Cy in Chains by David L. Dudley Read Free Book Online

kidnappers might meet on the road.
    The next time they stopped, it was dark. Never had Cy been so thankful for ordinary things like relieving himself, stretching his arms and legs, and putting some food in his belly. Again, sleep brought forgetfulness.
    The third day, Cy began to believe that this journey was Strong’s revenge. The Sconyers boys would go on and on until he died, then throw him away into a shallow grave. Then they could say they hadn’t actually murdered him, he’d just—died. With the passing hours, any lingering hope that his father would save him drained like water into dry sand, and he began to wish that he
would
die.
    This was his reward for being Travis’s friend. For finding him in the night and trying to get him to come home. For telling Strong to stop whipping him. And for almost drowning while trying to save him. If by some chance he lived, Cy promised himself, never again would he try and fix the messes of other people, especially white folks. From now on, he’d look out for himself, and other folks could do the same.
    On the third night, when Cy knew he wouldn’t last much longer, the wagon stopped and he could hear the men jump down. One began pounding on something; it sounded like a wooden door. Then strange voices, the sound of a lock clicking open, a heavy door or gate swinging on rusty hinges, and Jeff telling the horse to walk on. Cy was hauled out of the wagon bed. The sack was taken from his head, his gag removed, and he was made to step forward.
    He was in a large open space. In the dim light thrown by a single lantern, he could just make out a fence of barbed wire fastened to tall wooden poles. In front of him were a couple of long, low wooden buildings.
    Two white men, one holding a lantern, came forward and stood looking him over the way a horse breeder looks at a gelding up for sale. “So who’s this?” the man with the lantern said, touching Cy under the chin and making him raise his head. “And who might you fellas be?”
    â€œOur names ain’t important,” Jeff replied. “Let’s just say we work for a rich man up in Davis County. He hired us to deliver this nigger to you, and he don’t want no questions asked.”
    â€œDavis County? That’s a long ways from here. How’d this rich boss of yours find out about my place?”
    Jeff shrugged. “I dunno. Maybe you got a big reputation, Mr. Cain. Mr. Str—” He caught himself before he gave away the name. “He told us just where to find you. Said you’re famous all over for bein’ an old-time nigger catcher, like them patrollers before the war.”
    Cain threw him an ugly look. “Don’t try my patience if you want to do business. If I got a reputation, ain’t none of your affair how I come by it. Understand?”
    Jeff lowered his eyes. “Yessir.”
    â€œThis big boss of yours . . . He send you with any . . .
incentive
for me to take this boy off his hands?”
    â€œIf you mean money, yessir.”
    â€œLet’s see it, then.”
    Jeff dug in a pocket and came up with a pouch. Cain handed the lantern to his helper, untied the string, and poured some coins into his hand. “This boy ain’t sick, is he? Ain’t got the consumption or swamp fever?”
    â€œNo, sir. He’s fit. Can put in a big day’s work. No doubt about that.”
    Cain jingled the coins. “Open your mouth,” he ordered Cy. His helper held the lantern close, and Cain peered down Cy’s throat. “Turn around.” Cy did. “Unhitch them britches so I can get a good look at you.”
    Cy obeyed. He hated the white men’s eyes on his body. Cain looked him over, again like he was inspecting a cow or hog. “He’ll do, I reckon . . .”
    â€œSo you’ll take him?” Jeff Sconyers asked.
    â€œYeah, just as soon as you boys give me the rest of the money your boss