Trouble in July by Erskine Caldwell Read Free Book Online Page B

trial.
    Judge Allen looked up at him unsmilingly. Jeff could not recall ever having seen him before with such a worried expression on his face.
    “You were a long time getting here to see me, McCurtain,” he said. “I could have traveled that distance ten times over.”
    “I was down in the lower end of the county, near Lord’s Creek, when I heard you wanted to see me.”
    “What were you doing down there at this time of night?” he asked impatiently. “Why wasn’t you in bed?”
    Jeff looked at him carefully before answering. Judge Ben Allen had sent him fishing six or eight times during the past ten years, and he wondered if it were possible that the Judge was angry because for once he took it upon himself to go without being told.
    “I was going fishing, Judge,” he said finally.
    Judge Ben Allen grunted and pulled the blanket tighter around his shoulders.
    “This is a bad mess, McCurtain,” he said gravely, speaking as though he were about to hand down an important decision from the bench. “Sit down McCurtam.”
    Jeff sat down.
    “This thing looks worse every minute,” the Judge said, looking at Jeff and thinking. “That’s the aggravating thing about it. We’ve got the primary elections coming along in less than four months. This is one time we’ve got to be sure of our ground.”
    Jeff nodded.
    “Where have you been seen tonight since this thing got under way?”
    “I was in bed asleep until a little after midnight,” Jeff said quickly. “After that I got ready and got almost all the way to Lord’s Creek. I ain’t seen a soul tonight except my wife and the deputies.”
    Judge Allen looked at him, seemingly weighing the possibility that Jeff might be lying to him.
    “We’ll see,” he said.
    Wardlaw came in silently, sliding his wide flat feet noiselessly over the carpet. He went to the corner by the door and took up his accustomed position.
    “I hate to say it about brother whites, Judge,” Jeff began uneasily, “but them folks up there in those sand hills have got some far-fetched notions when it comes to mingling with niggers. I even found a white woman living with a nigger man up there once, but they ran off before I could do something about it. This Katy Barlow might be telling the truth, and, again, she might not be.”
    “There are more than a few bad actors with a hand in this thing, McCurtain,” the Judge said, leaning back and pulling the blanket under his chin. “The one that’s likely to cause me the most trouble is that Mrs. Narcissa Calhoun. This petition business of hers has come up so suddenly that no man alive can do any more at this point than guess what effect it is going to have on the election. The whole thing is blame foolishness from start to finish, but that won’t keep it from causing trouble this near the election. People can be worked up to such a pitch over the rape of a white girl that they’ll sign their names to any paper that comes along.”
    He stopped to think for a moment. After a while he turned and looked at Wardlaw standing in the corner.
    “Wardlaw,” he shouted, “I could send you to hell to burn in everlasting fire for your letting that nigger boy rape a white girl.”
    Wardlaw began to tremble.
    “Please don’t do that, Judge!” he begged. His lips began to tremble. “I won’t never grumble over what you makes me do as long as I live!”
    “That rape might set the opposition off on a clean sweep in the primary,” he said, still looking at the Negro in the corner. “Say something! Don’t just stand there shaking all the time!”
    “I hope the opposition all goes to hell and burns in the everlasting fire,” Wardlaw said, stumbling over the words. He was trying his best to remember what the Judge had said so he would be able to repeat it as he knew was expected of him. “I hope you’ll send me to hell to burn in the everlasting fire because I let a nigger boy touch the white girl.”
    Judge Allen turned away from him.
    “Don’t