Part 16

Rattlesnake’s body lay out in a level line, nose, shoulder, back, and his flying legs were a yellow blur beneath his straining body. But not all the thunder of his going could deaden the sound of that fearful rattle, which whirred like the wind in his ears, stirring the remembrance of suffering and sickness and the agony of the cauterizing iron!

Faster, faster, faster Rattlesnake ran, his feet spurning the brown carpet of turf beneath him, his crippled hind leg limbering up for the last time in his life and shooting his body forward like the piston rod of an engine.

The race was won in an incredible time.

As the terrified horse shot under the wire Shin reached behind his saddle and tore loose the cords which held the rattles flapping around the animal’s flanks; then he ran his hands through the plaited mane and pulled off the rattles which whirred behind Rattlesnake’s ears, and the horse slowly slackened his speed and stopped, his sides heaving, his breath coming and going like a giant bellows.

When the other horses came in Shin rode slowly back and held up his hand.

“Judges?” he called.

Vinegar Atts nodded his head and waved his hand toward the stable.

When Shin Bone dismounted at the stall Whiffle Boone ran forward with the tears running down her laughing face.

She jerked Shin’s hat from his head, turned it upside down on the ground and filled it with money. Then she threw her arms around the graceful, throbbing, sweating neck of the big sorrel horse.

“We win!” she sobbed. “Bless Gawd! We win!”

* * * * *

All this happened three years ago, and there has never been another race at any Tickfall Negro Fair.

For three years Shin Bone’s wife has been in charge of the restaurant which she bought with her winnings in the last great race. For three years Shin Bone has met every train with a light wagon drawn by a pie-faced, stiff-legged sorrel horse. His owner “wrastles trunks an’ gripsacks fer de white folks.” His horse is as fat as butter, but he runs away every time he hears a rattling sound.

Last fall Shin and Whiffle drove Rattlesnake out to the fairground and entered a two-year-old negro boy in the Better Babies’ contest. Colonel Tom Gaitskill had offered handsome prizes in this contest and was in charge.

“This is your son, Shin?” Gaitskill smiled as he entered the piccaninny’s name and age in a large book.

“Yes, suh.”

“I presume it is a eugenic, hygienic baby?” Gaitskill laughed.

“Yes, suh,” Shin replied, wondering at the same time what Gaitskill meant. “Yes, suh. He gits de you-jeans from his maw an’ de high-jeans from his paw. He’s a shore winner!”

Hoodoo Face.

I

THE STRANGER.

Dinner Gaze bore the air of a man who was perfectly satisfied with his personal appearance and sure of making a good impression upon all who beheld him.

He leaned back in his seat in the negro coach of the New Orleans accommodation, using the seat in front of him as a footstool. His legs were crossed with a display of glorious silk hosiery, his thumbs were anchored in the armholes of his gold and purple vest, his bright green cravat contained a bright yellow diamond, and his cigarette-stained fingers beat a happy tattoo upon the bosom of his shirt.

The face of Dinner Gaze was black, and as expressionless as the ugly mug of a dough man. There was a long mark upon his cheek where a bullet had missed the center of his face about two inches. There was a long knife-scar on the back and side of his neck. A bit of the upper part of his left ear was missing, sliced off smoothly with a sharp knife or razor. The end of one of his front teeth was broken off. His eyes were as steady and unwinking and shiny as two glass beads, his voice was low and soft and confidential in tone, and his heavy lips carried an habitual sneer.

Hitch Diamond, who sat beside him, was similarly satisfied.

Hitch’s appearance cried aloud his profession of pugilist. His face was a scarred ruin, battered and bruised in many a fistic battle until it resembled the face of the Sphinx since it has been pecked at and damaged by the souvenir hunters and sandstorms of the centuries. His ponderous hands looked like the gnarled and twisted roots of a scrub-oak tree, while his legs were like the Corinthian columns supporting the portico of a temple.

Hitch had made a trip to New Orleans for pugilistic purposes. At the end of the second round, Hitch had looked down at his opponent, then waved his gloved fist at the whooping crowd and remarked: “I know whut I done to dat coon! He’s gwine sleep a long time!” After which Hitch had collected a hatful of money and remained in New Orleans long enough to get it all nicely spent except a puny wad in one pocket of his shiny new pantaloons.

Every rag of clothes on Hitch’s giant body was entirely new. He was swathed in a Prince Albert coat, choked and tortured by a high collar and a stiff-bosomed shirt; a glorious silk hat, all white silk lining on the inside, and smooth, shiny, imitation beaver on the outside, rode on his head; while on his feet were a pair of patent-leather shoes which had caused him a world of trouble in the city.

He had walked for miles, in and out of the stores, seeking a pair of shiny shoes which would fit his immense feet. Shoe clerks had taken one look at those pedal extremities and had thrown up their hands in despair. But Hitch had persisted in his search, and now it was plainly apparent to all that Solomon in all his glory was not shod like such as he.

Dinner Gaze was listening with great interest to Hitch’s talk.

“I ain’t went to N’Awleens befo’ fer mighty nigh five year,” said Hitch as he extracted a long Perique stogie from the side-pocket of his gorgeous yellow waistcoat.

Dinner Gaze reached out, took the stogie from Hitch’s giant hand, and tossed it out of the window. He handed the pugilist a big, fat cigar with a broad gold band, and grinned in a friendly way. Then he said in his low, gentle voice:

“Ef you wants me to set by you, don’t smoke no roll of rags an’ garbage. Take a real seegar!”

“Thank ’e, suh,” Hitch murmured gratefully, removing the gold band and fitting it carefully upon his little finger where he admired it as a maiden admires her engagement ring. “I’s powerful sorry dar ain’t no lady folks in dis car to see me smoke dis. I ain’t never feel like I had enough money to ack liberal an’ buy real smokes.”

“Ain’t you spek dat you got a wad to tote home from de city wid you?” Gaze inquired carelessly, as he tore a page from a newspaper and began idly to roll it tightly.

“Shore!” Hitch chuckled. “I totes it in my behime hip-pocket next to my heart, whar unpious niggers totes dey gun. But most of dat is jes’ show money--’tain’t much, an’ I got it wropped up in a roll to make it look like a plenty. Fawty dollars is all whut is lef’ of my trip to de city--excusin’ de mem’ry of a dam’ good time, an’ dese clothes!”

“Whar you gwine now?” Dinner asked as he fumbled with his paper.

“I’s gittin’ off at Sawtown,” Hitch replied. “I been livin’ aroun’ in dis part of de worl’ all my life, an’ I ain’t never seed dat big saw-mill town yit. ’Tain’t been but ’bout fo’ year ago dat Sawtown started off--when dey sot dat big mill dar in de woods.”

“I’s proud I met up wid you, Revun,” Dinner Gaze said. “I lives in Sawtown, an’ I’ll show you all de good p’ints in de place.”

Hitch opened his mouth to deny that he was a preacher, but the negro’s natural love of the game of make-believe prevented him. His slow mind evolved the humor of the situation, and he bestowed a pious smile upon the man beside him.

“Thank ’e, suh. I ain’t gwine let nothin’ git past me. I’s gwine to all de shows, an’ drink all de ice-water I kin git, an’ chaw peanuts, an’ git right in de middle of de cullud high life.”

“Dat picayune way of seein’ Sawtown won’t git you nothin’,” Dinner Gaze grunted disgustedly. “Bust her wide open, Revun!”

“How is dat did?” Hitch wanted to know.

“I’ll show you!” Gaze told him.

“Whut job does you wuck at in Sawtown?” Hitch asked.

“I’m gittin’ ready to sot up a little nigger gamblin’-house in Sawtown now,” Dinner replied cautiously, after a moment’s hesitation. “Befo’ dat, I managed a string of nigger prize-fighters in N’Awleens.”

Hitch raised his battered head like an old, scarred war-horse when he hears the bugle-call for charge. Then he remembered that Gaze thought he was talking to a clergyman.

“Dat shore sounds familious to me,” Hitch laughed. “I used to be a prize-fighter my own se’f!”

“Hear dat, now!” Dinner Gaze exclaimed. “I knowed you an’ me wus kinnery when I fust cotch you wid my eye. How come you left de great perfesh?”

“A nigger put a chunk of lead in his glove an’ battered me clean acrost a wharf-boat,” Hitch narrated, drawing upon his imagination, and recalling an incident in the career of his friend, the Reverend Vinegar Atts. “Atter dat I felt a call to preach.”

“Mebbe you could come back,” Gaze suggested.

“Naw, suh,” Hitch grinned, quoting a remark he had heard Vinegar make. “Preachin’ is a plum’ sight safer. I kin git up befo’ a lot of Christyums an’ knock noses an’ pull hair an’ skin shins all I’m got a mind to, an’ all dey kin do is to turn aroun’ de yuther cheek. Ef dey hits back, dey ain’t pious!”

The odor of wet, sawed, sun-scorched lumber entered the car window. The suction of the moving train threw sawdust upon the seat where the feet of the two men rested. They were drawing near to the station at Sawtown.

“Revun,” Dinner asked, as he rose, “is you ever read up on dat Bible text whut says ‘I wus a stranger an’ I got took in’?”

“Suttinly,” Hitch prevaricated.

“My last advices to you is to keep a eye on de people in dis here Sawtown. Dey takes a stranger in good an’ plenty!”

Dinner dusted off his patent-leather shoes, adjusted his immaculate cuffs, felt of his green tie and his yellow diamond, lifted his Panama hat out of the rack, and brushed the cigar ashes off his gold and purple vest.

“Drap in de Hot-dog Club an’ gimme a look-on, Revun!” Gaze invited as he stepped into the aisle. “I handles a pretty peart gamblin’ game ef I do say it myse’f!”

The train stopped.

Dinner Gaze waited in the aisle, courteously permitting Hitch Diamond to precede him.

As Hitch passed out, Dinner Gaze cautiously elevated the tail of the pugilist’s Prince Albert coat, carefully thrust two scissors-like fingers into Hitch’s hip-pocket and drew out a small roll of money. In its place he thrust a wad of newspaper of about the same size. When the train had gone on, Hitch looked for his friend and could not find him.

“Dar now!” he exclaimed. “Dat wus a fine nigger man an’ I done loss him complete, an’ I even fergot to ax him whut wus his name!”

II

“TOOK IN.”

“De fust thing I needs is a sack of peanuts an’ a awange to cut de dust outen my throat,” Hitch said to himself, as he walked slowly down the village street.

He entered a small grocery, made his purchases, and thrust his fingers into his hip-pocket to bring forth his money.

Instead he extracted a wad of newspapers.

Hitch stupidly unfolded the paper, gazed at it with hypnotic fascination, searched all his pockets for his lost money, then searched them again, hunting for loose change.

The disgusted clerk tossed the bag of peanuts back into the roaster, laid the orange back on the shelf, walked over to a chair and sat down, his mind spluttering like wet fireworks with his unspoken comments on the colored race in general and Hitch in particular.

Hitch stumbled stupidly out of the store, broke and broken-hearted.

He looked around him uncertainly, then dragged his ponderous feet back toward the depot, hoping to find his lost money. After half an hour’s search he gave it up and started aimlessly toward the river.

Half-way down the block he met a tall negro whose face was slightly disfigured by a broken nose. The man wore a checkerboard suit of clothes, a cowboy hat, and a sport shirt. Hitch’s eyes fell first upon the emblem of a negro lodge which the man wore on the lapel of his coat.

Hitch eagerly laid hold upon his lodge brother, “I’s in powerful bad trouble, brudder,” he moaned. “I ain’t know nobody in dis town an’ I done loss all my money on my way to dis place. Whut kin be did?”

“De next best thing is to go down to de big mill an’ set on de buzz-saw,” the brother advised.

“Whut good will dat do me?” Hitch inquired.

“It’ll fix you so trouble won’t trouble you no more,” Checkerboard grinned, patting Hitch on his powerful back. “Atter you takes yo’ seat you won’t need no money--de Nights of Darkness lodge will bury yo’ remainders free fer nothin’ an’ sot you up a real nice tombstone.”

“I got plenty white folks in my own home town,” Hitch continued, paying no attention to his companion’s foolishness. “I mought could git some he’p mebbe ef I had somewhar to wait at ontil dey sont me de money.”

The checkerboard negro looked Hitch over; then his eyes narrowed and he smiled.

“As a lodge brudder in good standin’, I could lead you to my own house an’ keep you a little while,” Checkerboard remarked. “Whar is yo’ lodge pin?”

Hitch glanced down at the lapel of his coat.

“My gosh!” he mourned. “I done loss my money an’ my lodge breastpin too. Dat breastpin wus jes’ perzackly like de one you is got on an’ wus gib me by Skeeter Butts.”

“Suttinly,” Checkerboard laughed. “Dey is all made alike an’ look jes’ de same. Mebbe de feller whut touched yo’ wad frisked yo’ pin, too.”

“Dat’s whut happened,” Hitch sighed. “But it don’t he’p me none to know dat news.”

“You’se too blame young to be trabbelin’ alone,” Checkerboard snickered. “You needs a fust-rate gardeen. Foller atter me!”

He conducted Hitch to the rear of the big sawmill, led him through a maze of immense lumber piles, and brought him around the big mill-pond to a cluster of houses built by the owners of the mill for the occupancy of their negro employees.

There was one two-story house which looked like a barracks, and was intended for use by men who had no families. Into this Checkerboard led his companion.

“Set down, Revun,” he smiled. “Dis here is my boardin’-house. I keeps it fer de ’commodation of de nigger workers in de mill whut ain’t got no wifes an’ no home. Dey eats in dat eatin’-house down dar by de mill-pond an’ sleeps here.”

“It’s powerful hot in dis place,” Hitch complained as he seated himself.

“We keeps de winders down in de daytime because eve’ybody whut stays here is busy in de mill,” Checkerboard explained, as he pulled off his coat and hung it across his arm. “Pull off dat coat of yourn, an’ I’ll take yo’ stove-pipe hat an’ coat an’ hang ’em up wid mine.”

Hitch gratefully removed his hat and coat and sat down. He took a stogie from his vest-pocket and felt for a match.

“Don’t you wanter take off dat vest, too?” Checkerboard inquired. “You might git seegar ash all over it.”

“Dat’s right,” Hitch said, as he handed his friend the vest.

“Make yo’se’f at home, Revun,” Checkerboard said graciously. “Smoke all you please to--spit on de flo’--ack like you wus at yo’ own house! I got to hump aroun’ a leetle on bizzness befo’ de mill blows de whistle fer closin’ time. But I tells you in eggsvance, dat as fur’s I’m concerned, you kin stay in dis house fer a mont’.”

“You is a true lodge brudder,” Hitch rumbled in real gratitude. “I won’t never fergit you!”

Checkerboard left the room, walked through the hallway, passed out of the rear door, clambered down into a gulley, and carried Hitch’s clothes through a labyrinth of lumber piles to a place far, far away!

Hitch waited for nearly an hour for Checkerboard to return. Feeling the lack of companionship, he walked down to the mill-pond and accosted the slouchy negro woman in the kitchen of the eating-house.

To his surprise he learned that she had never seen nor heard of the man in the checkerboard suit.

“It ’pears to me like dese here folks ain’t plum’ honest,” Hitch mourned as he walked disconsolately around the mill-pond trying to find his way back to the village.

He spent a long time looking for the man who had his clothes, mumbling complainingly to himself the while. At last he wandered to the wharf on the Mississippi River and sat down with his back resting against a post.

His feet were unaccustomed to the wear of patent-leather shoes, and they felt swollen and tired. He took off his shoes, set them side by side in front of him, waved his feet in the cool river breeze, and gazed upon his footwear lovingly.

“I kin git me anodder hat an’ coat,” he muttered. “But dem shoes would be a powerful loss. Dar ain’t no more shoes in N’Awleens dat’ll fit my foots!”

Half a block away two little white boys were cutting monkey-shines on the sidewalk. In the dusty gutter one boy picked up a long, black stocking.

The two considered this find for a moment, then they gathered small sticks and thrust them into the stocking. One youth produced a ball of kite twine and tied an end of the twine around the open end of the stocking. After that, they dropped the stocking upon the pavement and pulled it along by the string, observing the effect.

“It wiggles all right,” they chuckled.

They looked around for a victim and spotted Hitch Diamond.

One of the boys held the stocking and concealed himself behind a pile of lumber on the wharf. The other boy, playing out the ball of twine, walked along the wharf, his bare feet making no sound. He passed close behind Hitch Diamond and stopped and concealed himself on the other side of some shipping about one hundred feet beyond the point where Hitch Diamond sat.

Then the boy with the ball began to wind the twine in. The long black stocking crawled up closer and closer to the inert form of Hitch Diamond.

Finally, when the stocking had wriggled grotesquely to within ten feet of Hitch Diamond, there was a loud whoop--a white boy ran from behind some lumber and shrieked:

“Look at that sna-a-a-ke, nigger! Jump!”

Hitch jumped.

He sprinted down the wharf a hundred yards, pattering along in his sock feet, leaving his precious shoes behind him.

The little white boy shrieked with laughter, picked up the wriggling stocking, and jumped next for Hitch’s shoes.

For a moment he paused, filled with awe when he beheld their monstrous and incredible size; then, doubtless reflecting upon their resemblance to a big mudscow, he put each shoe where a mudscow properly belongs--in the river!

“Hey, you nigger!” a wharf watchman called sharply, as Hitch, looking behind him, ran full tilt into the watchman’s portly form.

“’Scuse me, boss!” Hitch grunted.

The watchman hung three strong fingers in the collar of Hitch’s white shirt. Hitch didn’t like that. He pulled away. The watchman pulled too. The inevitable happened.

Hitch’s shirt tore half in two and hung limply in the watchman’s hands as Hitch raced down the wharf clad in socks, pants, and a red undershirt!

The watchman disgustedly tossed his spoils on top of a lumber pile and gave himself up to the placid contemplation of the flight of some gulls on the river.

“Lawd,” Hitch sighed, when he had dodged around the distant end of the wharf and had time to look down at his deficient apparel. “Dis here town shore is hard on clothes!”

III

FOURTEEN SWALLOWS.

Keeping the river levee between himself and the town so that no one could see him in his half-dressed condition, Hitch departed from the vicinity of Sawtown with expedition. When he reached the edge of the woods about a mile from the mill, he sat down to think a way out of his difficulties.

“My head is jes’ like a mule’s head,” he announced to himself. “I cain’t hold but only one notion at a time. I been thinkin’ so heavy all de time about my lost money dat I done loss all my good clothes, too. I oughter knowed better. Now I’s gwine git active an’ sot myse’f up in bizzness agin.”

He sat for a long time in deep, silent meditation, trying to extract an idea from his slow brain. Then he concluded:

“I drunk too much dram in N’Awleens. My head ain’t right. Ef I could git me a good dram now, mebbe I could think up a notion whut to do.”

In his impoverished condition he saw no way of buying a drink. He cast about to see what he possessed which he might exchange for one, and pulled out of his hip-pocket his silk socks, the joy and pride of his life in their glorious coloring--purple, striped with yellow!

“Dey costed me two dollars,” Hitch sighed as he gazed upon them fondly. “I could swap ’em off in Sawtown, but I ain’t gwine back dar no more. Ef I does, some nigger will steal my pants an’ my socks, too. Plenty of country niggers is got dram.”

He walked barefooted through the woods and came out at a level plantation some distance back from the river. In the middle of a cow-pasture, a tall, brown, bright-eyed negro watched Hitch approach with impassive curiosity.

“Howdy, my brudder!” Hitch boomed. “How am yo’ soul an’ spirit dis day?”

“De spirit is pretty low, elder,” the farmer replied. “De ole woman am got de dram all locked up tight.”

“How come you choose de lily-pad route an’ live on water?” Hitch asked in a disappointed tone.

“I got married,” the young negro responded with a grin.

Suddenly a big Jersey bull broke through the underbrush and came toward the two men, snorting, bellowing, pawing the ground, tossing the dirt upon his shoulders, and shaking his powerful head.

“Dat’s mine, stranger,” the young man remarked proudly, removing the top from a bucket on his arm and tossing a handful of salt at the animal’s feet. “He don’t like dat red undershirt of your’n. Ain’t him a dandy?”

“Shore is,” Hitch said meditatively. After a moment, he added: “Ef dat ole bull wus to hook one of us, I ’speck yo’ bride would affode us a little dram to stimulate us up.”

“I resigns in yo’ favor, elder,” the owner grinned. “Ef dis here beast wus to butt me, he’d jolt all my kinnery plum’ back to Afriky.”

There was a period of silent and fruitless meditation. Then, sorrowfully, Hitch Diamond reached to his hip-pocket and brought forth his purple socks with the yellow stripes--all, except his trousers, that remained of his former glory.

“Whut’s yo’ name?” Hitch asked.

“Dey calls me Dude Blackum because I got a gold tooth,” the other informed him.

“Whut is yo’ wife called?” Hitch asked next.

“Dainty.”

“I wants to make a little trade, Dude,” Hitch remarked, after he had told his own name. “Dese here socks costed me two dollars. My head ain’t thinkin’ right to-day. You is a heavy thinker. Ef you kin think up a sketch of how I kin git a dram right now, I’ll bestow dese here socks on you.”

“De trade is did!” Dude grinned, showing his gold tooth. “Lemme think!”

“Bawl out, nigger!” Hitch grumbled after a little wait. “Don’t keep me waitin’ here in expense no longer.”

“I wus studyin’ ’bout dis,” Dude said. “I’s got a little touch of lumbago in my legs. An’ mebbe, ef dat bull would jes’ butt me real easy like, an’ I’d kinder drap off in dat bayou an’ git wet, an’ den walk back home in drippy clothes wid dis mis’ry gnawin’ at my legs----”

Hitch’s face was so expressive of contempt that Dude stopped speaking.

“Is dat whut you call heavy thinkin’?” Hitch inquired in sarcastic tones. “Dat high-brow plan might steal you a nubbin of corn from a blind pig’s slop-trough. But Dainty ain’t no blind pig--dese here brides gits awful wise on deir husbunts atter dey marries ’em.”

“Wait till I finish, Hitch,” Dude begged. “Now, my view is dis: you go up to de house an’ cornverse Dainty till I comes in all wet an’ mournin’ ’bout how hurt I is. Atter I come in, you say to Dainty dat she better gimme a dram because I’s so crippled up. Of co’se, she will hab to be manners an’ gib you some, too.”

“Dar, now!” Hitch boomed. “You shore is a smart boy, Dude. Dat plan is accawdin’ to de Bible, wise as suppents an’ harmless as ducks. But”----

Here Hitch broke off and looked down at his clothes.