Trouble in July Read Free Page B

speaking.”
    “What kind of a sheriff’s office are you folks running anyhow?” the voice demanded.
    “What do you mean?” Bert asked, wondering who it was.
    “You’d better get McCurtain up out of bed and tell him to get busy and catch a nigger named Sonny Clark, or I’ll come to Andrewjones and jerk McCurtain out of bed myself. I want Sonny Clark caught and locked up for safekeeping. Do you hear me?”
    “Who’s talking?” Bert asked excitedly. “Who are you? What’s your name?”
    “This is Bob Watson at Flowery Branch. Sonny Clark has been accused of raping a white girl, the daughter of one of the tenants on my place. Sonny is one of my field hands. I don’t want no trouble out here. If Sonny Clark gets lynched, there won’t be a nigger left on my plantation by sundown tomorrow night. Or if some of them don’t run off, they’ll be too scared to get out in the fields and work. My whole crop will be ruined. Don’t forget this is laying-by time. I won’t even be able to hire outside help if a nigger gets lynched out here. You tell McCurtain I said for him to get up out of bed and come out here and catch Sonny and take him to Andrewjones, or somewhere, and lock him up good and tight for safekeeping till this trouble blows over. I voted for McCurtain the last time he ran for re-election, and my wife votes the same ticket I vote. But he’ll never get another vote in this part of Julie County if he don’t come out here and do something right away before it’s too late. He was elected and draws a bigger salary than he’s worth to do just what I’m telling you now. You tell McCurtain I said he’s already done enough fishing to last him a lifetime, and if he goes again now, it’ll be just one too many. Good-by!”
    Bert set the phone down carefully, fearful that it would burst into another clamor of ringing before he could get away from it. Crossing the room, he repeated to Jeff practically every word Bob Watson had said. Jeff listened with his mind in a ruffle, leaning his weight against the doorframe.
    Nobody said anything for several minutes after Bert had finished. Jim Couch stood behind Jeff in the hall, waiting impatiently for the sheriff to act.
    Jeff moved his bulky body across the room and sat down heavily in the big arm-chair behind the desk. Jim followed him into the room.
    “Jim,” he said slowly, looking up at the deputy under drooping eyelids, “Jim, it’s things like this that has whipped me frazzle-assed for eleven long years.”
    Both Jim and Bert nodded sympathetically. They realized he was at that moment in the tightest corner of his entire political career. On one hand there was a crowd of Julie County citizens, all registered and qualified voters, who would do their best to throw him out of office if he attempted to interfere with their lynching of Sonny Clark. On the other hand there was a small group of influential men and women, one of them being Bob Watson, who would do anything within their power to ruin him politically if he did not show some evidence of trying to stop the lynching.
    “If it had happened anywhere else in the country,” Jeff said wearily, “it wouldn’t amount to so much. I can’t figure out why that blame nigger had to be one of Bob Watson’s hands. It’s a pure shame.”
    Bob Watson was the largest landowner in Julie County. He owned nearly half of all the farming land in the county, and almost all the timber land. He farmed about fifteen hundred acres of cotton with field-hands. Another fifteen hundred acres were let out to renters, sharecroppers, and tenants.
    Corra came downstairs and stood in the doorway. She knew at once by the look on her husband’s face that something unexpected had turned up to discourage him.
    Bert went to the door and told her in whispers what had been said over the phone.
    “I’m licked, Corra,” Jeff said, looking at her helplessly.
    “Nonsense,” Corra said. “Bob Watson is nothing but bluff and bluster. You know