KENNETH did not see the dark forms that crouched like tigers in the
shrubbery on either side of the long walk that led to the gate. But
as he reached the ground, he turned just in time to see a shadowy
body hurl itself upon him. Instinctively his right arm shot outwards
and upwards. His clenched fist met flush on the point of the jaw the
man who had attempted to hurl him to the ground. His would-be
assailant gave a deep grunt and fell to the ground at Kenneth's
feet.
Before he hit the ground, however, Kenneth found himself surrounded
by a cursing, howling crowd. He lashed out blindly—hitting wherever
he saw what seemed to be a form. Madly, desperately, gloriously he
fought! For a time he was more than a match for the fifteen that
assailed him. He did not know that they had expected to take him by
surprise. The surprise was now theirs. He heard a voice shout at him
in rage: "Sleepin' with a white woman, eh! You dirty black bastard!"
With superhuman strength born of hatred, bitterness, and despair, he
lunged at the speaker. Almost at the same time that his fist landed
in the man's face, his foot went into his stomach with a vengeance.
He put into the blow and the kick all the repressed hatred and
passion the day's revelations had brought forth.
It seemed to him he had been fighting there for hours, days, months!
The odds fifteen to one against him—his strength was as of the
fifteen combined. No Marquis of Queensberry rules here! He knew it
was a fight to the death, and he yelled aloud for sheer joy of the
combat! In the darkness his assailants could not lay hands on him,
for he was here, there, everywhere—hitting, kicking, whirling,
ducking blows, jumping this way and that—a veritable dervish of the
deserts in his gyrations! One after another his opponents went down
at his feet! Windows began to be raised at the tumult. Shouts and
cries of inquiry filled the air. But still Kenneth fought on.
At last he saw an opening. Out went his fist! Down went the man who
met it with his face! Shaking off one who sought to grasp him from
behind, Kenneth stepped over the body of the one who had just gone
down before him, and, like an expert half-back running in a broken
field, darted out to the sidewalk.
Fifty—forty—thirty—twenty—ten—five more yards and he'd be in his car
and away! At last, he reached it! Feverishly he wrenched open the
door! He started to spring in! They'd never get him now!
A shot rang out! Another! Another! Kenneth's arm flew up. With a low
moan he sank to the street beneath the car. He tried to rise. He
couldn't. The bullet had shattered his leg! On they came, howling,
gloating fiendishly—their rage increased by the mess they'd made of
what was intended should be an easy job! Kenneth saw them come! He
groaned and tried to draw the gun from his hip pocket. It hung in
his clothing, pinned down as he was! If I only can get one or two of
them, he thought, before they get me! On they came! The gun stuck!
They had him! They pulled him out from beneath the car! …
The next morning, in a house in the coloured section of Central
City, there sat a girl. … Her eyes were dry. … Her face was that of
despair. … Her grief was too deep for tears. … In her lap there lay
a soft, white, lustrous, fluffy mass. … It looked like cream
charmeuse … looked like a wedding-gown. … A woman entered the room.
… Her eyes were haggard. … Around her shoulders an apron. … She'd
put it on, thinking it a shawl. …
"Honey! Honey!" she cried. "Mamie was sleeping … so I ran over a
minute."… She put her arms around the younger woman tenderly. … The
dam broke. … The relief of tears came. … Hot, blinding, scalding
tears rained down on the soft mass that now would never be used. …
And the women cried together. …
In the newspapers of the country there appeared the same day an
Associated Press dispatch. It was sent out by Nat Phelps, editor of
the Central City _Dispatch_ and local agent for the Associated
Press. It read:
ANOTHER NEGRO LYNCHED IN GEORGIA
CENTRAL CITY, Ga., Sept. 15. — "Doc" Harper, a negro, was lynched
here to-night, charged with attempted criminal assault on a white
woman, the wife of a prominent citizen of this city. The husband
was away from the city on business at the time, his wife and young
daughter, who is seriously ill, being alone in the house. Harper
evidently became frightened before accomplishing his purpose and
was caught as he ran from the house. He is said to have confessed
before being put to death by a mob which numbered five thousand. He
was burned at the stake.
This is the second lynching in Central City this week. On Thursday
morning Bob Harper, a brother of the Negro lynched to-day, was
killed by a posse after he had run amuck and killed two young white
men. No reason could be found for their murder at the hands of the
Negro, as they had always borne excellent reputations in the
community. It is thought the Negro had become temporarily insane.
In a telegram to the Governor to-day, Sheriff Parker reported that
all was quiet in the city and he anticipated no further trouble.