Trouble in July Read Online Free Page B

and I ain’t going to stand and see it ruined.”
    “What do you want us to do?” Bert asked, turning and watching Jeff’s face.
    Jeff nodded tentatively. He was not certain that he approved of the question but it was too late by then to do anything about it.
    “Tell Sheriff McCurtain to come out here right away and drive them folks out of my corn field. He draws pay from the county for protecting property, and I want mine protected before it’s too late. There ain’t a nigger closer than a mile of here, noway. I’m going to get my shotgun and do some shooting of my own if them people ain’t run out of my field. I don’t have nothing against folks chasing niggers if they use care, but when they tramp down my corn field, drive automobiles over it, and ride mules through it, I just ain’t going to be responsible for what happens to them. You tell Sheriff McCurtain I said all that.”
    “I wouldn’t do anything rash, if I was you, Mr. Dennis,” Bert advised him. “It wouldn’t pay you to get into trouble yourself.”
    Jeff looked worried. He leaned forward trying to hear what was being said.
    “Then get Sheriff McCurtain out here to chase them off,” Avery Dennis said. “That’s what he got elected to office for, and he draws handsome pay the first of every month to do it. You tell him I said so.”
    “I’ll see what can be done,” Bert said, hanging the receiver on the hook.
    “Who was that?” Jeff asked, his eyes jumping from the phone to Bert’s face.
    “Avery Dennis,” Bert told him. “He says there’s a crowd out at his place tramping down his crop of corn. He wants you to come out there and drive them out of the field.”
    Jeff sat down with relief. A faint smile spread over his face.
    “I would have sworn it was some other damn fool wanting me to go catch that nigger before he gets lynched,” he said. “It’s nowhere like as bad as I thought it might be.”
    Bert and Jim waited in readiness, wondering if Jeff were going to send them out to Avery Dennis’ farm instead of going himself.
    Suddenly Jeff sat up erectly, sweeping the papers off his desk.
    “Avery Dennis ain’t got no business ringing me up on the phone at this time of night! Just look what time it is! Hot blast it, I might have been in bed sound asleep! Avery Dennis is a R.F.D. mail-carrier, anyway. Nobody on civil service has got a right to plague politicians who have to run for office ever so often! It’s just them kind of people who always go nosing into politics. I’ve got troubles enough without taking on complaints from a frazzle-assed mail-carrier living on civil service. I ain’t had no regard for people of that stripe since God-come-Wednesday.”
    He shook himself free of the chair and got to his feet. He looked larger than ever when he stood beside the small desk.
    “Get me my fishing pole like I told you, Bert,” he said brusquely, moving across the creaking floor.
    “Yes, sir, Sheriff,” Bert said, jumping. “I’ve got it standing against the wall on the front porch.”

Chapter III
    W HILE S HERIFF J EFF McCurtain was getting into his automobile for the second time that night to drive down to Lord’s Creek, Sonny Clark was creeping out of the’ deep piney woods that covered the whole southern slope of Earnshaw Ridge. Earnshaw Ridge was a long hump of red clay earth that protruded from the sandy flatlands and round hills of Julie County like a swollen artery. The hump began somewhere in the adjoining county to the west, ran angularly across the northern section of Julie County, and disappeared in a southeasterly direction in Smith County. At the foot of Earnshaw Ridge, Flowery Branch flowed in a meandering course southward through the lowlands towards the Oconee River.
    Sonny had waded up the branch for about a mile and a half earlier in the evening and, after reaching the woods, he had lain trembling on the ground behind the fallen trunk of a dead tree for about two hours. Except for the two or three