Trouble in July Read Online Free Page A

torment a man in politics. You no sooner get through one election than you have to turn right straight around and start worrying about the outcome of the next one. Voters are a queer lot of people. I’ve seen out-at-the-front candidates wind up at the tail-end for a little thing like not wearing a pair of galluses. Now, ain’t that pure discouraging?”
    He sat down on the curb, dropping his head into the palm of his hands. Jim stood by, nodding.
    “If I only knew which way the wind’s going to blow from now on,” Jeff said, “I wouldn’t have to squat here as blind as a pig in a poke. If that nigger-petition of her catches on, I’d be a fool not to jump straddle the band-wagon. Nigger-trouble right now might be just the thing to set it off, too. People might begin falling all over themselves to get a chance to sign it to show their spite. I’d look like a pretty fool if I got left behind.”
    He looked up at Jim, almost convinced by his own reasoning.
    “If a big politician like Senator Ashley Dukes plays safe, that’s good reason why a sheriff ought to look out for his future, too.” He watched Jim’s face. “I feel I’m right, Jim.”
    “That sounds right,” Jim said, “but you’re down here between two fires. Senator Ashley Dukes don’t have to run the risk of getting his fingers burnt up where he is. For all you know, that nigger-petition might back-fire and ruin everybody holding a political office in the county.”
    Jeff got up and put his hand on the car door. He glanced behind him at the second-story windows in the jailhouse to see if Corra had got up again. The windows were dark and silent.
    “My wife’s a wise woman, even if she ain’t so much for looks,” Jeff said, moving his head from side to side. “My wife told me to go fishing, and I reckon I’ll just go ahead and do like she said. I’ll be a lot better off down there sitting on a log across Lord’s Creek than I’d be up here running myself frazzle-assed trying to find out something nobody is going to know the truth about till the shouting’s over, anyway.”
    Jim watched him climb into his car and squeeze his belly under the steeringwheel. He was disappointed. He had hoped to induce the sheriff to change his mind so they could go out on a hunt for the Negro. The two joys of his life were hunting possums between midnight and dawn, and tracking runaway Negroes at every opportunity.
    Bert ran out of the jailhouse.
    “There’s another phone call coming in, Sheriff Jeff,” he said excitedly. “I haven’t answered it yet, because I thought you’d want to know about it if you hadn’t left. What do you want me to do?”
    “Go on and answer it,” he answered quickly. “It’s your job to take calls and promise nothing.”
    “Yes, sir,” Bert said, turning around.
    He had reached the screen door when Jeff called him. He came back to the porch steps.
    “I’m going to listen to it, but that’s all I’m going to do,” he said getting out of the car as quickly as he could. “Hold on, Bert.”
    Jim helped him squeeze his belly from under the wheel, and after that he was able to take care of himself. All three of them went inside.
    They gathered around the phone. Bert lifted the receiver.
    “Hello,” Bert said. “Hello!”
    “It had better not be Bob Watson again,” Jeff said, eyeing the instrument suspiciously. “I’d be liable to lose my temper and tell him something this time.”
    “Hello!” Bert said again.
    “Hello,” the voice answered. “This is Avery Dennis.” His voice was sharp and high-pitched with excitement. “This is Avery Dennis out at Flowery Branch. I want to report some trouble out here in the neighborhood. There’s a crowd of men out here in my corn field tramping down my crop. It’s some of the crowd that’s looking for that nigger, Sonny Clark. I don’t care nothing about him, but them folks out there are ruining my field. I put a lot of work into my corn this year, all on my spare time,