All God's Dangers (10 page)

“Here come that sonofabitch, here come that sonofabitch. Come on, I'll meet you on halfway ground.”

And when he met me there, got up in good reach of me, his body right next to mine, I whaled him right up a side of his head just as hard as I could hit. One piece of that plank flew off yonder way and another dropped right down at him and I had about two feet in my hand. God bless your soul, the ground caught him. I jumped right straddle of his body and stood there. By that time his old mammy let into hollerin and squallin—but I just stood there over him and if he'd a wiggled I'd a beat his brains out. Never moved, knocked him clean unconscious. He overcome it after a while—and his old mammy hollered when I hit him and stood over him and he wouldn't get up in a jiffy. I was bound to hit him a death lick in the head if he'd a ever moved. Still as a mouse, I seed there weren't no get-up to him, I dropped that piece and run off across the yard and I went around the north corner of the house where they slept and stopped. Looked backwards, peeped around; well, he weren't gettin up any. His old mammy squallin, “Whaaaaaaaaaaoooooooo—” Lord, she was scared of his death, she was just scared to death.

“Done killed my child. Mr. Flint, that nasty stinkin nigger done killed my child.”

What you reckon that white man done? He grabbed his double barrel breech-loader and runned out there in his draws, me peepin around the corner of that house lookin at him. I heard what was said.

“O, Mr. Flint, that nasty stinkin nigger come here to kill my child tonight; he come here to kill him.”

Old Flint said, “Where is he? Where is he?”

He lookin, standin out there in his draws, me spyin round the corner of the house at him.

“Lord, Mr. Flint, he's gone, he's gone.”

Tyler Fox was standin there, old man Frank Milliken—nobody didn't know where I was; they thought I'd gone. Standin there peepin round the corner of that house watchin Luke Milliken to see if he'd be able to get up. I was mad as a wet hen then. Old man Flint standin there, double barrel breech-loader in his hands, didn't have nothin on but his sleepers and them was his draws, two piece worth. Old Luke was still on the ground, too. My mind told me to hustle away from there. I runned to the other corner of the house and there was a hog pasture fence joined the corner, and I jumped that fence—when I done that, Tyler Fox found it out. He heard me runnin and he runned to the hog fence up there where it joined the yard, round the back of that house, and he jumped the fence too, and runned down across the hog pasture, leavin fast. He was gettin away from there because he thought I done killed Luke Milliken. And I whistled, called Tyler a low whistle and he heard me. He stopped when he detected who it was and I runned up to him.

“Fella, fella,” he said, “you done killed him, you done killed him,” just that way. And said, “You better be gettin away from here.”

My first thought was this: O, he'll get up directly. I said, “I aint goin no damn where, Tyler.”

He said, “If you leave, we'll leave together, we'll leave together.”

He hadn't picked out no place nowhere, only just leave from here. And so, after I told Tyler I weren't goin no damn where, he kept insistin, “You better leave, you better leave.”

Told him, “No, I aint goin no damn where. I'm goin up here in the pine thickets so I can hear what's said. I'm goin to set down here until I hear whether he ever get up or not.”

So we went out there in the pine thickets after leavin the house, just a little piece above the hog pasture and set down. After awhile, Luke's mammy squalled out again. I decided that Luke must have asked about me—I knowed I hadn't killed him then—and I heard her holler this way:

“Lord, honey, that nasty stinkin nigger is gone.”

He had to be alive to make her speak that way. He had to come to his senses enough to ask her a question. And she just told him directly, “Lord, that nasty stinkin nigger is gone. He come here tonight to kill you, he come here to kill you.”

When she got done talkin I raised up. I said, “No, I aint gone no damn where. Here I am over in the pine thickets. Come over here, Luke, come over here.”

O, she heard that; she hollered back, “You better get out from over there. Luke has got Mr. Flint's gun and he's goin to kill you.”

I said, “Come on over here; here I am.”

Egged him out three or four different times.

“Come on over here, I's over here in the pine thickets. I'm nowhere by the house.”

After a while I heard the gun shoot. And when it shot, it shot over in the direction where we was; but the gun was throwed in the air, only shot it for a scare. Couldn't see us—and if a piece of shot had struck me, the devil in hell couldn't a kept me from killin him. Only reason I wouldn't a got him I'd a been tied down.

When that gun shot—BOOM—I heard somebody runnin, and I didn't know whether it was his mammy shot for a bluff, or Flint or Luke, but whoever shot that gun, when the report of that gun went off, I heard em just runnin up them steps goin back in the house.

Next mornin, I went right back through that yard. Didn't see Luke nowhere about the house. I wanted to get him, I wanted to beat him up still. I was liable to kill him if I'd a got my hands on him that mornin—the way he come at me with that knife and I hadn't said a cross word to him. I never used a cuss word in that old white man's house to nobody. And the thing worked out like it did, him tryin to cut my heart out.

So that next mornin I went right back to Mr. Knowland, me and Tyler Fox together. Walked through the yard, didn't see Luke around the house there nowhere. I knowed he generally fed old man Flint's mules—had two mules there. Fed em, seed after em—and as I walked on through the back yard, me and Tyler, we hit the road comin down on the west side of the house; hit the road at a old wagon shelter and the road run straight from there to where we was workin. And I looked way out there at a outer edge of a patch just on up the left side of the road and there was Luke comin out
the lot gate with his feed basket. He seed me and stopped. I just went on out there to the gate where he was that mornin. He seed I was comin and he went anglin off to keep from meetin me. I walked up just about twenty yards from him. I said, “Luke, how come you treat me like you done last night? I hadn't done a thing to you. I just estimated you got hot as the devil with me off of what your mammy was sayin.”

He said, “I didn't do nothin to you. You see here, look what a scar you put up aside of my head and I didn't do nothin to you.”

I said, “You didn't try to cut my clothes off me? Luke, I'm goin to kill you.”

That time I made a dash at him. God almighty, talk about runnin, he hauled ass. Well, I wouldn't run back in the yard at him, just let him go. I'd a fastened him that mornin; when I'd a got done with him he'd a been one beat up soul. He was a little older than I was but I was his match.

Me and Tyler went on then—Luke runned on in the white man's yard; I didn't attempt to follow him. Didn't have no fence around the yard at all to enclose the yard in, house in. Me and Tyler went on then to Mr. Knowland's. Flint had an old place went by the name of the Sutter place, small old plantation back beyond the creek. That mornin after we got to Mr. Knowland's, Mr. Knowland and his wife got on the buggy and left, went wherever they wanted to go. And up in the mornin a while, I looked down there through the grove and comin through there was Luke and his uncle, goin down on the Sutter place. Well, I stopped em out there in the grove in front of Mr. Knowland's house. And I just got dead at Luke's ass, just as hot at it as a dog would a rabbit. And he runned around hidin behind his uncle, old man Frank Milliken, tryin to keep from me. Well, old man Frank was a heavy-bodied man and that there Luke was just holdin to him to keep me off. And Uncle Frank was turnin, keepin up with him in a way to keep me from him. I seed that. Well, I wouldn't have no rally with him there before Uncle Frank. He just begged me to let Luke alone—never said a word out the way to me, just begged me to let him alone, let him go. I tried to grab him several times and every time I tried, Uncle Frank would protect him. Luke behind Uncle Frank and Uncle Frank floodin every way to keep me from Luke and Luke was doin all he could to keep out of my hands. I eventually let him alone, let him go on. Luke never did give me a minute's trouble after that. He
wouldn't never give me a fair fight, and tell the truth, after he had cut my clothes thataway I didn't want no fair fight. I just cooled on him, paid him no attention. But he stayed scared of me and I had him in my power.

As I growed up in the world, I started off obeyin white folks' orders every way except white man come up to me and ask me, “What about So-and-so over yonder? What did he do? What did he say? What did he come over here for?” And all like that. I learnt years ago to keep my tongue still. But I also learnt to obey the white man. I aint quit that yet in some ways. My daddy told me, many a time, to obey the white man, do what he tell you to do and avoid trouble; and also, even my daddy's ways and actions told me that. My daddy stood back off of white folks considerably. First year he hired me out, I found out my daddy's weakness toward white folks. But it was just a matter he thought he had to go thataway; he was born and raised in slavery habits. He shunned white people, never did give a white man no trouble, not in my history. He'd make out like sometimes he told em this, that, and the other and he done this, that, and the other, but I never did see him do it.

Well, 1904, I heard him say one day, tell me— And old lady Silvy Turpin, that was one of my daddy's women—I'm goin to sweep the floor clean as I go—I was born up around old lady Silvy Turpin, Will Turpin's mammy. She had a mess of boys but she was only the mother of two girls, Inez and Martha. And this Aunt Inez was the mother of Tyler Fox. He was darker-skinned than I am and I know a colored man was his daddy. And Martha had a daughter named Lottie—a white man was Lottie's daddy. Hair hung off Lottie's head just like it hung off a white gal's head. Well, old lady Silvy raised up them two grandchildren, Tyler and Lottie. And Tyler went in the name of a Fox.

The year me and Tyler worked together, Mr. Knowland had a log house on his place he had built for colored folks, set about a quarter mile from the main house or a little further. And my daddy went together with old lady Silvy Turpin and put in bed clothes, put a bed in that house for us to sleep there on Mr. Knowland's place and gived us orders, told Mr. Knowland about it—we was to come home every night we wanted to, spend the night with our
parents where they would keep a check on us. And every once in a while Tyler would go to his grandma's house and I'd go up to my daddy's house, spend the night. Next mornin we would get up—didn't live far apart; my daddy and old lady Silvy didn't live as far apart as from here to the crossroads out yonder. Of a mornin me and Tyler would get up and go back to Mr. Knowland, to our jobs—farmin, drivin cows. Mr. Knowland had us both hired by the month.

So one night we goes home. And my daddy lived about three quarters of a mile from old man Jim Flint, who Luke Milliken was the mainline nigger for. My daddy had some corn down on Sitimachas Creek, nice corn—old man Flint had a drove of cattle. I went home one night and I learnt that Jim Flint's cattle was breakin in that corn on the creek, eatin my daddy's corn up. My daddy set there in the house that night and we was talkin. He told me, “Son, old man Jim Flint's cows is just ruinin my corn down on Sitimachas.”

Well, I knowed that white man was in the habit of lettin his stock destroy what folks had and there was nothin to it, especially if it was a nigger; and it had to be a Negro, didn't no white people live close to him.

Said, “Son, Jim Flint's cows is just ruinin my bottom of corn down on Sitimachas.”

I said, “Do what, Papa?”

He said, “Yeah, just ruinin it.”

I was close to grown. I set there and looked at him, studied over it.

I said, “Eatin up your corn on the creek!”

I was feelin my man, gettin up close to grown. If a young fellow ever take on and feel like he's a man, he'll start it close to the time when he's eighteen, nineteen years old. He'll begin to feel himself and I begin to feel myself too. That's no lie; and I always wanted to see the right thing done.

I said, “Well, he goin to keep them cows out of your corn and I don't mean maybe, he's goin to keep em out of there.”

My daddy set and listened at me. He didn't know how I felt. I felt right then that I was a man and I begin to take on man ways, man acts, so far as right. I didn't want to impose on nobody; I was always taught by my daddy to treat people with care and respect,
colored and white. And I had to treat the whites right; didn't, there was trouble. I wasn't sassy and impudent to nobody, but I done got to the wrong age on me then to feel like it was right for folks to run over me or run over my folks.

I said, “Yeah, I don't mean maybe. He goin to keep them cows out of your corn.”

He looked at me, said, “Son, don't say nothin about it; might cause trouble.”

When he said that word to me it touched me and touched me very deep. Man's stock eatin up his corn, destroyin his crop, and he wouldn't say nothin to him and didn't want me to say nothin.

I said, “In the mornin when I go back through his yard I'm goin to tell him what-and-what about that.”

I meant—I might have been a little wrong, but it was wrong for him to let them stock eat up my daddy's crop of corn—I meant, sure enough, I was goin to approach the man with it if God give me a chance.

I walked through there that mornin, me and Tyler Fox; I stopped. And old lady Polly was in the house—the whole community knowed Flint was usin her for a wife, but niggers wouldn't meddle with it because they was scared. And I didn't meddle with it, I didn't care nothin about it; I didn't think it was right but then, I realized it was the wrong thing for me to busy myself about when it had been goin on ever since I was big enough to know anything. Paid no attention to it; weren't nothin to me, weren't hurtin me and weren't buildin me up noway.