Skeeter Butts hung up the receiver at his end of the line and staggered
across the Hen-Scratch saloon. His face was convulsed, and the odd
distortions due to the contraction and relaxation of its muscles would
lead one to believe that an electric shock received over the telephone
had twisted his face and he was trying to set it right.
Skeeter had received a shock. Four friends, beholding him, noted that
his face was bloodless, his yellow fingers trembled and were beyond his
control, his knees shook and buckled under him as he walked, and his
chin was aquiver.
“Bad luck, niggers,” he whined through chattering teeth. “A band of
robbers has busted into Marse Tom Gaitskill’s house, an’ dey is killin’
Dazzle Zenor.”
The four men sitting at the table quivered with excitement mingled with
fear. With that emotional race, any sort of excitement is expressed by
noise, but fear calls for silence. For a brief time the silence was so
great that the five could distinctly hear the ticking of Hitch Diamond’s
big silver watch.
Hitch Diamond, the big prize-fighter, sat in a rickety chair. As he
meditated upon the possibilities of the case which Skeeter had stated,
and his emotions increased, that chair produced an irritating squeak
with every inhalation and expulsion of Hitch’s breath. All the noise
produced in that room was caused by Hitch’s watch and his chair. The
rest were like frightened quail that squat and try to merge with the
scenery.
It seemed to be a long, long time before anyone ventured to break that
oppressive silence. Finally Hitch spoke bravely:
“Go up an’ rescue Dazzle, Skeeter. I’ll be glad to stay behime an’ take
keer of de saloon.”
Four chairs moved uneasily, emitting a scraping sound. Figger Bush
pulled a corncob pipe from his pocket, and his trembling hands caused
the stem to drop from the cob and fall under the table. Figger stooped
to pick it up, found that it was dark under the table, and straightened
up without his pipe-stem. He could get that pipe-stem to-morrow.
“Me, too,” Figger Bush quacked. “I’ll he’p Hitchie keep de saloon.”
Mustard Prophet, the scientific agriculturist of the party, took a big
red apple from his pocket and bit deeply into its juicy substance. He
was trying to appear disinterested, but his favorite kind of apple was
tasteless to him now.
“Dar ain’t no use fer de rest of us to go,” Mustard muttered thickly,
munching at his apple, and glancing at Pap Curtain. “Skeeter kin handle
de case——”
“You got to go wid me, Mustard,” Skeeter interrupted. “Dazzle tole me
dat Hopey wus in de house, too—an’ de robbers is killin’ her.”
The part of the apple Mustard held in his fingers slipped away and
rolled across the saloon floor; the part he had in his mouth strangled
in his quivering throat.
“Dat’s too bad,” he announced in a tone of disinterested sympathy. “But
dat serves Hopey right, an’ she deeserves all she gits. Me an’ my nigger
wife don’t speak no more. I went dar to-night, an’ axed Hopey to gimme
some hot biscuits an’ a few sirup, an’ she wouldn’t do it!”
“I think dis here is yo’ job, Skeeter,” Pap Curtain snarled, the
habitual sneer upon his face becoming more acute and repulsive as he
tried to conceal his timidity. “Dazzle didn’t want none of us buttin’
in, or she’d axed fer us. Ef you wants to make a hit wid Dazzle, you got
to pick up a brave heart an’ go out dar an’ kill dat band of
robbers—jes’ like when you wus in de army.”
“But us army soldiers didn’t do no fightin’ all by our lonely selfs,”
Skeeter wailed. “We fi’t an’ bled an’ died in regimints!”
“You oughter hab fotch yo’ army home wid you,” Pap sneered. “Somepin
like dis might happen sudden any time, an’ you knowed you’d need it.”
The telephone rang sharply, and every man jumped with fright.
“Gosh, dat skeart me!” Pap Curtain exclaimed. “Answer de telerphome,
Skeeter.”
“Answer de telerphome, Figger,” Skeeter squalled, feeling nervously in
all his pockets as if he were hunting for the most important thing in
the world and could not abandon the search.
“My shoe-string is come ontied,” Figger answered as he bent over his
foot. “You answer de phome, Mustard!”
Mustard did not move. The telephone bell subsided with a final little
tinkle.
“Dar now, it’s too late!” Mustard lamented. “I’d ’a’ answered, only but
I’m total deef in one y-ear.”
The telephone rang again, sharply, insistently; rang for a good five
minutes.
“Answer it, Hitch Diamond!” Skeeter wailed in the midst of the sound.
Hitch pretended not to hear.
“I bet dat is Hopey telerphomin’ me dat she’s dead,” Mustard Prophet
muttered in pitiful fright. “I won’t never git no more hot biscuits.
Hopey wus shore a good cook an’ a good wife. Us had little spats, but
dar warn’t never no hard feelin’s.”
“Come on, fellers,” Skeeter interrupted. “Less go up on de hill an’ see
whut’s happened.”
“I ain’t gwine in dat house!” Pap Curtain exclaimed. “I don’t like to
see blood spilt aroun’ all over Marse Tom’s nice carpets.”
“I hope dey don’t spile de floor too much,” Hitch grumbled as he rose to
his feet. “Marse Tom always makes me scrub up de messes because Hopey’s
too dang fat to lean over.”
“I’ll let Pap guard de front of de house an’ hide behime de big
pecan-tree,” Skeeter announced, glad enough to get company. “Hitch kin
guard de kitchen by hidin’ behime de meat-house. Figger an’ Mustard kin
guard each side of de house by layin’ on de groun’ outside de
lawn-fence.”
While Skeeter was issuing these orders, Little Bit had entered the
saloon, and stood listening. When Skeeter ended, he spoke:
“I’s gwine guard de Hen-Scratch by hidin’ behime de bar counter,” he
giggled, without an idea what all the excitement was about.
“Whar you been at, you little debbil?” Skeeter Butts snapped, whirling
about to face the Hen-Scratch’s factotum. “You stay an’ keep dis
saloon—an’ ef de telerphome rings, you answer it.”
Skeeter ran to a little safe in the corner of the saloon and brought
forth four guns, which he distributed to their rightful owners; then he
took his own automatic from behind the bar, and the five negroes started
in a swift run for Gaitskill’s home.
By the time they had climbed to the top of the hill on which the fine
colonial home was located, they entered the yard, breathless and
panting. From that high point they could look out over the village,
glowing in the darkness like a great firefly, with its countless lights
on the crooked streets and its glowing windows. But their attention was
concentrated upon the house before them. The drawing-room glowed with
brilliant light.
Four of the men quickly went to the places assigned them and dropped
down in hiding. Skeeter sneaked from shrub to shrub, lay down and
crawled around rose-bushes, ran from the shelter of one tree across the
exposed and open places to the grateful shelter of another tree, until
he came close to one of the lighted windows. Reaching up, he straddled
the limb over his head and looked fearfully into the drawing-room.
He saw Hopey and Dazzle seated very comfortably. They seemed to be very
much amused at something, for they laughed constantly.
“Dis here is some kind of joke,” Skeeter muttered to himself as he
dropped from the limb. “I’ll sneak in de kitchen an’ come through de
house an’ supprise ’em.”
Slipping to the rear, he emitted a low whistle and located Hitch Diamond
by the meat-house, which gave him the courage to open the door of the
dark kitchen and enter.
There was not a negro in this rescue-party who was not thoroughly
familiar with the Gaitskill home. In the years past they had served in
that house in every capacity, and knew every room and closet, and the
contents of each. There were a dozen other homes in Tickfall with which
they were equally familiar, for the good house servant is a privileged
character in the house, and his presence in the home is coveted by every
housekeeper.
So it was no trouble for Skeeter to find his way in the dark to the
lighted drawing-room.
A bellow of fright from Hopey and a squeal of terror from Dazzle greeted
him as he stepped from behind a door with a pistol in his hand.
“Whut you got to say now, Hopey?” Dazzle exclaimed, when she recovered
from her fright. “I tole you Skeeter wus a brave nigger——”
There was a loud clatter at the front door, and Pap Curtain’s voice
spoke:
“Open dis door, Skeeter! Hurry!”
Skeeter sprang to the door and threw it open. Little Bit, panting,
dripping with perspiration, and almost exhausted, was pushed into the
room by Pap Curtain, who had to support him to prevent his falling to
the floor. In the blaze of light which came through the open door,
Figger and Mustard and Hitch got the courage to come out from their
hiding-places and listen.
“Bad luck, Skeeter!” Little Bit panted. “I ain’t know whut kind of
nigger bizziness dis is, but you-alls is got yo’selfs in a jam.”
“How you know?” Skeeter quavered.
“I answered de telerphome,” Little Bit gasped.
“Whut did it say?” Skeeter asked desperately.
“It say—it say—de gal at de telerphome orfice say she listened in when
Dazzle phomed to you, an’ dat she has called all de white folks in
Tickfall up an’ tole ’em dat Marse Tom’s house wus being robbed!”
Thereupon Hopey Prophet walked to the electric-light switch and turned
out every light. There are those who love darkness rather than light
because their deeds are evil.
“Listen!” Pap exclaimed tragically. “I kin hear dem white folks comin’
now!”
Indeed, it was not difficult to hear the sound of running feet. A moment
later could be heard the galloping feet of horses. Then automobile
lights began to whip the darkness as they turned the corners at high
speed and roared like speeding beasts as they came up the long hill.
Then, in the darkness, a great light fell on Skeeter.
“Us niggers oughtn’t to be here when de white folks come,” he wailed.
“Ef dey ketch us in here, dey’ll put us in jail. Ef dey see us leavin’,
dey’ll shoot us!”
“Easy, eve’ybody!” Pap Curtain hissed as he opened the front door. “Git
still!”
Then a low sigh of disappointment escaped from every throat. The front
lawn was all aquiver with the dark shadows of moving men!
“Good-by, fair world!” Figger Bush whimpered. “Us is caught like a bug
in a jug.”
“Shut up!” Pap Curtain snarled. “Whar kin we hide?”
“Git up on de roof!” Skeeter Butts suggested. “Dar’s a ladder in de
attic, an’ we kin climb through a trap-door to de roof.”
Eight negroes went shuffling up the steps toward the top of the house
just as the clatter of feet sounded upon the porch, and the front door
was pushed open.
Four perspiring negroes boosted Hopey up the ladder, and pushed her
capacious form through the narrow square opening to the roof. Then they
cautiously lowered the door and gratefully seated themselves upon it.
“Safe!” Skeeter exulted. “Us is safe!”
Alas! He did not know that the door he was sitting on had a catch-lock
on the inside, and that he and his friends were on that roof to stay
until rescued!