to give up hoping to see Sam alive again,” Bert said. “They said the crowd with the hunt-fever wouldn’t turn him loose unless they could find Sonny Clark, and they think Sonny got away.”
The phone was ringing in the office when they got there. Bert took the receiver off the hook, holding it indecisively while he waited for Jeff to tell him what to do about it.
“Go ahead and answer it,” Jeff said wearily. “It’s likely another of them cockalorums ordering me to come out to Flowery Branch and make people stop scaring their biddies.”
“Hello,” Bert said into the phone. “Sheriff McCurtain’s office.”
“It’s Judge Ben Allen!”
“Oh, Lord!” Jeff breathed, closing his eyes for a few moments of restful peace.
Bert laid the phone on the desk and backed quietly away. Jeff moved himself across the floor to the desk.
“Hello, Judge,” he said, forcing himself to speak up brightly.
“McCurtain, why didn’t you get out to Flowery Branch last night after you left my house?”
“Judge, a lot of things happened last night, all of them pure wrong. If I had more time, I could explain them. It looked like all the power in the world was against me. I ain’t been so plagued by so many far-fetched things all at the same time since God-come-Wednesday.”
There as a long pause over the wires.
“Consuetudo manerii et loci est observanda,” Judge Ben Allen said wearily.
“What’s that, Judge?” Jeff asked quickly.
There was an even longer pause before Judge Allen spoke again.
“After getting a few scattered reports from around the county, the situation looks different than it did last night. It’s too early yet to make a forecast, but maybe it’ll be best if you lie low for a few hours. By that time I’ll have a better line on the situation. It’s a good thing you didn’t get out to Flowery Branch, but I still don’t understand why you didn’t make straight for the country like I told you.”
“It ain’t so easy to try to explain over the phone, Judge. But I’m glad I wasn’t needed out there, after all. I want to do my best to keep this lynching politically clean, Judge. If Mrs. Narcissa Calhoun would only keep out—”
“You stay where you are, McCurtain, so I can put my hands on you when I want you. I don’t want to hear of you going off fishing, or nothing like that. Good-by.”
“Good-by, Judge,” Jeff said weakly, replacing the receiver on the hook.
He turned and looked at Bert standing between him and the window. Bert’s face was pale and solemn.
“Bert,” he said, “sometimes I don’t know if I’m coming or going. If you’ll take my advice, you’ll get out of politics and never let yourself be tempted to sample a pollbook as long as you live. If I was you, I’d marry myself a loving wife and settle down to a peaceful way of living out on a little farm somewhere.”
“Why, Sheriff Jeff?”
“Because, Bert. Because!”
He got up painfully, pushing the sides of the chair from his hips. Once on his feet, he looked up at the ceiling, listening intently for Corra’s sounds. All was as quiet and peaceful as summer twilight. There was a faint aroma of boiling vegetables in the air. He tilted back his head, his nostrils flaring, and breathed deeply of it. He moved towards the door.
“I’m worried sick about Sam Brinson, the colored man,” he said. “As soon as I get a little bite to eat, I’m going to do some inquiring about him. I just can’t sit still and let something far-fetched happen to Sam.”
Bert got out of his way. He moved through the door and went to the bottom of the stairway in the hall. He listened for a moment before beginning to climb the stairs. Just as he mounted the first step, Corra came out of the bedroom and went into the kitchen. Jeff went on up, his nostrils quivering at the odor of boiling beans and freshly baked cornbread.
Chapter VIII
S HEP B ARLOW, HIS eyes bloodshot from loss of sleep, got back home at noon that day. He
The phone was ringing in the office when they got there. Bert took the receiver off the hook, holding it indecisively while he waited for Jeff to tell him what to do about it.
“Go ahead and answer it,” Jeff said wearily. “It’s likely another of them cockalorums ordering me to come out to Flowery Branch and make people stop scaring their biddies.”
“Hello,” Bert said into the phone. “Sheriff McCurtain’s office.”
“It’s Judge Ben Allen!”
“Oh, Lord!” Jeff breathed, closing his eyes for a few moments of restful peace.
Bert laid the phone on the desk and backed quietly away. Jeff moved himself across the floor to the desk.
“Hello, Judge,” he said, forcing himself to speak up brightly.
“McCurtain, why didn’t you get out to Flowery Branch last night after you left my house?”
“Judge, a lot of things happened last night, all of them pure wrong. If I had more time, I could explain them. It looked like all the power in the world was against me. I ain’t been so plagued by so many far-fetched things all at the same time since God-come-Wednesday.”
There as a long pause over the wires.
“Consuetudo manerii et loci est observanda,” Judge Ben Allen said wearily.
“What’s that, Judge?” Jeff asked quickly.
There was an even longer pause before Judge Allen spoke again.
“After getting a few scattered reports from around the county, the situation looks different than it did last night. It’s too early yet to make a forecast, but maybe it’ll be best if you lie low for a few hours. By that time I’ll have a better line on the situation. It’s a good thing you didn’t get out to Flowery Branch, but I still don’t understand why you didn’t make straight for the country like I told you.”
“It ain’t so easy to try to explain over the phone, Judge. But I’m glad I wasn’t needed out there, after all. I want to do my best to keep this lynching politically clean, Judge. If Mrs. Narcissa Calhoun would only keep out—”
“You stay where you are, McCurtain, so I can put my hands on you when I want you. I don’t want to hear of you going off fishing, or nothing like that. Good-by.”
“Good-by, Judge,” Jeff said weakly, replacing the receiver on the hook.
He turned and looked at Bert standing between him and the window. Bert’s face was pale and solemn.
“Bert,” he said, “sometimes I don’t know if I’m coming or going. If you’ll take my advice, you’ll get out of politics and never let yourself be tempted to sample a pollbook as long as you live. If I was you, I’d marry myself a loving wife and settle down to a peaceful way of living out on a little farm somewhere.”
“Why, Sheriff Jeff?”
“Because, Bert. Because!”
He got up painfully, pushing the sides of the chair from his hips. Once on his feet, he looked up at the ceiling, listening intently for Corra’s sounds. All was as quiet and peaceful as summer twilight. There was a faint aroma of boiling vegetables in the air. He tilted back his head, his nostrils flaring, and breathed deeply of it. He moved towards the door.
“I’m worried sick about Sam Brinson, the colored man,” he said. “As soon as I get a little bite to eat, I’m going to do some inquiring about him. I just can’t sit still and let something far-fetched happen to Sam.”
Bert got out of his way. He moved through the door and went to the bottom of the stairway in the hall. He listened for a moment before beginning to climb the stairs. Just as he mounted the first step, Corra came out of the bedroom and went into the kitchen. Jeff went on up, his nostrils quivering at the odor of boiling beans and freshly baked cornbread.
Chapter VIII
S HEP B ARLOW, HIS eyes bloodshot from loss of sleep, got back home at noon that day. He
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