The Richmond palladium and sun-telegram. [volume] (Richmond, Ind.) 1907-1939, 1907-11-10
to the store for supplies, when his
watch told him five


watch told him five.
For some days he had not been off
the place. In the early cool OF the
evening something always begins to
be stirring at the store. Then the fus-
sy freight slow up. Then little trad
ing and much gossiping is done. Then
the ladies dress in blues and pinks
and sit on their narrow piazZas, rock
ing in hopeless rhythm, watching the
store and the station on the opposite
side of the track. So still is the air
that the least whisper Is borne to their
ears; while the strident squeals of
the pigs as they fight about the door
of the gin, where corn is being ground,
smite the ears sharply and vulgarize
the calm of the slowly descending
night
Bud Ceagle dreaded TO go down this
evening. The implacabie sun that
gives life to the black man had left
him depressed and weak. He did not
feel like coping with the thinly yelled
sarcasms of Col. Fingar-an unkempt
satrap of an unkempt province-as he
sat, surrounded by his dogs and de-
DCuuSuLS, Oll WillltlCu DChNhp UNIV
ting clouds Of acrid smoke.
Bud rode past Uncle Wash's cabin
and called out moodiiy. There was no
answer The door was open and the
single-penner yawned bare and black
within. Lazily, blankly. the rider rode
on. AS he came nearer to the store,
the shrieks of the freight irritated
l0Ii
seemed a Dissertation of the purity OF
the air. Not leaf stirred. The red
plums hung mOtionless. The birds
were silent before their goodnight
song. The sun was Still. up, but threat
ened out of it's virulent intensity Of
the approach of night.
Now, as Bud Seagle rode dreamily
on, he heard cries between the stacca-
to, shrieks of the uneasy freight. He
had heard that sound many times and
knew it we'll. 1t was the sound that
has not passed away with slavery. 1t
was the agonizing scream of a black
man under the lash. The rider put
the whip to his horse and started on a
gallop. At the unaccustomed squirt
perspiration broke out on his body,
and his tired mind quickened. He and
his were not of the kind that whipped
their negroes. He knew too well that
one thrashing takes the spirit out of
black man and makes him no &C
count forever after in the cOmmun-
ity. Besides he didn't think it fair
play.
Bud rode quickly, as it is in the ar
TO
of bloodshed or of riot. When he got
in sight of the store. he saw crowd
of heightened negroes clustering
around the gin. The bowls of an
guish redoubled in intensity, and now
he could hear the crack of the strap
on the back of the victim and he rec
ognized the cool voice of the man who
counted aloud the number of each
stroke Bud knew well what the in
strument of torture was. 1t WAS a
three-inch ginbelt, cut to a right
length; it hung from a hook near the
door, ready for this bloody use.
Fifteen called Col. Fingers voice,
with mechanical precision.
The rider galloped up. In their
morbid eagerness the darkies did not
notice his approach, or give way.
howl, more piercing than the rest,
dominated the sQueaiing of the pigs
and the shrieks Of the locomotive.
The sound of it froze the riders blood,
for in it he recognized the voice of
Uncle Wash, his fathers old slave.
Bud leaped from his horse. His ears
hammered; crimson blinded his eyes.
With great oath Bud Seagle parted
the frightened negro rabble. With a
bound he stood at the threshold of the
gin. his cooked pistol pointed IN his
hand. At his feet Uncle Wash with
ed and quivered and moaned like a
broken beast. Before him the white
men of the town stood in motionless
row, their tobacco-stained lips gaping
in surprise. On corn-bin sat Col
Finger, their chief, opium-eyed. con-
scious of his own power, beneath his
white mustache his cigar twitching
with furtive exultation and revenge
Without raising voice, he said, as if
there had been no interruption, with
the quiet authority of one accustom-
ed to be obeyed:
go on! Seventeen
Hold on there!" cried the rider in
a hoarse voice. so strange to him that
1t seemed to have come from a foreign
throat
Yell have to reckon with me fust
What has Uncle Wash done to your"
Col Finger glanced UP meaningly at
the man who held the strap He was
one of the clerks at the store.
+,
on the counter" the clerk explained,
shuffling uneasily. But Bud kept his
eye on the Colonel
That is one of the dam-dest lies We