SLICE HIM DOWN

by
Langston Hughes

In Reno, among the colored folks of the town, there are
two main social classes: those who came to the city on a
freight train, and those who did not. The latter, or cushion-
riders, are sometimes inclined to turn flat noses high at
those who rode the rods by way of entry to the city. Super-
cilious glances on the part of old settlers and new chair-
car arrivals toboggan down broad Negro noses at the black
bums who, like white bums, both male and female, stream
through Nevada on their way to or from the coast, to remain
awhile, if the law allows, in THE BIGGEST LITTLE CITY
IN THE WORLD - RENO - according to the official sign in
electric lights near the station.

But, of course, the rod-riders get off nowhere near the
station. If they're wise, bums from the East get off at
Sparks, several miles from the famous mecca of unhappy wives,
then they foot it into Reno. (Only passengers with tickets, in
coaches or Pullmans, can afford the luxury of alighting directly
in front of any stations, anywhere.)

Terry and Sling came in on a fast freight from Salt Lake.
Before that, they had come from Cheyenne. And before that, from
Chicago--then the line went South and got lost somewhere in

2.

a tangle of years and cotton fields and God-knows-what fantasies
of blackness.

They were Southern shines. Sure, shines---darkies---nigg-
ers---Terry and Sling. At least, that's what the railroad bulls
called them often enough on the road. And you don't deny any
thing to a railroad bull, do you? They hit too hard, and shoot
too far. And after all, why argue over a name? It's only when
your belly's full and your pride's up, that you want people to
call you Mr. Terry, Mr. Sling, .... Mr. Man.

"What's your name, boy?" a colored voice in the near-
darkness.

"What you care? You might be a detective."

Terry grinned from ear to ear at the compliment. He put
one hand in a raggedy pocketless pocket and scratched himself.

"You's a no-name boy like me, heh, fella? Well, maybe
you is equally as bad as me, too? Mean and hongry and bad!
Listen, let's me and you travel together since we's on the road.
What shall I call you?"

"Call me Sling."

Freights were being made up in the Chicago railroad yards
at dusk. Rattlers on rollers going somewhere - must be better
than here, Lawd, better than here.

"I'm tough, too," said Sling, eyeing a passing string of
boxcars. "I eats pig iron for breakfast."

"Huh, I uses cement for syrup," said Terry, "on hot cakes
made o' steel."

3.

"That's why I'm leaving town," said Sling, "'cause I spit
in a bozo's eye and killed him stone dead! I spits bullets."

Just then they grabbed a West-bound freight on the wing,
and lied all the way to Omaha as they squatted in the corner of
an open empty car where plenty of cattle had left plenty of
smells on their various trips to the Chicago market.

"Why, man, I done killed me so many mens in my day that
I'm scared I'll kill myself some time by accident," said
Sling. "When I shaves myself, I tries not to look mean to
keep from pullin' my razor cross my throat. I'm a bad jigaboo,
son."

"Huh! You ain't nowheres near as bad as me," Terry
lied, long tall lies, all the way from Omaha to Cheyenne.
"Lemme tell you 'bout the last duster that crossed my path.
He were an Al Capone--machine-gun and all---and I just mowed
him down with my little thirty-two on a forty-four frame. Man,
I made lace-curtains out of his a-nat-toe-mie!"

"Why?"

"'Cause he were white and I were mad cause he were messin'
with my State Street gal."

"Man, you let women mess you up that way?"

"I did that time."

"They ain't worth fightin' about."

"I know it---but I does fight 'bout 'em."

"I does too, man, but I ain't gonna no mo'. I'm through
fightin' 'bout women."

"Me too."

"Then we's buddy's. Women done messed me up too much."

"And me".

4.

By that time the coal oar they were in was running too slow
for anybody's good, nearing a town. What town? On the map,
Cheyenne.

But no map ever made would have a dot on it for the alley
where that garbage can was at the A-1 Cafe's back door that
gave up only half a dozen rinds of raw squash, a handful of
bacon skins, and a few breadcrusts to feed two long tall
black big-talking boys by the name of Terry and Sling.

"Let's get on down de road, boy!" As the stars came out.

"Dust my broom, pal."

"Sling your feet, Terry. Let's make this evenin' rattles."

Aw, do it, freight train! Wheelers roll! Dog-gone my
hard, unlucky, blue-black soul!

Reno! THE BIGGEST little CITY in the WORLD blazing its
name in lights at night in a big arch of a sign all the way
across the street. But they couldn't read the sign none too
well. Hunger and rain and a bad education all stood between them
and reading the sign any too well.

Autumn in Reno! Dog-bite my soul! Stacks of shining
silver dollars on the tables, wheels spinning in gambling places,
folks winning, losing, winning. THE BANK CLUB. Big plate
glass windows on the main street. Stand right on the sidewalk
and look in at the Bank Club. Dice, keno, roulette, piles of
silver. Pretty sight.

"There must not be no law in Reno."

"Must ain't," said Sling.

"Must be all the cartwheels in the world in Reno."

"Must is," said Sling.

5.

"Here we stays in Reno".

"Here we stays, Terry," said Sling.

As luck would have it, they got jobs, stayed in Reno,
got a room, got gambling change, got girls. And there the
trouble began.

Terry was shining shoes at a stand in front of the
station. Sling was elbow-greasing the floor of a Chinese
lottery joint, acting as general janitor, bouncer, and
errand boy all in one. Between them, they made ten or
twelve dollars a week. Suits on credit---$3.00 down. Two-
tone shoes, silk shirts. Key chains without keys.
Who cares about keys? You wear the chains. Man, shines like
silver! Shines like gold! You can't wear keys.

"Boy, you ought to see my gal! Three quarters cat and
didn't come here on no freight train neither," said Terry,
putting a stocking cap on his head to make his hair lay down.

"You come on a rattler, so hush," said Sling. "My gal
did, too, so don't bring that up!"

"Alright, pal! Take it easy! You know I'm a bad man."

"Almost as bad as I is, ain't you?" said Sling, spraying
his arm-pits with rose colored talcum from a tall ten-cent
store box.

"You mean as bad as you would like to be," joked Terry.

But Sling let that pass. He was kind of tired and in
no mood for joking, nor quarrelling either. A Chinaman sure can
work you hard in one day. Poor <u>hockaway</u> gets worked hard
everywhere by everybody. Almost too tired to wash up and go
see my gal. Dog-gone! That's why he used so much talcum powder.

6.

Meanwhile, Terry put on his derby at a cocky angle, got
that off his mind, and looked around under the bed for his
shoes. As he tied his brown and white oxfords, he kept thinking
in his mind how his sweet woman didn't come here on no freight
train, not that dame o' mine. No sir! Angeline walls her
name, Mrs. Angeline Walls. Cooks for a white lady from Frisco
who come to Reno to get unchained, and brought along her maid.
And the maid's done fell for me! Ha! Ha! Angeline! Fell for
a smooth black papa with a deep Chicago line. Old young Terry's
done got himself a woman, sure enough.

"Boy, lend me your honey-brown tie, will you?"

"Aw-right," said Sling.

Tonight, Sling's thoughts were on a lady-bug, too, tired
as he was. Dark and Indian-looking, his particular girl. She
didn't work much neither. She made her living somehow. Had
a rabbit's skin coat and a wrist watch. . . . Sure, she come to
town on a freight train, but she rode in taxis on rainy nights!
Had a nice room. Had a good heart. Liked old long tall boy
by the name of Sling with a razor scar crossed his shoulder.
Hot dog! Her name was Charlie-Mae.

Charlie-Mae! Nobody ever was known to call her by her
last name, if she had one. She might've had one, who knows?
Probably did, Charlie-Mae—Indian-looking old girl in a rabbit
skin coat with a wrist watch, Lawd!

"Let's take it to the Club," said Terry, "soon's I go get
Angeline."

"I'll pick you up," said Sling, "by and by. You go on."

7.

Terry tapped on down the steps in his derby hat and honey-colored tie to get Mrs. Walls. Shortly thereafter, in a sky-blue suit, Sling went looking for Charlie-Mae, key chain just a-swinging, shining and swinging.

## .II.

Saturday night in Reno. Back alley Reno. Colored Reno by the railroad tracks where you can hear the trains go by. Where do they go, them trains? Where do they come from? What is there where them trains go better than here, Lawd? Better than here? Colored folks almost always live down by the railway tracks. Is there any trains runnin' anywhere where a man ain't black? Far or near, is it better than here, Lawd, better than here, on Saturday night?

"Who gives a damn about being black, when he's as hard and tough as I is?" said Terry, walking past the park where he had called at Miss White Lady's back door for his girlfriend.

"Well, for a woman, it ain't easy," said Mrs. Angeline Walls. "I could a-been educated, had I been white. Down South where I grew up, there wasn't any schools for colored people for miles around. But as it were, I learned to read, and I hold my head high. I come here on a train myself!"

"You all right with me," Terry said proudly as they walked down the street toward the alley where the colored Club was located. "A high-toned woman like you's alright with me."

8.

"Don't mix me with no dirt," said Mrs. Angeline Walls.
"That's one reason I don't like to go to that old Club. Any-and-everybody goes there. Women's right off the street. Bums right off the freight."

"They sure do," said Terry, feeling kinder shamed to
take her there. "But they ain't no place else for jigs to go
in Reno."

"You right, honey," said Mrs. Angeline Walls. "And we has
to get a glass o' beer somewhere and dance a little bit once in
awhile."

"We sho do."

## .III.

"You can have a right smart good time at that there Club,"
Sling was saying as he and his girl came down the steps of the
third rate Japanese rooming house where she lived.

"We sho do," said Charlie-Mae, buttoning her rabbit fur.
"Um-m! This air smells good tonight."

"Would smell better if it warn't so cold", said Sling.
"I never did like for winter to start coming."

"I do," said Charlie-Mae. "It's better for my business.
I don't always have a fella like you to look after me."

"But you got me now," said Sling, "and you don't have to
worry."

"When we gonna start living together?"

"Soon's I get my next pay from that Chinaman. But I

9.

kinder hate to move away from Terry, cause me and him's been
real good buddies. He's mighty nigh as bad a man as I is, and
don't neither one of us take no foolishness. I'm telling you
Charlie-Mae, Sling lied, "You ought to seen how we used to do
them railroad bulls when we was on the road together. We used
to slice 'em right down! I mean out 'em to ribbons and leave
their carcass in the railroad yard, if they messed with us."

"You did?"

"Sho did."

"You and Terry?"

"Me and Terry!"

"Well, Terry sure got funny taste in women, going around
with that old stuck up yellow hussy they calls Mrs. Angeline
walls. I heard her say she didn't speak to nobody what come
here on a freight train, herself."

"She got a high nose," said Sling. "But Terry, he's alright."

## .IV.

Packed and jammed, the Club, on a Saturday night. Little
colored Club in Reno, six foot bar and dance floor no bigger than
a dime. Old piano with the front wide open, strings showing and
all the hammers of the notes, played by a little fat coal black
man in shirt sleeves, a glass of gin by his side. A young
yellow boy beating drums out of this world. Piano-player singing
as the dancers dance:

I'm goin' down de road and
I won't look back a-tall.
I say, Goodby, mamma, and
It ain't no use to call.

I'm goin' down to Frisco and
I'm goin' by myself.
I'm sorry for you, honey,
But you sho Lawd will be left.

10.

Sling and Charlie-Mae dancing together in a slow embrace.
Mrs. Angeline Walls and Terry sitting at the bar drinking beers.

Angeline really shouldn't have had so many beers, with her
education and reserve and all, but when you cook the whole week
through for white folks over a hot stove, you need something on
a Saturday night.

"A little re-creation," she said, "a little re-creation!"

"You right," said Terry, downing a straight whiskey.

"Gimme another shetland", said Angeline. The bar-man drew
a nickle glass of beer. "And don't you bother, baby," said
Angeline, as Terry reached in his pocket to pay for it. "I make
more money'n you do. I'll pay. Hurry up and drink your'n so
you can have a glass or two on me."

"O.K.," said Terry, tipsy enough to begin mixing his drinks.
"Gimme a shetland."

As the dance ended, several of the dancers flocked toward
the bar, among them Sling and Charlie-Mae, arm in arm.

"Here comes the common herd," said Angeline, but Terry
didn't take in what she said. Charlie-Mae heard, however, as
she sat down beside her and turned her back.

"Gimme two shetlands," Sling called to the barman.
"Hy, there, buddy," he said to Terry. "You's huggin' the rail
mighty close tonight, why don't you dance?"

But before he could answer, Mrs. Walls explained. "The
floor's too full of riff-raff for me," she said. "I come here
on a train myself." She was aiming directly at Charlie-Mae sitting beside her.

11.

"That's more'n your boy-friend did," said Sling, grinning
at Terry.

"Well, if he didn't," said Mrs. Walls in a half-drunken
voice, "he's a real man right on. He earns a decent living
shining shoes---not working down in no Chinese rat-joint like
you, Mr. Sling, and running around with womens what don't know
they name."

Whereupon Charlie-Mae turned around and slapped her face.
Angeline's beer went all over her dress. Terry jumped up and
pushed Charlie-Mae from her stool.

"Don't you touch my woman, "Sling yelled at his pal. "Man,
don't you know who I is? And I'm badder'n usual tonight."

"Terry, protect me," Mrs. Walls cried, holding her cheek.
"A decent woman can't live in this town."

"No, they can't," said Charlie-Mae, "not if they acts
like you."

"Don't mess with us," warned Sling, glaring at Terry.

"Man, is you talkin' to me?" asked Terry of his friend.
"Is you tryin' to tell me who's bad in this town? If there's
anybody bad, it's Terry. And I'm a tearin' terrier this
evenin', too!"

"Listen, honey," said Charlie-Mae to Sling, "do him like
you say you did them railroad bulls---slice him down."

"Huh!" said Terry. "Slice who down?"

"Slice you down," said Sling quietly, "If you fool
around too much with me. You my buddy, and we don't want no
trouble, but just leave me and Charlie-Mae alone, that's all,
and take your old hinkty heifer on out o' here where she belong,

12

cause she can't stand no company sides herself. She's a fool!

"Oh!" screamed Mrs. Walls. "You hear him, Terry? Hit him! Hit him for my sake!"

"If he do, he'll never hit another human," said Sling slowly.

"Huh!" said Terry, "I'll pickle you boy in a minute."

"Not me," said Sling, drawing a switch-blade and backing toward the wall. His knife was the kind that has a little button in it. When you push the button once, the blade flies half-way out. When you push it twice, it flies out about six inches long.

Switch-blades are dangerous weapons, but Terry drew a razor, a good old steel razor, slightly out-moded these days, but still valuable for self-defense.

Didn't nobody holler, "Don't let 'em fight!"

On a Saturday night in a little club down by the railroad tracks out west in a town between the mountains, what could be more fun than a good fight with knives and razors. It didn't matter if they were buddies, them boys---didn't nobody holler to stop that fight.-

Women stood up on stools and tables. The bar-man got on a beer keg behind the bar. The piano player brought his own stool nearer the scene of combat. Folks had to hold Charlie-Mae to keep her from attacking Angeline, for two fights at the same time would have spoilt the fun.

"You women wait", everybody said.

"Boy, I'm tellin' you, I means business," warned Sling, "his eyes red, his teeth shining, and his feelings hurt. "Don't

13.

come a-near me!

"I done heard so much from you about how bad you is,"
said Terry. "I just want to see. You been my pal, but I
believe you's lying about your badness."

His long face was a shiny black under his derby. He was
trembling.

"I'll cut you down," said Sling, "like you warn't no friend".

"Cut then---and don't talk," said Terry, "cause I'm
quicker'n greased lightening and I'm liable to get you first."

Suddenly his razor flashed and Sling's left coat-sleeve
split like a torn ribbon---swiss-ss-sh! But at the same time,
Sling's switch-blade made a moon-like upward movement and stuck
straight through the brim of Terry's derby, narrowly missing
an eyebrow.

The crowd roared. It was getting good now. Didn't
nobody say, "Don't let 'em fight."

Sling, with a quick movement of his arm, sent the impaled
derby flying through space and brought his knife back into
play for a slash at Terry's vitals.

Just then his friend's razor cut a wide gash straight across
his middle, slicing the front of Sling's pants right across
at the belt. But Sling's switch-blade went deep into Terry's
side before either stepped back.

Both began to bleed profusely, but nobody fell. Their
new and still unpaid-for suits got out and stained. Blood
dropped down on their two-tone shoes as the fighters stood
apart panting for a few moments.

14.

A loud murmur went up from the crowd, and Mrs. Walls screamed,
"Oh, God! My God!"

Just then Terry's razor found the mark it had been looking for—a place where a cut would always show so that people could say that he, Terry, had put it there. He sliced the side of Sling's face right down, just like a piece of ham, and left it hanging.

"Terry," Sling cried, "Don't do that to me! Man, I's bad! I'm tellin' you, I's bad and I'll hurt you!"

"Lemme see," said Terry, panting against the bar. "I's heard tell you's bad, but lemme see."

With one lunge, Sling ran his knife all the way up to the hilt in Terry's belly—but as he backed away, Terry's razor got his throat. They both fell in a single pool of blood.

"Here! Here! Here!" barked the bartender as he saw them topple, "you two boys done fought enough now. Cut it out, I say! Cut it out!"

He jumped over the bar and pushed his way through the crowd, but even as he pushed, the circle widened.

They both were dead.

SLICE HIM DOWN

by
Langston Hughes

In Reno, among the colored folks of the town, there are
two main social classes: those who came to the city on a
freight train, and those who did not. The latter, or cushion-
riders, are sometimes inclined to turn flat noses high at
those who rode the rods by way of entry to the city. Super-
cilious glances on the part of old settlers and new chair-
car arrivals toboggan down broad Negro noses at the black
bums who, like white bums, both male and female, stream
through Nevada on their way to or from the coast, to remain
awhile, if the law will let them, in THE BIGGEST LITTLE CITY
IN THE WORLD—RENO—according to the official sign in
electric lights near the station.

Terry and Sling came in on a fast freight from Salt Lake.
Before that they had come from Cheyenne. And before that from
Chicago—then the line went South and got lost somewhere in

2.

They were Southern shines. Sure, shines—darkies—nigg-
ers—Terry and Sling. At least, that's what the railroad bulls
called them often enough on the road. And you don't deny any
thing to a railroad bull, do you? They hit too hard, and shoot
too far. And after all, why argue over a name? It's only when
your belly's full and your pride's up, that you want people to
call you Mr. Terry, Mr. Sling,....Mr. Man.

"Call me Sling."

Freights were being made up in the Chicago railroad yards
at dusk. Rattlers on rollers going somewhere—must be better
than here, Lawd, better than here.

"Huh! I uses cement for syrup, said Terry, on hot cakes
made o' steel,"

3.

"Huh! You ain't nowheres near as bad as me," Terry
lied, long tall lies, all the way from Omaha to Cheyenne.
"Bemme tell you 'bout the last duster that crossed my path.
He were an Al Capone—machine-gun and all—and I just mowed
him down with my little thirty-two on a forty-four frame. Man,
I made lace-curtains out of his a-nat-toe-mie!"

"Why?"

"*Cause he were white, and I were mad cause he were messin'
with my State Street gal."

"I did that time."

"I know it—but I does fight about 'em."

"Me too."

"And me".

4.

By that time the coal car they were in was running too slow
for anybody's good, nearing a town. What town? On the map,
Cheyenne.

But no map ever made would have a dot on it for the alley
where that garbage can was at the A-1 Cafe's back door that
gave up only a half a dozen rinds of raw squash, a handful of
bacon skins, and a few breadcrusts to feed two long tall
blackkest boys by the name of Terry and Sling.

"Let's get on down de road, boy." As the stars came out.

"Dust my broom, pal."

"Sling your feet, Terry. Let's make this evenin' rattler!"

Aw, do it, freight train! Wheelers roll! Dog-gone my
hard, unlucky, soul!

Reno: BIGGEST little CITY in the WORLD blazing its
name in lights at night in a big arch of a sign all the way
across the street. But they couldn't read the sign none too
well. Hunger and rain and a bad education all stood between them
and reading that sign any too well.

Autumn in Reno! Dog-bite mystacks of shining
silver dollars on the tables, wheels spinning in gambling places,
folks winning, losing, winning. THE BANK CLUB: Big plate
glass windows on the main street. Stand right on the sidewalk
and look in at the Bank Club. Dice, keno, roulette, piles of
silver. Pretty sight.

"Must ain't," said Sling.

"Must is," said Sling.

5.

"Here we stays in Reno".

As luck would have it, they got jobs, *settled in* Reno,
got a room, got *gambling* change, got girls. And there the
trouble began—with the girls.

Terry was shining shoes at a stand in front of the
station. Sling was elbow-greasing the floor of a Chinese
lottery *and die* joint, acting as general-janitor, bouncer, and
errand boy all in one. Between them, they made ten or
twelve dollars a week. Suits on credit—$3.00 down. Two-
tone shoes. *near* silk shirts. Key chains *without keys*. > *String 'em across your breast!*
Who cares about keys? You *wear* the chains. *Man, shines like*
silver! Shines like gold! *—them chains!* You can't wear keys.

"You mean, as bad as you would like to be," kidded Terry,
(over)
But Sling let that pass. He was kind of tired and in
no mood for joking, nor quarrelling either. A Chinaman sure can
work you hard in one day! Poor *hockaway* gets worked hard
everywhere by everybody. Almost too tired to wash up and go
see my gal. Dog-gone! That's why he used so much talcum pow-
der, he was so tired.

8.

"They sure do," said Terry, feeling kinder shamed to
as educated as she was.
take her there, "But they ain't no place else for jigs to go
in Reno."

"We sho do."

## .III.

"You can have a right smart good time at that there Club,"
Sling was saying as he and his girl came down the steps of the
third-rate Japanese rooming house where she lived.

"Soon's I get my next pay from that Chinaman, But I

10.

"Gimme another shetland", said Angeline. The barman drew
a nickle glass of beer. "And don't you bother, baby," said
Angeline, as Terry reached in his pocket to pay for it. "I make
more money'n you do. I'll pay. Hurry up and drink your'n so
you can have a glass or two on me."

"O.K.," said Terry, tipsy enough to begin mixing his drinks.
"Gimme a shetland, too."

"Gimme two shetlands," Sling called to the barman.
"Hy, there, buddy," he said to Terry, "You's huggin' the rail
mighty close tonight. Why don't you dance?"

But before he could answer, Mrs. Walls explained. "The
floor is too full of riff-raff for me," she said. "I come here
to Reno on a train myself." She was aiming directly at Charlie-Mae sitting beside her.

5.

"Here we stays in Reno."

As luck would have it, they got jobs, settled in Reno,
got a room, got gambling change, got girls. And there the
trouble began---with the girls.

Terry was shining shoes at a stand in front of the
station. Sling was elbow-greasing the floor of a Chinese
lottery and dice joint, acting as general-janitor, bouncer,
and errand boy all in one. Between them, they made ten or
twelve dollars a week. Suits on credit---$3.00 down. Two-
tone shoes. Near silk shirts. Key chains---without keys.
Who cares about keys? You wear the chains. String 'em across
your breast! Hang 'em from your pockets. Man, they shines
like silver! Shines like gold---them chains! You can't wear
keys.

"You come on a rattler, though, so hush," said Sling.
"My gal did, too, so don't bring that up!"

"You mean, as bad as you would like to be," kidded Terry,
at the same time wishing, in his heart of hearts, that he had
a big knife-scar somewhere on his body like the one Sling had
half-way across his neck and down his shoulder blade---a true

6.

sign of battle. "You'd just like to be tough," kidded Terry.

But Sling let that pass. He was kinder tired and in no
mood for joking, nor quarreling either. A Chinaman sure can
work you hard in one day! Poor <u>hockaway</u> gets worked hard
everywhere by everybody. Almost too tired to wash up and go
see my gal. Dog-gone! That's why he used so much talcum pow-
der, he was so tired.

Meanwhile, Terry put on his derby at a cocky angle, got
that off his mind, and looked around under the bed for his
shoes. As he tied his brown and white oxfords, he kept think-
ing in his mind how his sweet woman didn't come here on no
freight train. No, sir! Not that dame o' mine! Angelina Walls
is her name, Mrs. Angelina Walls. Cooks for a white lady from
Frisco who come to Reno to get unchained, and brought along her
maid. And the maid's done fell for me! Ha! Ha! Angelina!
Fell for a smooth black papa with a deep Chicago line. Old
young Terry's done got himself a woman, sure enough.

"Aw-right," said Sling.

Tonight, Sling's thoughts were on his lady-love, too,
tired as he was. Dark and Indian-looking, his particular girl.
She didn't work much, neither. Just rested. She made her
living---somehow. Wore a rabbit's skin coat and a gold wrist
watch....Sure, she come to town on a freight train---but she
rode in taxis on rainy nights! Had a nice room. Had a good
heart. Liked an old long tall boy by the name of Sling with a
razor scar across his shoulder. Hot dog! Her name was
Charlie-Mae.

"Where'd you get that pretty scar from, Sling?"

7.

"I got it from bein' a bad man, Charlie-Mae."

Charlie-Mae what? I dunno! Nobody was ever heard to call her by her last name, if she had one. She might have had one, maybe, who knows? Probably did. Charlie-Mae---Indian-looking girl in a rabbit skin coat with a gold wrist watch, Lawd!

"Let's haul it to the club," said Terry, "soon's I go get Angelina."

"I'll pick you up," said Sling, "by and by. You truck on down."

So Terry tapped on down the steps in his derby hat and honey-colored tie to get Mrs. Walls.

Shortly thereafter, in a sky-blue suit with wide shoulders, Sling went looking for Charlie-Mae, key chain just a-swinging, shining and swinging.

Both boys really looked hot in the gorgeous sense---but the sad facts were that it was late *November* and neither one of them had yet worked up to an overcoat to cover their outer finery. So it should have been herein recorded that, before donning their suits and ties and hats, they had both put on underneath various old sweaters, sweatshirts, and other extra-garments from their meager store. They needed them to face the wind.

## II.

Saturday night in Reno. Back alley Reno. Colored Reno by the railroad tracks where you can hear the trains go by. Where do they go, them trains? Where do they come from? What is there where them trains go better than here, Lawd, better than here? Colored folks always live down by the railroad tracks, but is

8.

anywhere
there ever any train runnin' where a man ain't black?
A
Far or near, Lawd, is it better than here--Reno on a Saturday
night?

"Anyhow, who gives a damn about being black, when he's hard
and tough as I is?" said Terry, leaving the house near the park
white ladies
where he had called at the back door for his girl-friend.

"Well, for a woman, it ain't easy being black," said Mrs.
Angelina Walls. "I could a-been much better educated, had I
been white. Now, down South where I growed up, there wasn't any
schools hardly for colored, for white around. But as it were, I
learned to read, and I holds my head high. I ain't common!
I come here on a train myself!"

"You all right with me," Terry said proudly as they walked
down the street toward the alley where the colored Club was lo-
cated. "A high-toned woman like you's right with me."

"Then don't mix me with no dirt," said Mrs. Angelina
Walls. "That's one reason I don't like to go to this old Club.
Any-and-everybody goes there. Women's right off the street.
Bums right off the freight."

"They sure do," said Terry, feeling kinder shamed to take
her there educated as she was, "But they ain't no place
else for jigs to go in Reno."

"You all right, honey," said Mrs. Angelina Walls. "We has
to get a glass o' beer somewhere and dance a little bit once in
awhile."

"We she do."

9.

## .III.

"You can have a right smart good time at that there Club,"
Sling said, as he and his girl came down the steps of the third-
rate Japanese rooming house where she lived.

"We sho can," said Charlie-Mae, buttoning her rabbit fur.
"um-m! This air smells good tonight."

"Would smell better if it warn't so cold," said Sling.
"I never did like for winter to start coming."

"I do," said Charlie-Mae. "It's better for my business.
"I don't always have a nice affectionate fella like you to look
after me."

"But you got me now," said Sling, "so you don't have to
worry."

"Soon's I get my next pay from that Chinaman in the dice-
house. But I kinder hate to move away from Terry, cause me and
him's been real good buddies. He's mighty nigh as bad a man as
I is, and don't neither one of us take no foolishness. I'm
telling you, Charlie-Mae," Sling lied, "You ought to seen how
we used to do them railroad bulls when we was on the road to-
gether. We used to slice 'em right down! I mean, cut 'em to
ribbons and leave their carcass in the railroad yard, if they
messed with us."

"You did?"

"Sho did."

"You and Terry?"

"Me and Terry! We used to slice them bulls right down."

"But Terry ain't got no scars."

•10.

"He sho ain't," said Sling. "I just now though o' that.
But I'm so bad, I done been scarred up two or three times,
"that's if not more."
"you got a lovely cut on your right shoulder," said
Charlie-Mae. "But, say! Listen--not changing the subject--
sure got a funny taste in women, ain't he? Going around with
that old stuck up yellow hussy they calls Mrs. Angelina Walls.
I heard her say she didn't speak to nobody what come here on
a freight train, herself, cause she's out of the country."
"She's got a high nose," said Sling. "But Terry, he's
all right."

## .IV.

Packed and jammed, the Club, on Saturday night. Little
colored Club in Reno. Six foot bar and a dance floor no bigger
than a dime. Old piano with the front wide open, strings show-
ing, and all the hammers of the notes bare, played by a little
fat coal-black man in shirt sleeves with a glass of gin by his
side. A young yellow boy beating drums out of this world!

I'm goin' down de road and
I won't look back a-tall.
I say, Goodby, mamma, it
Ain't no use to call.

I'm goin' down to Frisco and
I'm goin' by myself.
I'm sorry for you, honey, but
You sho Lawd will be left.

Sling and Charlie-Mae dancing in a slow embrace. Mrs.
Angelina Walls and Terry sitting at the bar drinking.

Angelina really shouldn't have had so many beers, with her
education and reserve and all, but when you cook the whole week

11.

long for white folks over a hot stove, you need something on a
Saturday night.

"A little re-creation," she asid, "a little re-creation!"

"Gimme another shetland," said Angelina. The barman
drew a nickle glass of beer. "And don't you bother, baby,"
said Angelina, as Terry reached in his pocket to pay for it.
"I make more money'n you do. I'll pay. Hurry up and drink
your'n so you can have a glass or two on me."

As the music ended, several of the dancers flocked to-
ward the bar, among them Sling and Charlie-Mae, arm in arm.

"Here comes the common herd," said Angelina, but
Terry didn't grasp what she said. Charlie-Mae heard, how-
ever--and understood, too--as she sat down and turned her
back.

"Gimme two shetlands," Sling called to the barman. "Hy,
there, buddy," he said to Terry, slapping his pal on the back,
"You's huggin' the rail mighty close tonight. Why don't you
dance?"

But before Terry could answer, Mrs. Walls explained. "The
floor at this Club's too full of riff-raff for me," she said.
"I come here to Reno on a *train* myself." She was aiming directly
at Charlie-Mae sitting beside her.

•12.

voice, "he's a real man right on. He earns a decent living shin-
ing shoes---not working down in no Chinese rat-joint like you,
cleaning up after gamblers, and running around with womens
what don't know they name."

Sling was shamed into silence---but Charlie-Mae whirled
around and slapped her face. Angelina's beer went all over
her dress. Terry jumped up and pushed Charlie-Mae from her stool.

"Here! Here!" cried Terry.

"Don't you touch my woman," Sling yelled at his pal.

"Well, tell her not to touch my woman, then," said Terry.

"Don't you know who I is? I'm badder'n usual tonight."

"Huh!" said Sling.

"Terry, protect me," Mrs. Walls cried, holding her check.

"A decent girl can't live in this town."

"No, they can't," said Charlie-Mae, "not if they acts
like you---and I'm around."

"Don't mess with her," warned Sling, glaring at Terry.

"I'm bad," said Sling.

"Is you tryin' to tell me who's bad in this town? If
there's anybody bad, it's Terry. And I'm a terrible terrier
this evenin', too!"

"Bark on!" said Sling.

"Listen honey," Charlie-Mae loudly in Sling's ear,
"do him like you say you did them railroad bulls---slice him
down!"

Said Terry. "Slice who down?"

13.

"Slice you down," said Sling, "if you fools around with
me. You my buddy, and we don't want no trouble, but just leave
me and Charlie-Mae alone, that's all, and take your old hinkty
heifer out o' here where she belong, cause she can't stand no
company sides herself. She's a fool!"

"Boy," said Terry, "I'll pickle you in a minute."

"Not me," said Terry, "drawing a switch-blade and backing
swiftly toward the wall. His knife was the kind that has a
little button in it. When you push the button once, the blade
flies half-way out. When you push it twice, it flies out
about six inches."

Switch-blades are dangerous weapons, but Terry was prepared. He drew a razor, a good old steel razor, slightly outmoded for shaving, but still useful for defense.

On a Saturday night in a little club, down by the railroad track, out West, in a town between the mountains, what could be more fun than a good fight with knives and razors? It didn't matter if they were buddies, them boys---didn't nobody holler, "Stop that fight!"

Women stood on stools and tables. The barman got on a
beer keg behind the bar. The piano-player brought his own stool
nearer the scene of combat.

Folks had to hold Charlie-Mae to keep her from attacking
Angelina, for two fights at the same time would have spoilt the

16.

this knife! Some of you-all take care o' Terry yonder while I
see after this boy."

The bartender and raised Sling up, his unseeing head fell limply backwards. Others crowded near to help and to stare. They took off his sky-blue coat. One arm was bloody. They took off his fawn-colored vest, too, and unbuttoned his lemon-cream shirt. Underneath, he had on a grey sweat-shirt. They pulled that off. Under the sweat-shirt, he wore a ragged purple sweater. They removed that.

"I don't see how a knife ever got to his skin," said one of the helpers, "with all these clothes he's got on."

"I don't believe it did," said the bartender. "His side ain't bleedin'."

And sure enough, when they got down to Sling's cocoa-colored skin, he didn't have a scratch on his body---except that old scar across his shoulder. His arm was cut slightly, but his body proper not in the least.

"Shaw! That knife had to go through too many wrap-pings," said the bartender disappointedly. "He ain't dead, Boy, you wake up!" And he dropped Sling's head back on the floor with a bang, to turn his attention to Terry.

By now, Terry was sitting up, a towel tied around his well-slit jaw.

Махинатор, "Did I kill him?" he moaned. "I wasn't kilt my partner?"

"Naw, you ain't killed nobody," the bartender barked. "Both you hucks get up off that floor and let things be as they were before this mess started. Shame on you, lettin' a little blood scare the both of you-till you so weak you have to lay down. Sling, unroll them eyes!"

17.

By this time, Sling's eyes were unrolled, and he felt his
half-naked body in amazement at finding it still whole. Only
his forearm was bleeding a little where the fleshy part was
cut. He sat up and looked anxiously across at Terry.

Terry looked back at Sling and then pointed proudly to his
wounded face.

"Say, boy, is I got a good scar?"

"Mum!" Sling said generously, "you got a better scar than I got now---cause youn'na on your face where everybody can see it, and mine's just on my shoulder."

Terry grinned with delight. "Well, all right, then," he
said as he rose from the floor. "This fight's been some good af-
ter all! Get up from there, Sling, and put on your clothes. Let's
have a drink."

As Sling gathered up his silk shirt and ragged sweater, his
well-sliced coat and wrinkled tie, Terry looked around for his
"company."

"Where's my lady friend?" he asked.

"Who? Angelina Walls?" some woman answered. "Why, man,
she runned on out of here no sooner'n she seed you get cut! She
couldn't be mixed up in no murder-trial. She's too respec-
table."

"A hinkty hussy!" said Sling.

"She is for true," said Terry. "Come on, boy, let's
drink."

Sling, his lemon-colored shirt tail cut, looked around
for his woman. "Charlie-Mae," he said, glaring at his erst-
emerged from the Ladies Room,
while sweetie as she... all freshly
powdered, "this boy's my pal, and here you done liked to make me

18.

kill him right here this evenin'. You get goin'!

Charlie-Mae, heeding the look in Sling's eyes, got going--
and without a word.

The two fellows, tattered and torn, key-chains dangling
and sartorial effects awry, rested their elbows on the bar.
They grinned proudly at one another.

"Two shetlands," Sling said to the bartender.

"For two bad men," said Terry, "cause we really bad!"

"We ~~slice 'em down,~~" said Sling.

"We really slice 'em down," said Terry.

SLICE 'EM DOWN

By LANGSTON HUGHES

In Reno, among the colored folks of the town,
there are two main social classes: those who came to the
city on a freight train, and those who did not. The latter,
or cushion-riders, are sometimes inclined to turn flat
noses high at those who rode the rods by way of entry to
the city. Supercilious glances on the part of old settlers
and chair-car arrivals toboggan down broad Negro noses at
the black bums who, like the white bums, both male and
female, stream through Nevada on their way to or from the
Coast, to remain awhile, if the law will let them in
THE BIGGEST LITTLE CITY IN THE WORLD—RENO—according to
the official sign in electric lights near the station.

But, of course, the rod-riders get off nowhere
near the station. If they're wise, bums from the East
get off at Sparks, several miles from the famous mecca of
unhappy wives, then they foot it into Reno. (Only passen-
gers with tickets, coaches or Pullmans, can afford the
luxury of alighting directly in front of any station,
anywhere.)

Page 2.

Terry and Sling came in on a fast freight from Salt Lake. Before that they had come from Cheyenne. And before that from Chicago—and then the line went south and got lost somewhere in a tangle of years and cotton fields and God-knows-what fantasies of blackness.

They were Southern shines. Sure, shines—darkies—niggers—Terry and Sling. At least, that's what the railroad bulls called them often enough on the road. And you don't deny anything to a railroad bull, do you? They hit too hard and shoot too far. And after all, why argue over a name? It's only when your belly's full and your pride's up, that you want people to call you Mr. Terry,... Mr. Sling...Mr. Man.

"What's your name, boy?" asked a colored voice in the near-darkness.

"What you care? You might be a detective".

Terry grinned from ear to ear at the compliment. He put one hand in a raggedy, pocketless pocket and scratched himself.

"You's a no-name boy like he, heh, fella? Well, maybe you is equally as bad as me, too? Mean and hongry and bad! Listen, let's me and you travel together since we's on the road. What'll I call you?"

"Call me Sling".

Freights were being made up in the Chicago
railroad yards at dusk. Rattlers on rollers going some-
where—must be better than here, Lawd, better than here.

"I'm tough, too", said Sling, eyeing a passing
string of boxcars. "I eats pig iron for breakfast."

"Huh! I uses cement for syrup on hot cakes
made o' steel," said Terry.

"That's why I'm leavin' town," said Sling, "cause
I spit in a bozo's eye yesterday and killed him stone
dead! I spits bullets."

Just then they grabbed a West-bound freight on
the wing, and lied all the way to Omaha as they squatted
in the corner of an open, empty car where plenty of cattle
had left plenty of smells on their various trips to the
Chicago market.

"Why, man, I done killed me so many mens in
my day that I'm scared I'll kill myself some time by
accident," said Sling. "When I shaves myself, I tries
not to look mean—to keep from pullin' my own razor cross
my own throat. I'm a bad jigaboo, son".

Page 4.

crossed my path. He were an Al Capone--machine gun and all--and I just mowed him down with my little thirty-two on a forty-four frame. Man, I made lace curtains out of his a-nat-toe-mie!"

"Why?"

"'Cause he were white, and I were mad 'cause he were messin' with my State Street gal."

"Man, you let womens mess you up that way?"

"I did that time".

"I know it--but I does fight about 'em."

"I does, too, man, but I ain't gonna no mo'. I'm through fightin' 'bout womens."

"Me, too."

"Then we's buddies. Women done messed me up too much."

"And me."

By that time the cattle car they were in was running too slow for anybody's good, nearing a town. What town? On the map, Cheyenne.

But no map ever made would have a dot on it for the alley where the garbage can was at the A-1 Cafe's backdoor that gave up only a half-dozen rinds of raw squash, a handful of bacon skins, and a few bread-

Page 5.

crusts to feed two long tall black boys named Terry and
Sling.

"Dust my broom, pal."

"Sling your feet, Terry. Let's make this
early evenin' rattler."

Aw, do it freight train! Wheelers roll! Dog-
gone my hard, unlucky soul!

Reno: The BIGGEST little CITY in the WORLD
blazing its name in lights at night in a big arch of a
sign all the way across the street. But they couldn't
read the sign none too well. Hunger and rain and a bad
education all stood between them and the reading of
that sign any too well.

Autumn in Reno! Dog-bite my onions! Stacks of
shining silver dollars on the tables, wheels spinning in
gambling places, folks winning, losing, winning. THE
BANK CLUB: big plate glass windows on the main street.
Stand right on the sidewalk and look in at the Bank
Club. Dice, keno, roulette, piles of silver. Pretty
sight.

"Must ain't," said Sling.

"Must be all the cartwheels in the world in
Reno".

"Must is," said Sling.

"Here we stays in Reno."

As luck would have it, they got jobs, settled
in Reno, got a room, got gambling change, got girls. And
there the trouble began—with the girls.

Terry was shining shoes at the stand in front
of the station. Sling was elbow-greasing the floor of a
Chinese lottery and dice joint, acting as general-janitor,
bouncer, and errand boy all in one. Between them they
made ten or twelve dollars a week. Suits on credit—
$3.00 down. Two-tone shoes. Near silk shirts. Key chains—
without keys. Who cares about keys? You _wear_ the chains.
String 'em across your breast! Hang 'em from your pockets.
Man, they shines like silver! Shines like gold—them
chains! You can't wear keys.

"Boy, you ought to see my gal! Three quarters
cat and didn't come here on no freight train neither." said
Terry, putting a stocking cap on his head to make his hair
lay down.

Page-7.

"All right, pal! Take it easy! You know I'm a bad man."

"Almost as bad as I is, ain't you?" said Sling, spraying
his armpits with rose-colored talcum from a tall ten-cent
store box.

"You mean, as bad as you would like to be," kidded Terry,
at the same time wishing in his heart of hearts, that he
had a big knife scar somewhere on his body like the one
Sling had half-way across his neck and down his shoulder
blade—a true sign of battle. "You'd like to be tough",
kidded Terry.

But Sling let that pass. He was kinder tired and
in no mood for joking, nor quarreling, either. A Chinaman
sure can work you hard in one day! Poor hockaway gets
worked hard everywhere by everybody. Almost too tired
to wash up and go see my gal. Dog-gone! That's why he
used so much talcum powder, he was so tired.

Meanwhile, Terry put on his derby at a cocky
angle, got that off his mind, and looked around under the
bed for his shoes. As he tied his brown and white oxfords,
he kept thinking in his mind how his sweet mamma didn't
come here on no freight train. No, sir! Not that dame
o' mine! Angelina Walls is her name, Mrs. Angelina Walls.
Cooks for a white lady from Frisco who come to Reno to get

Page-8.

unchained, and brought along her maid. And the maid done fell for me! Ha! Ha! Angelina! Fell for a smooth black papa with a deep Chicago line. Terry's done got himself a woman, sure enough.

"Aw-right," said Sling.

Tonight, Sling's thoughts were on his lady-love, too, tired as he was. Dark and Indian-looking, his particular girl. She didn't work much, neither. Just rested. She made her living—somehow. Wore a rabbit's skin coat and a gold wrist watch. Sure, she come to town on a freight train—but she rode in taxis on rainy nights! Had a nice room. Had a good heart. Liked an old long tall boy by the name of Sling, with a razor scar across his shoulder. Hot dog!

Her name was Charlie-Mae. Charlie-Mae what?
I dunno! Nobody was ever heard to call her by her last name, if she had one. She might have had one, maybe, who knows? Charlie-Mae—Indian-looking girl in a rabbit skin coat with a gold wrist watch, Lawd!

Page-9.

Both boys really looked hot—in the gorgeous sense—but the sad facts were that it was late November and neither of them had yet worked up to an overcoat to cover their outer finery. So it must be herein recorded that, before donning their stylish suits and ties and hats, they had put on underneath various sweaters, sweatshirts, and other warm but unsightly garments from their meager store, in order the better to face the cold Nevada wind.

II

Page-10

Saturday night in Reno. Back alley Reno.
Colored Reno by the railroad tracks where the trains go
by. Where do they go, them trains? Where do they come
from? What's where them trains go better than here, Lawd,
better than here? Colored folks always live down by the
railroad tracks, but is there any train anywhere runnin'
where a man ain't black? Far or near, Lawd, is it better
than here—Reno on a Saturday night?

"Anyhow, who gives a damn about being black,
when he's hard and tough as I is?" said Terry, leaving
the house near the park where he had called at the back
door for his girl-friend.

"Well, for a woman, it ain't easy being black,"
said Mrs. Angelina Walls. "I could a-been much better
educated, had I been white. Now, down South where I
growed up, there wasn't any schools hardly for colored.
But as it were, I learned to read and write, and I holds
my head high. I ain't common! I come here on a train,
myself!"

"You all right with me," Terry said proudly as
they walked down the street toward the alley where the
colored Club was located. "A high-toned woman like you's
all right with me."

Page-11

"Then don't mix me with no dirt," said Mrs. Angelina Walls. "That's one reason I don't like to go to this old club. Any-and-everybody goes there. Womens right off the street. Bums right off the freight."

"They sure do," said Terry, feeling kinder shamed to take her there, educated as she was. "But they ain't no place else for jigs to go in Reno."

"You right, honey," said Mrs. Angelina Walls. "We has to get a glass o' beer somewhere and dance a little bit once in awhile."

"We shot do."

III.

Page-12

"You can have a right smart good time at that
there Club", said Sling, as he and his girl came down the
steps of the third-rate Japanese rooming house where she
lived.

"We shot can," said Charlie-Mae, buttoning her
rabbit fur. "Um-m! This air smells good tonight."

"Would smell better if it weren't so cold,"
said Sling. "I never did like for winter to start coming."

"I do," said Charlie-Mae. "It's better for my
business. I don't always have a nice affectionate fella
like you to look after me."

"Soon's I get my next pay from that Chinaman in
the dice-house. But I kinder hate to move away from Terry,
'cause me and him's been real good buddies. He's mighty
nigh as bad a man as I is, and don't neither one of us
take no foolishness. I'm tellin' you, Charlie-Mae', Sling
lied, "you ought to seen how we used to do them railroad
bulls when we was on the road together. We used to slice
'em down! I mean, cut 'em to ribbons and leave their
carcass in the railroad yard, if they messed with us."

"You did?"

Page-13.

"Sho' did."

"You and Terry?"

"He sho' ain't," said Sling. "I just now thought
of that. But I'm so bad, I done been scarred up two or
three times, if not more."

"That's a lovely cut on your right shoulder,"
said Charlie-Mae. "But, say! Listen--not changing the
subject--Terry's sure got a funny taste in women, ain't
he? Going around with that stuck up yellow hussy they
calls Mrs. Angelina Walls. I heard her say she didn't
speak to nobody what come here on a freight train, herself."

"She's got a high nose", said Sling. "But
Terry, he's all right."

IV

Page-14.

Packed and jammed, the Club, on Saturday night.
Little colored Club in Reno. Six foot bar and dance floor
no bigger than a dime. Old piano with the front wide
open, strings showing, and all the hammers of the notes
bare, played by a little fat, coal-black man in shirt
sleeves with a glass of gin by his side. A young yellow
boy beating drums out of this world!

I'm goin' down de road and
I won't look back a-tall.
I say, goodby, mamma, it
Ain't no use to call.
I'm goin' down to Frisco and
I'm goin' by myself.
I'm sorry for you, honey, but
You sho' Lawd will be left.

Angelina really shouldn't have had so many
beers, with her education and reserve and all, but when
you cook the whole week long for white folks over a hot
stove, you need something on a Saturday night.

"A little re-creation", she said, "a little
re-creation!"

"Gimme another shetland," said Angelina. The
barman drew a nickel glass of beer. "And don't you

Page-15.

"O. K.", said Terry, tipsy enough to begin
mixing his drinks.

"Gimme a shetland, too."

As the music ended, several of the dancers
flocked toward the bar, among them Sling and Charlie-Mae,
arm in arm.

"Here comes the common herd," said Angelina,
but Terry didn't grasp what she said. Charlie-Mae heard,
however—and understood, too—as she sat down and turned
her back.

"Gimme two shetlands," Sling called to the
barman. "Hy there, buddy," he said to Terry, slapping
his pal on the back, "you's huggin' the rail mighty close
tonight. Why don't you dance?"

But before Terry could answer, Mrs. Walls
explained. "The floor at this Club's too full of riff-
raff for me", she said. "I come here to Reno on a train,
myself." She was aiming directly at Charlie-Mae sitting
beside her.

Page-16.

"Well, if he didn't", said Mrs. Walls in a half-
drunken voice, "he's a real man right on. He earns a
decent living shining shoes—not working down in no
Chinese rat-joint like you, cleaning up after gamblers,
and running around with womens what don't know they name."

Sling was shamed into silence—but Charlie-Mae
whirled around and slapped her face. Angelina's beer
went all over her dress. Terry jumped up and pushed
Charlie-Mae off her stool.

"Well, tell her not to touch my woman then,"
said Terry, "cause I'm badder'n usual tonight."

"Huh!" said Sling.

"Protect me, Terry", Mrs. Walls cried, holding
her well-slapped cheek. "A decent girl can't live in
this town."

"No, they can't, said Charlie-Mae," not if
they acts like you—and I'm around."

"Man, is you talking to me?"

"I'm bad," said Sling.

Page-17.

"Bark on!" said Sling.

"Listen, honey," pleaded Charlie-Mae loudly in Sling's ear, "do him like you say you did them railroad bulls—slice him down!"

Said Terry, "Slice who down?"

"Slice you down if you fools around with me," said Sling. "You my buddy, and we don't want no trouble, but just leave Charlie-Mae alone, that's all, and take your old hinkty heifer out of here where she belong, 'cause she can't stand no company sides herself. She's a fool!"

"Oh!" screamed Mrs. Walls.

"And you'll be sliced baloney," said Sling.

"Not me!" cried Terry, drawing a switch-blade as he backed toward the wall. His knife was the kind that has a little button in it. When you push the button once, the blade flies out half-way. When you push it twice, it flies out about six inches.

Switch-blades are dangerous weapons, but Sling was prepared. He drew a razor, a good old steel razor,

Page-18.

slightly outmoded for shaving, but useful for defense.

Nobody hollered, "Don't let 'em fight!"

On a Saturday night in a little club, down by the railroad tracks out West, in a town between the mountains, what could be more fun than a good fight with knives and razors? It didn't matter if they were buddies, them boys— didn't nobody holler, "Stop that fight!"

Women stood on stools and tables. The barman got on a beer keg. The piano-player brought his own stool near the scene of combat.

Folks had to hold Charlie-Mae to keep her from attacking Angelina, for two fights at the same time would have spoilt the fun.

"You women wait," everybody said.

"Boy, I'm tellin' you, I mean business," warned Sling, his eyes red, his teeth shining, and his feelings hurt. "Don't come a-near me!"

"I done heard so much from you about how bad you is," said Terry. "I just want to see. You been my pal, but I believe you's lyin' about your badness."

"I'll cut you down," said Sling, "like you warn't no friend."

"Cut then—and don't talk 'cause I'm quicker'n

greased lightnin' and I'm liable to get you first."

Suddenly his knife flashed and Sling's left coat sleeve split like a torn ribbon—swiss-ss-sh! But at the same time, Sling's razor made a moonlike upward movement and cut straight through the brim of Terry's derby, narrowly missing an eyebrow.

The crowd roared. It was getting good. Didn't nobody say, "Don't let 'em fight."

Sling, with a quick movement of his arm, sent the derby swirling through space and brought his weapon back into play for a slash at Terry's vitals, his flying razor cutting a gash straight across his friend's middle, slicing the front of Terry's pants open at the belt and exposing several layers of undergarments. But Terry's switch-blade went deep into Sling's fashionably padded shoulder before either stepped back.

Both began to bleed, but nobody fell. Their new and still unpaid-for suits got cut and stained. Blood dropped down on their two-tone shoes as the fighters stood apart, panting for a few moments.

A loud murmur went up from the crowd, and Charlie-Mae screamed, "My God!"

Just then Sling's razor found the mark it had been looking for—a place where a cut would always show so that people could say that he, Sling, had put it there. He slit

Page-20.

the side of Terry's face right down, from temple to chin.

"Sling," Terry cried, "don't do that to me! Man, I'm bad! I'm tellin' you, I'm bad and I'll hurt you!"

"Lemme see," said Sling, panting against the bar, "It's heard tell you's bad. Lemme see."

"I'll show you," said Terry, charging so swiftly that before Sling could side-step, he ran his knife all the way up to the hilt in his companion's side—and left it there.

Sling looked down, saw where the knife had lodged, gasped, trembled, rolled his eyes up, and crumpled backward to the floor.

Terry saw his pal go down, taking the knife with him, his mouth agape, his eyes like eggs. And something about the sight of that falling body made his own limbs begin to shake, his knees grow weaker, his jaw hurt, and his throat fill up with his beating heart. Suddenly, he, too, passed out, sinking prone upon the floor.

"Here! Here!" barked the bartender as he saw them topple, "you boys done fought enough now. Cut it out, I say! Cut it out!"

He jumped over the bar and pushed his way through the crowd. As Charlie-Mae shrieked hysterically and strong men turned their heads, the bartender stooped and pulled the knife from Sling's side.

Page-21.

"Funny," he said, frowning sharply, "there ain't no blood on this knife! Some of you-all take care o' Terry yonder while I see after this boy."

The bartender raised Sling up, but his unseeing head fell limply backwards. Others crowded near to help, and ⌨️ stare. They took off his sky-blue coat. One arm was bloody. They took off his fawn-colored vest, and unbuttoned his lemon-cream shirt. Underneath, he had on a grey sweat-shirt. They pulled that off. Under the sweat-shirt he wore a ragged purple sweater. They removed that.

"I don't see how any knife ever got to his skin," said one of the helpers, "with all these clothes on."

And sure enough, when they finally got down to Sling's cocoa-colored skin, he didn't have a scratch on his body—except that old scar across his shoulder. His arm was cut slightly, but his body not in the least.

"Shaw! That knife had to go through too many wrappings. He ain't dead," said the bartender disappointedly. "Boy, you wake up!"

He dropped Sling's head back on the floor with a bang, to turn his attention to Terry. But by now, Terry was sitting up, a towel tied around his slit cheek.

"Did I kill him?" he moaned. "Is I done kilt my partner?"

Page-22.

"Both you hucks get up off that floor and let things be as they were. Shame on you, lettin' a little blood scare you— till you so weak you have to lay down. Sling, unroll them eyes!"

By this time, Sling's eyes were unrolled, and he felt his half-naked body in amazement at finding it still whole. Only his forearm was bleeding a little. He sat up and looked anxiously across at Terry.

Terry looked back at Sling and then pointed to his wounded face.

"Boy, is I got a good scar?"

"Terry," Sling said, his voice shaking, "I thought I'd done killed you."

"I said, boy, is I got me a good scar?"

"Man," Sling said generously, "you got a better scar than I got now—'cause your'n is gonna be on your face where everybody can see it, and mine's just on my shoulder."

Terry grinned with delight. "Well, all right, then," he said as he rose from the floor. "This fight's been some good after all! Get up from there, Sling, and put on your clothes. Let's have a drink."

As Sling gathered up his near-silk shirt and ragged sweater, his well-sliced coat and wrinkled tie, Terry looked around for his "company".

Page-23

"Why, man she runned out of here no sooner'n she seed you
get cut! She couldn't be mixed up in no murder trial.
She's too respectable."

"A hinkty hussy!" said Sling.

Sling, his lemon-colored shirt tail out, looked
around for his woman.

"Charlie-Mae," he cried, glaring at his erstwhile
sweetie as she emerged, all freshly powdered, from the Ladies
Room, "this boy's my pal, and here you done like to make me
kill him, right this evenin'. You get goin'!"

Charlie-Mae, heeding the look in Sling's eyes,
got going—without a word.

Then the two big fellows, tattered and torn, key
chains dangling and satorial effects awry, rested their
elbows on the bar. They grinned proudly at one another.

"For two bad men," said Terry, "because we really
bad!"

"We slice 'em down," said Sling.

0000000000

SLICE 'EM DOWN

By LANGSTON HUGHES

In Reno, among the colored folks of the town,
there are two main social classes: those who came to the
city on a freight train, and those who did not. The latter,
or cushion-riders, are sometimes inclined to turn flat
noses high at those who rode the rods by way of entry to
the city. Supercilious glances on the part of old settlers
and chair-car arrivals toboggan down broad Negro noses at
the black bums who, like the white bums, both male and
female, stream through Nevada on their way to or from the
Coast, to remain awhile, if the law will let them in
THE BIGGEST LITTLE CITY IN THE WORLD--RENO--according to
the official sign in electric lights near the station.

But, of course, the rod-riders get off nowhere
near the station. If they're wise, bums from the East
get off at Sparks, several miles from the famous Mecca of
unhappy wives, then they foot it into Reno. (Only passen-
gers with tickets, coaches or Pullmans, can afford the
luxury of alighting directly in front of any station,
anywhere.)

Page 2.

Terry and Sling came in on a fast freight from Salt Lake. Before that they had come from Cheyenne. And before that from Chicago--and then the line went south and got lost somewhere in a tangle of years and cotton fields and God-knows-what fantasies of blackness.

They were Southern shines. Sure, shines--darkies--niggers--Terry and Sling. At least, that's what the railroad bulls called them often enough on the road. And you don't deny anything to a railroad bull, do you? They hit too hard and shoot too far. And after all, why argue over a name? It's only when your belly's full and your pride's up, that you want people to call you Mr. Terry, Mr. Sling . . . Mr. Man.

Page 3.

"Call me Sling".

Freights were being made up in the Chicago
railroad yards at dusk. Battlers on rollers going some-
where--must be better than here, Lawd, better than here.

"Huh! I uses cement for syrup on hot cakes
made o' steel", said Terry.

"Why, man, I done killed me so many mens in
my day that I'm scared I'll kill myself some time by
accident," said Sling. "When I shaves myself, I tries
not to look mean--to keep from pullin' my own razor cross
my own throat. I'm a bad jigaboo, son".

"Huh? You ain't nowheres near as bad as me,"
Terry lied, long tall lies, all the way from Omaha to
Cheyenne. "Lemme tell you 'bout the last duster that

Page 4.

crossed my path. He were an Al Capone--machine gun and all--and I just mowed him down with my little thirty-two on a forty-four frame. Man, I made lace curtains out of his a-mat-toe-mie!

"Why?"

"I did that time".

"I does too, man, but I ain't gonna no mo'. I'm through fightin' 'bout womens".

"Me, too."

"And me."

Page 5.

"Let's get on down de road, boy". As the stars came out.

"Dust my broom, pal."

Aw, do it freight train! Wheelers roll! Dog-gone my hard, unlucky soul!

Atumn in Reno: Dog-bite my onions! Stacks of shining silver dollars on the tables, wheels spinning in gambling places, folks winning, losing, winning. THE BANK CLUB: big plate glass windows on the main street. Stand right on the sidewalk and look in at the Bank Club. Dice, keno, roulette, piles of silver. Pretty sight.

"Must ain't," said Sling.

Page 6.

"Must is," said Sling.

"Here we stays in Reno."

"Here we stays, Terry", said Sling.

As luck would have it, they got jobs, settled
in Reno, got a room, got gambling change, got girls. And
there the trouble began--with the girls.

Terry was shining shoes at the stand in front
of the station. Sling was elbow-greasing the floor of a
Chinese lottery and dice joint, acting as general-janitor,
bouncer, and errand boy all in one. Between them they
made ten or twelve dollars a week. Suits on credit--
$3.00 down. Two-tone shoes. Near silk shirts. Key chains--
without keys. Who cares about keys? You wear the chains.
String 'em across your breast! Hang 'em from your pockets.
Man, they shines like silver! Shines like gold--them
chains! You can't wear keys.

"My gal did, too, so don't bring that up?"

Page-7.

"All right, pal! Take it easy! You know I'm a bad man."
"Almost as bad as I is, ain't you?" said Sling, spraying
his armpits with rosecolored talcum from a tall ten-cent
store box.

"You mean, as bad as you would like to be," kidded Terry,
at the same time wishing in his heart of hearts, that he
had a big knife scar somewhere on his body like the one
Sling had half-way across his neck and down his shoulder
blade-- a true sign of battle. "You'd like to be tough",
kidded Terry.

But Sling let that pass. He was kinder tired and
in no mood for joking, nor quarreling, either. A Chinaman
sure can work you hard in one day! Poor <u>hockaway</u> gets
worked hard everywhere by everybody. Almost too tired
to wash up and go see my gal. Dog-gone? That's why he
used so much talcum powder, he was so tired.

Page-8.

"Aw-right," said Sling.

Tonight, Sling's thoughts were on his lady-
love, too, tired as he was. Dark and Indian-looking, his
particular girl. She didn't work much, neither. Just
rested. She made her living--somehow. Wore a rabbit's
skin coat and a gold wrist watch. . . . Sure, she come to
town on a freight train--but she rode in taxis on rainy
nights! Had a nice room. Had a good heart. Liked an old
long tall boy by the name of Sling, with a razor scar
across his shoulder. Hot dog!

Her name was Charlie-Mae. Charlie-Mae what?
I dunno! Nobody was ever heard to call her by her last
name, if she had one. She might have had one, maybe, who
knows? Charlie-Mae--Indian-looking girl in a rabbit skin
coat with a gold wrist watch, lawd!

Both boys really looked hot--in the gorgeous
sense--but the sad facts were that it was late November
and neither of them had yet worked up to an overcoat to
cover their outer finery. So it must be herein recorded
that, before donning their stylish suits and ties and hats,
they had put on underneath various sweaters, sweatshirts,
and other warm but unsightly garments from their meager
store, in order the better to face the cold Nevada wind.

CHAPTER II.

Saturday night in Reno. Back alley Reno.
Colored Reno by the railroad tracks where the trains go
by. Where do they go, then trains? Where do they come
from? What's where them trains go better than here, Lawd,
better than here? Colored folks always live down by the
railroad tracks, but is there any train anywhere runnin'
where a man ain't black? Far or near, Lawd, is it better
than here--Reno on a Saturday night?

"You all right with me", Terry said proudly as
they walked down the street toward the alley where the
colored Club was located. "A high-toned woman like you's
all right with me."

"We sho' do."

CHAPTER III.

Page-12

"We sho' can," said Charlie-Mae, buttoning her
rabbit fur. "Um-m! This air smells good tonight."

"But you got me now," said Sling, "So you don't
have to worry."

"Soon's I get my next pay from that Chinaman in
the dice-house. But I kinder hate to move away from Terry,
'cause me and him's been real good buddies. He's mighty
nigh as bad a man as I is, and don't neither one of us
take no foolishness. I'm tellin' you, Charlie-Mae", Sling
lied,"you ought to seen how we used to do them railroad
bulls when we was on the road together. We used to slice
'em down! I mean, cut 'em to ribbons and leave their
carcass in the railroad yard, if they messed with us."

"You did?"

Page-13.

"Sho' did."

"You and Terry?"

"He sho' ain't," said Sling. "I just now thought
o' that. But I'm so bad, I done been scarred up two or
three times, if not more."

CHAPTER IV.

Page-14.

I'm goin' down de road and
I won't look back a-tall.
I say, goodby, mamma, it
Ain't no use to call.
I'm goin' down to Grisco
I'm goin' by myself.
I'm sorry for you, honey, but
You she' Lawd will be left.

Page-15.

"Gimme a shetland, too."

"Here comes the common herd," said Angelina,
but Terry didn't grasp what she said. Charlie-Mae heard,
however--and understood, too--as she sat down and turned
her back.

"Gimme two shetlands," Sling called to the
barman. "By there, buddy," he said to Terry, slapping
his pal on the back, "you's huggin' the rail mighty close
tonight. Why don't you dance?"

But before Terry could answer, Mrs. Walls
explained. "The floor at this Club's too full of riff-
raff for me", she said. "I come here to Reno on a train.
myself." She was aiming directly at Charlie-Mae sitting
beside her.

Page-16.

"Well, if he didn't", said Mrs. Walls in a half-
drunken voice, "he's a real man right on. He earns a
decent living shining shoes--not working down in no
Chinese rat-joint like you, cleaning up after gamblers,
and running around with womens what don't know they name."

Sling was shamed into silence--but Charlie-Mae
whirled around and slapped her face. Angelina's beer
went all over her dress. Terry jumped up and pushed
Charlie-Mae off her stool.

"Well, tell her not to touch my woman then,"
said Terry,"'cause I'm badder'n usual tonight."

"Huh!" said Sling.

"No, they can't, said Charlie-Mae," not if
they acts like you--and I'm around."

"Man, is you talking to me?"

"I'm bad," said Sling.

Page-17.

"Bark on!" said Sling.

"Listen, honey," pleaded Charlie-Mae loudly in Sling's ear, "do him like you say you did them railroad bulls--slice him down!"

Said Terry, "Slice who down?"

"Slice you down if you fools around with me," said Sling. "You my buddy, and we don't want no trouble, but just leave Charlie-Mae alone, that's all, and take your old hinkty heifer out o' here where she belong, "cause she can't stand no company sides herself. She's a fool!"

"Oh!" screamed Mrs. Walls.

"And you'll be sliced baloney", said Sling.

"Not me!" cried Terry, drawing a switch-blade as he backed toward the wall. His knife was the kind that has a little button in it. When you push the button once, the blade flies out half-way. When you push it twice, it flies out six inches.

Page-18.

"Nobody hollered, "Don't let 'em fight! "

On a Saturday night in a little club, down by the
railroad tracks out West, in a town between the mountains,
what could be more fun than a good fight with knives and
razors? It didn't matter if they were buddies, them boys--
didn't nobody holler, "Stop that fight!"

"Cut then--and don't talk 'cause I'm quicker'n

Suddenly his knife flashed and Sling's left coat sleeve split like a torn ribbon-swiss-ss-sh! But at the same time, Sling's razor made a moonlike upward movement and cut straight through the brim of Terry's derby, narrowly missing an eyebrow.

Just then Sling's razor found the mark it had been looking for --a place where a cut would always show so that people could say that he, Sling, had put it there. He slit

Page-20.

"Lemme see," said Sling, panting against the bar,
"I's heard tell you's bad. Lemme see."

"I'll show you," said Terry, charging so swiftly
that before Sling could side-step, he ran his knife all the
way up to the hilt in his companion's side--and left it there.

Sling looked down, saw where the knife had lodged,
gassed, trembled, rolled his eyes up, and crumpled backward
to the floor.

"Here! Here! barked the bartender as he saw them
topple, "you boys done fought enough now. Cut it out, I
say! Cut it out!"

Page-21.

The bartender raised Sling up, but his unseeing head fell limply backwards. Others crowded near to help, and to stare. They took off his sky-blue coat. One arm was bloody. They took off his fawn-colored vest, and unbuttoned his lemon-cream shirt. Underneath, he had on a grey sweat-shirt, he wore a ragged purple sweater. They removed that.

"I don't see how any knife ever got to his skin," said one of the helpers, "with all these clothes on".

And sure enough, when they finally got down to Sling's cocoa-colored skin, he didn't have a scratch on his body--except that old scar across his shoulder. His arm was cut slightly, but his body not in the least.

"Shaw!" That knife had to go through too many wrappings. He ain't dead," said the bartender disappointedly. "Boy you wake up!"

Page-22.

"Maw, you ain't killed nobody," the bartender barked.

"Both you hucks get up off that floor and let things be as they were. Shame on you, lettin' a little blood scare you-- till you so weak you have to lay down. Sling, unroll them eyes!"

"Boy, is I got a good scar?"

"Man," Sling said generously, "you got a better scar than I got now--'cause your'n is gonna be on your face where everybody can see it, and mine's just on my shoulder."

Terry grinned with delight. "Well, all right, then, " he said as he rose from the floor. "This fight's been some good after all! Get up from there, Sling, and put on your clothes. Let's have a drink."

Page-23

"Why, man she runned out of here no sooner'n she seed you
get out! She couldn't be mixed up in no murder trial.
She's too respectable."

"A hinkty hussy!" said Sling.

Charlie-Mae, heeding the look in Sling's eyes,
got going--without a word.

000000000