Cy in Chains (26 page)

Aunt Miriam looked sorrowful. “You men all alike,” she sighed. “Ain't gonna sit and hide when y'all can be out on the freedom road. In my time, I seen many a man do the same thing. Some of 'em made it all the way north, I reckon. Never heard back from 'em, though . . . Just helped 'em as best I could.”

Evening was approaching fast. Aunt Miriam loaded them both with food, and she gave Cy a water bottle made of tanned leather. She told them of back roads, just narrow lanes, from her place up toward Tifton, and how to go around the town to the west. Eventually, they'd have to cross the Alapaha River, but that should be no problem, since the weather had been dry.

Memory taunted Cy.
Last time you come to a river, you let your friend drown
. Cy pushed the thought from his mind. It was time to go.

Aunt Miriam prayed for their safety. She held Billy close and told him to be brave, that everything would be all right, and that he should come back to see her one day.

Then she put her hands on Cy's shoulders. “I ain't got to tell you that it a long road toward home. It gon' be hard travelin' at night, but at least the moon be full, and it can light yo' way. Look for places where black folks live and ask 'em to help you, if you feel like they's trustworthy. And God go with you, son. You took a stand 'gainst the powers and principalities what rule this dark world, and that count for a lot. One day, the freedom so many died for is gon' really come to us. I pray you lives to see that day.”

Pride rose in Cy's heart. “Thank you for everything, Aunt Miriam.” He threw himself into the woman's arms and let her hold him close.

T
HE JOURNEY WAS SLOW
. A
T FIRST
, C
Y FEARED
Billy wouldn't keep up, that he'd lose courage. But Billy did more than keep up. Sometimes he took the lead and then urged Cy to hurry.

By dawn, Cy figured they'd traveled several miles, although he couldn't be sure. As the sun rose, they left the narrow road and plunged into the thickest woods they could find. There they drank from the water bottle, ate some cold cornpone, and prepared to rest. Cy said he'd take the first watch, so Billy lay down, put his pack under his head, and dropped into sleep.

Now Cy had time to think. Tonight they would pass Tifton and make their way to the river. Beyond that, he believed they would be safe. Aunt Miriam had mentioned the names of other towns, but he couldn't remember them. They had to keep going north, and Simon had said to head east, too.

All at once, it felt like too much. Cy had never seen a mountain, but Louisville and his father seemed to lie at the top of a mountain so high he couldn't see it from the plain where he stood. The peak was there, but hidden in clouds, the road to the top narrow and steep. How could he ever get there? He had no choice but to try.

Cy meant to stay awake, but he couldn't keep his eyes from closing. When he roused, the sun was overhead. Billy woke up and they ate, found water in a low place, and felt safe enough to sleep again.

In the late afternoon, Cy decided it was time to move. They returned to the path, which had become a wagon road winding through woods and then skirting plowed land. Passing small farms, they had to be doubly careful. When more and more homesteads lined the roadside and the road joined another, broader one, Cy felt sure that Tifton lay just to the east.

They heard the sound of a wagon approaching and fled into the underbrush. From hiding, they watched as a wagon driven by an elderly black man passed by. Not far behind him, three white men on horses appeared. They had rifles on their saddles and they looked like men riding with a purpose. Cy sensed that these men were looking for him. They were his enemies.

He and Billy went back into thick pine woods and found shelter. Not until well after dark did they start moving again.

Now Cy drove Billy forward. They had to get past Tifton and make it to the river. They returned to the main road but dared not travel on it. They kept it to their right, in sight but far enough away that they could find cover if someone came along. As the night wore on, they passed fewer and fewer farms, and finally saw no lights anywhere. Cy breathed easier. Exhausted from pushing through tangles of blackberry and wild roses, they went back onto the road. How far was the Alapaha, Cy wondered.

When the sky was beginning to lighten in the east, Cy could hear the sound of bullfrogs ahead. Then the soft sound of slowly moving water. The road dipped downward, and he could just make out the river.

“Let's get off the road,” Cy told Billy. They moved to their left and then down an embankment toward the water. On the far side, a small, flat-bottomed ferry barge was tied. Somebody was making money from travelers who needed to cross.

“We got to swim,” Cy told Billy. “You can swim, can't you?”

“Sure I can. Can you?”

“Yeah. Let's look for a place.”

They kept moving to the left, searching for a spot that looked both narrow and shallow. Cy knew that the narrow places in a river were often the deepest. The dark water worried him. Memories of trying to save Travis crowded back now, as clear and sharp as if that terrible day had been only yesterday. He didn't want to go into the water, soak his pack and the food in it, risk running into a snag or a cottonmouth.

Somewhere behind them a horse whinnied. Somewhere a man's voice said something and another man hushed him.

Billy and Cy dropped to the ground. The sound of voices had ceased, replaced by the sound of horses' hooves.

“We got to cross,” Billy whispered.

“Let's go!” Cy urged.

They scurried down to the water's edge. The sound of hoofbeats grew louder. The riders were nearly at the river. Cy and Billy had to go now or risk being caught. But if they went together, the men chasing them could shoot them both as they swam. No, it would be better to let Billy go first while he, Cy, stayed behind to deal with their pursuers.

Cy turned to Billy. “You
sure
you can swim?”

“I told you! Why?”

“Listen. I want you to go—go now. Swim to the other side, hard as you can. Then hide and wait. I'll be along soon.”

“Naw! You gotta be with me!”

“Too dangerous! Whoever is comin' is lookin' for us, and if they sees us in the river, they can shoot us both. We wouldn't have no way to fight back.”

“How you know they after us?”

“I just do. Why else anybody be ridin' through the night? They lookin' for us, and they ain't gonna stop till they finds us. You got to swim for it. I can stay, see what's what. If I don't join you, you keep goin', you hear?”

“No, Cy! We's in this together!”

“Do what I say! If I don't make it, you keep goin' till you get up to Louisville. Find Daddy. Tell him what happened. Tell him—I love him. And you be his son.”

Billy was crying. “Naw! I can't make it by myself.”

“You can. You got to!” Cy's hand found the loaded pistol tucked into his belt. “I'll hold 'em off if I have to, give you a chance to get across safe.”

Billy grabbed Cy's arm. “I ain't leavin' you!”

“Yeah, you are. This is the best way. Ain't nothin' gonna happen. Pretty soon, I'll join you. Please, Billy. Do this one thing for me.”

“Cy—”

He pushed Billy into the water. “Quiet!” he whispered. “Don't let 'em hear you.”

“I'll see you on the other side.”

“Soon,” Cy promised.

Billy waded in a few more steps, then started to swim, taking strong, sure strokes. Cy guessed he was trying to be quiet, but he was making plenty of noise, kicking hard for speed.

Behind him, Cy heard men tell their horses to stop. Then came the sound of low conversation. He crept through the underbrush back toward the road, then flattened himself in some tall weeds and listened.

There were two horses. Their riders had dismounted and stood surveying the river.

The sounds of Billy's swimming had stopped, and the men gave no sign they'd heard anything. Maybe Billy was treading water, trying to be silent until the riders went away.

“How soon you reckon the ferryman gonna show up?”

“It don't matter,” said the second voice. “This river ain't deep. Horses can almost walk across, and we're in a hurry.”

Horror washed over Cy, then deadly hatred at the sound of that voice. He would recognize it anywhere.

Prescott.

Cy pulled the pistol from his belt. This was his chance for revenge. He could ambush both men, drag their bodies off the road, and ride one of their horses across the river. Then he and Billy could really make good time. They'd be in Louisville in a couple of days, instead of a week.

Kill two more white men
. He thought about that for a moment. Well, why not? He'd started a job back at Cain's camp, and now he could finish it. Besides, Prescott had it coming.

Just then, there was a cry off to his left. “Help, Cy! I's caught!”

To Cy's right, the man who was not Prescott exclaimed, “What's that?”

“Pay dirt!” Prescott cried.

Cy heard frantic splashing from the river. If Billy had gotten tangled in something he couldn't see, he was struggling now to get free.

“Come on!” Prescott told his companion. “Let's find out what we got.”

Cy saw the men start toward his hiding place. He jumped to his feet and darted behind a tree, pistol at the ready.

Behind him, the splashing continued.

The men came closer.

Cy stepped into the open. “Stop!” he shouted.

The men did.

“Put up your hands,” Cy ordered.

They did that, too.

“You all right, Billy?” Cy called.

“Yeah,” Billy called back. “I made it.”

“Out of the water?”

“Yeah.”

“Keep goin'. I be with you soon.”

Prescott took a step toward him, and Cy aimed the pistol at him. “I told you not to move.”

The other man was a stranger, and by the look of him, not much older than Jess. He was hatless, and his hair was so light that it appeared almost white. His face was smooth.

Prescott kept his hands up. The familiar, amused sneer appeared on his face. “Well, what have we here? A nigger with a gun.” He looked at his companion. “You ever reckon you'd live long enough to see such a sight, Lem? Kinda like seein' a pig readin' a newspaper.”

Lem's hand found the handle of the pistol holstered on his right side, but the man said nothing.

Prescott kept his eyes fixed on Cy. “Where'd you get yer new toy? Off Cain's body after you cut his throat? That the weapon you used to blow Stryker's brains out while he was sleepin'?” Prescott shook his head. “You're a real brave fellow, ain't you? More'n a match for defenseless men tryin' to get some sleep.”

“If you don't turn around and leave now,” Cy said, “you gonna end up just like your friends.” He wanted to keep Prescott talking as long as he could, give Billy more time to get away.

“You might as well put that down,” Prescott told Cy. “Ain't no way you can take both of us, even carryin' a white man's gun, which you stole from him after you murdered him, you yellow-bellied coward.”

“Shut up!” Cy cried. “I's tellin' you to get on your horses and go back the way you come.”

“You ain't got the guts to shoot a white man who's lookin' you in the eye,” Prescott told him. He glanced at Lem, and Cy instantly understood the meaning of that look.

Both men went for their guns, and Cy fired at Prescott, who grunted and crashed over backwards. At the same moment, Lem's gun went off, and Cy cried out as the bullet tore into his shoulder. He staggered and fell, and then Lem was standing over him.

“Cy!” Billy cried from the other side of the river.

“Run!” he shouted back. “Don't stop until you safe!”

Just then, Lem drew back his foot and kicked Cy on the side of his head.

I
T WAS EVENING NOW, AND
C
Y'S SUPPER PLATE
, the food untouched, sat on the floor of the cell. He was hunched on the side of the narrow cot, his head down, a hand touching the knot on his skull where Lem's boot had smashed into it. What was the point of eating? They would hang him in the morning.

He remembered coming to, finding his hands tied behind him—just the way John Strong had tied him the day Travis had died in the Ogeechee River.

He had watched the man he knew only as Lem heave Prescott's body onto the back of one of the horses and tie it there. He remembered being hoisted into the saddle of that same horse. He didn't like the touch of the dead man's body against his.

Then the long ride to Moultrie, with folks stopping to stare as they passed. Lem boasted how he'd bagged one of the ringleaders of the uprising at Cain's camp and would collect the bounty money.

As they rode, Lem had told Cy he would have shot him on the spot—that would have been easier. He'd been itching to put another bullet into Cy, seeing as how Cy had killed his friend Prescott; he could still have collected some of the cash reward for bringing in a dead nigger. But the authorities wanted the killers alive, if possible, to tell the truth of what had happened at Cain's camp.

Back in Moultrie, a mob of furious white men was waiting at the jail, calling for Cy to be lynched on the spot. But the sheriff made them back off. This was a civilized state, he told the crowd, and they were on the threshold of the twentieth century. There'd be no lawlessness in his town.

White men jammed the jail, demanding answers to their questions. Cy answered them simply and honestly. He knew there was no point in lying, not now. Yes, the whole thing was his idea. He'd put Rosalee up to it, and she'd done her part, then gone her way. Cy suspected she'd managed to escape. He hoped so, even though she'd left without him. Otherwise, someone would have let it slip that she'd been caught.