Ray Sutcliffe looked around and stared at me as if he didn't know who I was. A cigar was in his mouth. He took it out and waved his hand at me as if shooing away a fly. “I'm busy now, boy. I'll take care of you later.” He then turned his back on me.
Now, this made me mad. This was the kind of talk I was getting from a man who'd been talking a whole lot different just a few hours earlier, before I'd won this race for him. He'd been desperate then, and he couldn't talk enough to persuade me to ride.
“I need the money now,” I said.
Ray Sutcliffe turned slowly and faced me again, and once his gray eyes set on me, I knew I was in trouble.
“What's that you say?”
I didn't want to press this thing, but I was thinking on my daddy and his whip, and on Mitchell coming over if I didn't get my money. Besides, Ray Sutcliffe owed me for this win, something he couldn't have gotten without me. “You promised to pay me right after the race,” I said. “I told you I was going to need my money so I can go.”
“Nigger, you going to stand there and tell me what I said? Well, I'm going to tell you something right now! I don't know about in Georgia, boy, but niggers in Alabama and here in East Texas watch their tongues. Now, you best watch yours before it gets you into a whole lot of trouble. I'll pay you when I'm ready to pay you.”
He started to turn again to his party, but I said, “And when will that be?”
Ray Sutcliffe pointed his cigar-holding hand right in my face. “Could be tonight, could be next week, could be never, you smart nigger! Now get!” He turned his back to me once more, mumbling something about “white niggers,” and continued his celebrating.
I was furious, but I had no choice but to leave unless I wanted real trouble. I met Mitchell on his way over. “Well, you get it?” he asked.
“No. He said later.” I didn't want to tell Mitchell what else he'd said.
“Later? Later when?'
“Said later when he gets ready.”
“Shoot! That could be never, then!”
He was right about that. “Could be,” I agreed. “Right now I'm more worried about my daddy coming. It's getting late.”
“Well, why don't you worry about your daddy and let me worry about your money. I'll get it for you.”
“How? I don't need you making trouble about this.”
“Won't be any trouble, long as that man do what he said he was going to do. It's your money and he got plenty of it now, 'cause of you.”
“Mitchell, leave it alone.”
Mitchell grunted and leaned against a post, then suddenly straightened again. “Ah, doggonit!”
“What?”
“Look.”
I turned and saw my daddy along with Willie Thomas and Robert rushing up the pathway from the stables. I didn't wait for anything else. “Let's get out of here!”
“I know one thing,” said Mitchell, not moving. “My daddy's not gonna lay another whip on me. I done told him what gonna happen if he do.”
I didn't have time to listen to this. I pulled on his arm. “I said let's go!” Then I took off, and Mitchell came behind me. We made our way hurriedly onto the platform in front of the train sitting on the spur and hid behind some cotton bales. We rested a minute. Then Mitchell said, “So what we do now?”
“I don't know, but I know one thing. I'm not taking another whipping either.”
We peeked over the bales looking out for our daddies, but when we didn't see them, we settled down behind the bales to wait. “You don't go back and face up to that whippin', then what you 'spect t' do?” asked Mitchell.
I considered. “Suppose I'll go west. Maybe find George. There's plenty of open land out there.”
Mitchell scoffed, “For a white man.”
“Maybe, but I figure a man of any color can try. I figure to get some of that open land out there, lots of it. Why, I've read they've got mountains that keep snow the whole year long, and the coldest streams filled with fish, and there're all kinds of game out there too. I figure to get me some of that land and have a place same as my daddy with plenty of good livestock on it, horses and cattle.”
“Well . . . you dream on.”
I knew Mitchell was mocking me, but I didn't challenge him. It was my dream, after all, not his. He could think what he wanted. Instead, I said, “So, what about you? What are you going to do?”
“Go where I can. One place 'bout the same as another t' me. 'Spect it don't matter, long as somebody's not whippin' on me.”
“You know,” I said, glancing over at the track, “we could take that train west out of here.”
“Jus' hop it?”
“Well, I suppose we'd have to. We've got no money.”
“You got money. It's jus' in that Ray Sutcliffe's pocket, that's all.”
“Well, looks like it's going to have to stay there,” I said. “I can't risk going back for it and have my daddy find me.”
Mitchell didn't say anything. He just tilted his hat over his face to ward off the scorching sun. I no longer could see his eyes. After a few minutes he hopped up. “Look here, Paul,” he said, “why don't you go see what time that train's s'posed t' pull out? I'll be right back.”
I got up. “Where you going?”
“I'll be back,” he said again, and took off without answering my question. I didn't call after him; Mitchell was Mitchell, and he certainly didn't answer to me.
I left the cotton bales and went over to a platform where tickets were being sold. I found out there were two trains leaving in the next few hours, one going west and one going east. I knew which one I wanted to be on, so I walked the track trying to figure a good car Mitchell and I could hop and hide in to start our journey west. I worried about Mitchell, worried if he had gone back to confront Ray Sutcliffe. I prayed not.
For some while I walked along the cars and no one questioned me. My clothes were good, and I was counting on most folks who saw me to take me for a well-to-do white boy who was fascinated by trains. Still, I wore my cap low over my forehead and was thankful that my hair hung long over my ears and my forehead, somewhat hiding my face.
I continued to walk the track; then I headed back toward the cotton bales to wait for Mitchell. There were a number of folks now gathered on the platform; most of them looked like travelers. Among them were some folks whom I'd seen both times I'd raced. One, a tall, silver-haired woman standing with three younger women, looked my way and smiled, then pointed me out to the others in her group. Quickly, I glanced around for another route to the bales, but I didn't find one before she called to me. “Aren't you the boy who just rode that winning horse a bit ago?” she asked.
I was sorry the woman had recognized me, but I had to answer. “Yes, ma'am,” I said.
“And as I recall,” she went on, “you won another race a few days ago. My, you are the rider, aren't you?”
She waited for me to reply. “They were good horses.”
“Certainly were,” she agreed. “I've got a stable of horses myself, and I know good horseflesh when I see it. I know good riders too, and you certainly are one.” I nodded my thanks and looked away, ready to be on my way. The woman, however, kept on talking. “I've noticed you've ridden for two different gentlemen. Are you hiring out as a rider, then?”
She gave me no chance to answer.
“Because if you are, I might have a place for you riding my horses. My three daughters here and I are just getting ready to board this train back home, and we've got a couple of new horses to take with us that I'm sure you'd be able to ride. Of course, you need to know I don't put my horses up for as many races as some folks do, but you could do other work with the horses too, training, taking care of them, and such. You think you'd be interested?”
I was interested, but I had other things on my mind. I saw Mitchell coming. He was hurrying up the path, glancing back over his shoulder. I wondered if wherever he'd gone, he'd run into my daddy or his own. I scoured the crowd beyond him but saw neither one. “No, ma'am,” I said, rather abruptly, to the silver-haired woman, and backed away. “But thank you kindly, though.” I turned quickly and headed toward Mitchell, who left the path and cut across the grassy knoll to meet me. “What is it?” I asked as he drew near. “You run into our daddies?”
“Worse'n that,” he said, out of breath. “When's the train goin'?”
“Soon.”
“Then we got t' get on it.”
I glanced down the track toward the freight cars, all still being loaded. We couldn't jump them right now without being noticed. “Best hide 'til the train starts up.”
“Can't hide,” said Mitchell. “We got t' get outa here quick!”
“Butâ”
“Look, I got your money from that Ray Sutcliffe,” he said, patting the lower portion of his shirt tucked into his trousers. “Jus' took what was yours. Only thing was, ole Ray Sutcliffe, he wasn't ready t' give it up.”
“Ah, Lord, Mitchell, don't tell meâ”
“I waited 'til he gone off alone and I jumped him. I had t' knock that fool down.”
“Ah, Mitchellâ”
Mitchell looked back toward the road. “Got no time t' talk 'bout this now, Paul. They comin'!”
I followed Mitchell's gaze and saw a group of white men headed toward the spur. Not far behind them were my daddy, Mitchell's daddy, and Robert. I looked around frantically. There was no place to hide. Most of the cotton bales were gone now and the loading platform was quickly emptying. I thought about making a mad dash across the tracks, but there was only flat-looking prairie land beyond, and I figured the men would see us before we found cover. I even thought about slipping under the train, but we'd be too visible to folks coming toward the spur. My last thought was as wild as any of the others, but I figured to try it anyway. “Follow me,” I told Mitchell, and took off toward the people on the platform. I went right to the silver-haired woman. “Ma'am,” I said, “you still want me to ride for you?”
The woman turned, looking around somewhat startled by my sudden reappearance. “So, you changed your mind?”
I nodded. “You still want me to work for you?”
“Well . . . I supposeâ”
“Then I can go, long as my friend here can come with me.”
The woman looked past me at Mitchell, and I was fearful what she might think, for Mitchell could look as mean as he wanted to be, and right now he was looking more than mean. I give that woman credit for seeing past that look on Mitchell's face at that moment and sensing something else.
“He's good with horses,” I explained. “We travel together.”
The woman kept her eyes on Mitchell and slowly nodded. “All right then,” she said. “I suppose I can take you both on.”
Mitchell nudged me. The group of white men was now spreading along the track and checking the freight cars. “We need to get on now,” I told the woman.
“How come?” she asked. Her eyes studied Mitchell and me, and she frowned. “You boys in trouble?”
I looked at Mitchell, then took a deep breath and made a decision that would affect the rest of my life: I decided to trust this silver-haired woman. I told her we had taken the money Ray Sutcliffe owed us when he'd refused to pay, and I told her there were men looking for us now. The woman glanced down the platform at the men searching the cars, then set stern eyes on both of us. “You all hurt that man in any way? Tell me the truth now.”
I glanced at Mitchell. There was no expression on his face as he answered her. “Nothin' but his pride and his backside,” he said. “I knocked him down.”
The woman's voice rose, but not enough to attract attention.
“You hit a white man?”
Mitchell's silence answered the question.
“Well, that sure changes things,” said the woman with a heavy sigh, but she didn't change her mind. “The two of you, pick up those bags and follow us. I never did like a man who doesn't pay his debts. Just do what I say and no one will question you.”
She motioned to us, and both Mitchell and I picked up the women's baggage and, with our caps lowered, followed her and her daughters as they climbed onto the train. Just before we entered the car, the silver-haired woman turned slightly and whispered, “When we get inside, do exactly what I say and not a word from either one of you.” She didn't wait for a reply, but walked on, expecting us to follow, and we had no choice but to do so. We couldn't go back. I glanced at Mitchell behind me, and I figured he was thinking the same thing as I.
As we passed through the first car, I kept my eyes lowered, not wanting anyone to see my face too directly. But as we entered the second car, I glanced out the window toward the yard. It was then that I saw my daddy, and I stopped. He was standing on the platform with Robert and Willie Thomas, talking to Ray Sutcliffe and two others. Ray Sutcliffe was all red and angry-looking and gesturing wildly. My daddy wasn't red or gesturing, but I could see anger in him too. I could tell just by the way he was standing. There was a stiffness in him, and I knew that was because of me, because of my disobedience and this added trouble that now had men searching the tracks for Mitchell and me. In that moment when I saw my daddy, I wanted to throw down the bags I was carrying and run to him. No matter how angry he was at me, I knew he'd protect me if he could. Yes, he'd certainly whip me, but maybe that was better than this unknown course upon which I was about to embark. But then I thought about Mitchell and our greater trouble. Mitchell had hit a white man and taken his money. There was no easy solution to that.