That, or something else irritated him, and he spoke with some heat.
"Well, confound you! do just as you please! Go or don't go--you're free,
I reckon. But if you do go, say to old Tuttle that you're glad to see
him looking so well. You are a Republican, I reckon?"
"Yes, sir," replied Randall, with some degree of hesitation; "ef you put
it that way, I speck I is. Nobody ain't never gi' me no chanst for to be
anything else. I jest did squeeze in the Northron Methodist Church; ef
I'd 'a' had on a long coat, the tail would 'a' been ketched in the crack
of the door. All these here new doin's an' new fashions makes me feel
right ticklish, an' sometimes I ketch myself laughin' when they ain't
nothin' to laugh at, an' it took me long for to find out that when you
laugh in the wrong place it's because you ought to be cryin' by good
rights. All this has been gwine on now some time, an' I done come to
that pass that when a piece of paper blows round the cornder right
sudden, I mighty nigh jump out'n my skin. I'm tellin' you the plain
truth, suh! An' now, after all this, you want me to put on what little
cloze I got an' walk right into Mr. Tuttle's jaws--the identual man that
I've been runnin' fum I dunner how long--him that I come mighty nigh
joltin' across--I done forgot what St. Luke (or maybe it wuz St.
Mark--they run so close together in the book that I skacely know t'other
fum which). Anyhow, they's a Bible name for the thing you want me to do;
an' I tell you right now, I dunner whether for to do it or not. You
white folks don't keer much what you do--I've done took notice of that;
but when it comes down to a plain nigger, why, he's got to walk as thin
as a batter cake; he's got to step like he's afeard of stickin' a needle
in his foot. I'm tellin' you the truth, suh; I been dodgin' an' hidin'
so long that when I hear anybody walkin' fast behind me, the flesh
crawls on my back--yes, suh, natchally crawls--an' I have to hol' my
breath for to keep fum breakin' loose an' runnin'. I'll go there, suh,
an' I hope it'll be all right; but I never is to forget what St. Paul
(or it may be St. Second Timothy) says on that head."
Old Jonas frowned heavily, and further betrayed his irritation by a
smothered malediction that included the entire negro race. Randall
waited for no further outbreak; he melted, as it were, from the doorway,
and disappeared as far as old Jonas was concerned, but Adelaide, who was
sitting in a little bower she had made for herself, saw him standing by
the fence gazing into space. The child after awhile turned her attention
to play, but Randall held his ground for a long time, looking into the
bright sky far beyond the bermuda hills for a proper solution of the
problem he had in his mind. But it was a problem that the windy spaces
with their blue perspective could not solve, and so, with a sigh, he
betook himself to the courthouse, where the man whose life he had nearly
taken was now holding forth as an officer of the law. The slave-driver
had become a belated Unionist, then a Republican, and was now a Radical
of the stripe and temper of poor Thaddeus Stevens, who was at that time
the centre and motor of Radical politics.
Now, Mr. Tuttle was by no means asleep; he had watched and waited for
the return of Randall. He carried in his pocket book a warrant, duly
made out and officially signed, for the arrest of the negro. The charge
was assault with intent to murder. He saw Randall long before Randall
saw him, called the deputy sheriff, who had a room across the corridor,
apprised him of the fact that a criminal was to be arrested, pulled from
his pocket-book the wrong document, and the moment the negro entered the
courthouse he found himself in custody of the dread officer of the law.
To say that he was frightened would be putting it rather mildy; he was
paralysed with sickening fear, which was only overcome by desperate rage
against the white people, all and singular, who had caused him to walk
into such a trap.
The park in which the courthouse stands was separated from the rest of
the public square by a small, neat fence, over which, at the entrances,
steps led, so that instead of opening a gate, you simply walked up the
steps, over the fence, and down on the other side. On top of the most
frequented of these stiles or steps Mr. Sanders and Lawyer Tidwell were
sitting. Lawyer Tidwell was on his way to the courthouse for the purpose
of examining some legal documents relating to a case he had on the
docket, and Mr. Sanders had accompanied him as far as the enclosure.
Their conversation grew so interesting that they finally seated
themselves on the topmost step of the stile. They may have been talking
of something serious, or they may have been relating anecdotes; but
whatever the character of their conference, it was brought to a sudden
conclusion by the appearance of the deputy sheriff with his humble and
unresisting prisoner. The deputy had a fine and high opinion of the
dignity of his position; he magnified his office. "Make way, gentlemen!"
he cried, and stood waiting for Mr. Sanders and the lawyer to move
respectfully aside.
Both men looked up, but it was left to Mr. Sanders to express the
surprise of each. "What in the confounded nation does this mean?" he
exclaimed, rising to a standing position, and facing the officer and
prisoner.
The prisoner was ahead of the deputy with a reply: "It means lots mo' to
me than what it do to anybody else, suh," Randall declared, drawing in a
deep breath, as if, in that way, he could control his emotion. "Whar I
come frum they warned me ag'in' all white folks, bofe Republican an'
Dimmycrat. They say, 'You go an' preach the straight gospel, an' let 'em
alone when they talk anything else but the Saviour an' Him crucified;
they tol' me that, an' now you see me! But for that little white child
down yander, I wouldn't be here now. But here I is, an' here I'll stay,
an' I'll be nuther the fust nor the last that was flung to the lions.
Look at Daniel, an' see what he done! Yes, suh! I'm right here!"
"Well, now, you jest hold up your head an' put your hat on sideways ef
you want to," remarked Mr. Sanders. "Gus!" he said, turning to the
lawyer, with something like a frown on his bland countenance, "here's a
whole bunch of business that's fell right in our laps. An' it's all in
your line, too; but ef you can't do nothin', why, then, I'll take up the
loose ends an' see what I kin do wi' 'em. I'll tell you right now," he
went on, turning to the deputy sheriff, "when you take this nigger to
jail, you'll take me, too--you or the man that's waitin' for your job.
Make no mistake about that!"
A number of negroes who had been talking together near the courthouse
drew nearer when they saw one of their colour held prisoner. One of them
was the negro member of the Legislature, and he was curious to know what
the trouble was--curious and sympathetic, too, for he somehow felt that
as the representative of the race in the county, he was responsible for
the welfare of each individual. When Lawyer Tidwell thought that the
negroes were near enough to hear everything that was said, he rose from
his seat on the stile, and impressively shook his leonine mane. "What do
you propose to do with this boy?" he inquired.
"I'm taking him to jail," the deputy replied, with a little relapse from
dignity due to the unwonted aspect of Mr. Tidwell and Mr. Sanders. The
lawyer demanded by what authority he had arrested the negro, and asked
to see the warrant. By this time a considerable crowd of coloured people
had gathered around, and when the warrant was produced, Mr. Tidwell
created a considerable sensation by the tone of indignation he assumed
and by the dramatic gestures with which he denounced such proceedings.
"Do you call this a warrant?" he cried, striking the document with the
back of his hand. Then with threatening forefinger, held under the
deputy's nose, he went on: "Do you mean to tell me, sir, that you arrest
people, and run them into jail with such scraps of paper as this is?
Deprive them of their rights under the constitution without giving them
a chance to be heard at a preliminary trial?" Lawyer Tidwell's voice
grew higher, and his indignation seemed to rise higher, as he
contemplated the rampant injustice of the period, of which this
proceeding was a very small part. "Mark my words!" he exclaimed; "you'll
go to jail before this boy does! You know just as well as I do that this
is no warrant. You know it isn't properly made out, nor even properly
signed. I tell you again, the man that issued it will be impeached, and
the man that served it will occupy the same cell. You'll know a thing or
two worth remembering when I get through with you!" The lawyer's whole
attitude was menacing, and it made precisely the impression he had
intended it should. He turned to Randall. "What party do you vote with?"
"Wid the party of Aberham Lincoln, suh; an' if you want to know why,
turn to St. Paul (or it may be St. Second Timothy--one or the other) an'
you'll see where the brotherin is begged an' commanded for to stand by
one another in all manner of trial an' tribulation. In them days, suh,
they grit one another wi' a holy kiss; but in these times--la! holy
kissin' is done played out like a hoss that went through the war!"
At this point the negro legislator, in order to keep up his reputation
for representing his race, spoke up. "Frien', what has you been doin',
an' what has you been tuck up fer? It look like ter me that you has got
a case fer ter fetch up in the gener'l insembly, an' ef you is, I want
ter have the handlin' un it."
It was Mr. Tidwell who replied. "Don't you remember that old Tuttle was
an overseer before the war? He had no niggers of his own, and he took
his spite out on other people's niggers. One day, when he was kicking
and cuffing this boy here, he hit him one lick too many. Randall turned
on him, and came pretty near knocking him into the middle of next week.
You-all have put old Tuttle in a place where he has a little power, and
now, after all these years, he wants to slap Randall in jail, when he
knows just as well as you know that he hit the boy a hundred times as
many licks as the boy hit him. And he sha'n't put him in jail! One of
you boys run to Mr. Whipple's and tell him that Mr. Sanders wants to see
him at the courthouse at once. Tell him that Randall is in trouble."
Not only one negro, but half a dozen negroes, went on a run to carry the
message to old Jonas.
"Ten to one he doesn't come," remarked Mr. Tidwell to his companion in
an undertone.
Mr. Sanders himself had a very small supply of undertones, and so he
spoke right out when he replied to the lawyer--"Ef he don't come I'll go
arter him, an' ef I have to do that, I'll paint him red before he gits
here! I promise you you won't know him!"
But old Jonas came fast enough; moreover, he came smiling, and this,
together with the fact that he forgot to remove his skull-cap when he
put on his hat gave him something of a new aspect in the eyes even of
those who had known him long. The rapidity with which he walked was not
so remarkable, considering the fact that Adelaide was running a little
ahead of him. The child dropped his hand when she saw Mr. Sanders and
the rest, and ran to them as hard as she could. "Bishop!" she cried to
Mr. Sanders, "the Boogerman is to come right home this minute. I've
found a new gun, and I want to shoot him! Boogerman, please come on!"
All that Randall could say was, "Well, suh!" and then he passed his hand
across his eyes, and gazed off into the far-distance, seeing whatsoever
visions the Almighty vouchsafes to the meek and lowly, who are troubled
in heart and mind. He must have seen something, and that something must
have been sufficient, for his face brightened, and when he turned his
head, and saw that all were looking at him with curiosity, he laughed
pleasantly, and, stooping down, lifted Adelaide in his arms, and held
her there, as though she would afford him the protection which he
thought he needed.
"Which a-way does you-all want me for to go?" he inquired. "Show me, an'
I'll go right straight to the place. In Galatians, Paul bragged that he
outfaced Peter, an' ef he done that, I speck I kin face what's a comin'
to me."
"I'll put your hat on the side of your head, Boogerman, so you can look
as bold as a goose," said Adelaide.
"Yes, ma'am, I kin do that an' not half try; an' ef I can't look like a
goose, I bet you I can look as sheepish as the next one." He was not
even apprehensive and those who were observing him closely wondered at
the sudden change that had come over him. "Jail," he went on, in the
tone of an exhorter--"jail was good 'nough for the 'postles, an' why not
for me? They ain't got no law long 'nough, ner no jail strong 'nough for
to prevent pra'r."
"Oh, shucks, Boogerman!" exclaimed Adelaide; "let's go to jail. I want
to see what kind of a place it is on the inside, because I may have to
send Cally-Lou there if she doesn't behaviour better than she has been
doing."
"Well, ef you're a-gwine to send Cally-Lou to that hotel," Mr. Sanders
remarked, "jest tell 'em for to gi' me a big room wi' a long bed in it."
Then they all went in the courthouse, and sought out the judge of the
Superior Court circuit, who had his office in the building. After Lawyer
Tidwell's explanation, he very readily consented to hold the commitment
trial then and there. Mr. Tidwell briefly called attention to the nature
of the warrant that had been served, and announced his intention of
bringing the impeachment proceedings against Mr. Tuttle, who was judge
of the Court of Ordinary. The Superior Court judge said he had no doubt
that such proceedings would hold, when brought at the proper time, and
in the proper way, but they had nothing to do with the case before him.
Whatever the nature of the warrant, the accused was now in charge of an
officer of the law, and it would simplify matters to have the
preliminary trial take place at once. Randall gave his version of the
affair, and when Mr. Tuttle was called to testify, it was found that the
testimony he gave was not materially different from that which the negro
had given, much of it being brought out by the close questioning of Mr.
Tidwell. The result was that Randall was placed under bond for his
appearance at the next term of the superior court to be held in that
county. Much to the surprise of all, old Jonas Whipple, instead of
making a bond for Randall, gave his check on the local bank, with the
understanding that it was to be cashed in favour of the court. The judge
said that a bond of that kind was something unusual, but he accepted it.
Randall looked hard at old Jonas, and his lip trembled as if he were
about to say something, but, instead, his glance turned to the floor,
and he stood fumbling his hat. Mr. Sanders, observing the negro's
embarrassment, told a funny story, and when the laughter to which it
gave rise had subsided the judge asked the Sage of Shady Dale if he
wanted the anecdote to be made a part of the record in the case. The
countenance of Mr. Sanders took on a peculiarly solemn expression.
"Well, judge," he replied, "it'd be a mighty good way for to improve it
some."
[Illustration: "Mr. Sanders went from the courthouse with a sweeping
stride"]
All these things were beyond Adelaide. She climbed on a chair, and from
the chair to a table, and stood poised at that dizzy height with her
eyes fixed on Mr. Sanders. "Come on, Bishop," she commanded, "and let's
go home." He backed up to the table like a trained horse in the modern
pony shows. When he came close enough Adelaide leaped on his back. Here
she perched herself, while Mr. Sanders went from the courthouse with a
sweeping stride, which, when he was out of doors, changed, first into a
trot, and then into a pretended canter.