Things were going along pretty good. I almost forgot Murphy and his gang. Folks said they had run off to Missouri. One Saturday, Aunt Alice gave me a nickel to buy a spool of thread from Otto’s store. I ran most of the way and was out of breath when I saw that black horse with a white patch on its face hitched to the post in front of the bank. I slipped into Otto’s store and ducked behind a counter close to the front window. Murphy came out of the bank and talked with a dozen men on horses The window was open and I could hear everything they said. “He says to run em offen the land or we don’t get paid,” Murphy said.
“Why’nt we jes kill ‘em?” A fellow on a sorrel horse said. “The old lady protects the darkies and she’s got friends,” said Murphy. “Them friends ain’t no count,” another fellow said. Murphy put a foot in the stirrup and swung up into the saddle. “Boys, I got an idée how we kin handle this. First, let’s have a drink then we go to the Camp House and roust out that old darky,” said he.
“Mr. Otto, please, something terrible is going to happen at the Camp House. Tell Mr. Birt and Mr. Malone,” said I “Why for?” he asked.
“Oh please, hurry, those men aim to kill Isaiah.” I ran out the back door and down the alley, then across the park and into the back door of the hotel. Isaiah was behind the bar polishing glasses.
He looked older and was more stooped but was elegant in his black suit and string tie. “Isaiah, you got to hide, they is comin’ after you,” said I. “Who is comin’?
“Murphy and his gang.” Isaiah held a sparkling glass to the light and gave it one more swipe. “Oh Lordy, won’t it ever stop? Captain Trimmer gave all his slaves freedom even before the war and came here all the way from Virginny so we could be safe. He done given us house slaves a piece of land for our very own.” Isaiah covered his eyes with both hands and sobbed as if his heart was broken. “I thought we had freedom, but those bad men won’t leave us alone. I ain’t runin’ no more. Iffen they kills me, dat’s alright. I got the promise of a better place.” “Is it because of the mules? Murphy says you stole those mules from the army during the war.” “Tom, you is too good a boy to believe I stole those mules. Colonel Edwards give me mules to take the Captain’s body home from the war. He paid for the mules that I druv all the way from Gettysburg so we could bury him at home.”
I heard horses comin’ down the street with spurs jingling. They stopped in front of the Camp House. There was drunken laughter and boom, boom, boom as if someone had emptied a pistol, firing into the air. “Isaiah, get your sorry ass out here right now.” It was Murphy’s whisky voice. “Please, Isaiah, hide in the cellar. I’ll go out and tell them you ain’t here,” said I. “No, don’t want you gittin hurt.” Isaiah walked slow, like it hurt to put one foot in front of another but he went across the room, then through the door and stood on the porch.
“Here I is. Do what you want,” said he. The men were quiet for a full minute, as if they were struck dumb by that elegant old man. Murphy slowly pulled his Henry rifle from its scabbard and leveled it on Isaiah. “You come on with us to the jail. The sheriff says you stole mules and are a squattin’ on land that don’t belong to you,” he said. Isaiah stood firm with his hands tented in front of his chest. His lips moved but he made no sound while Murphy worked the rifle’s lever.
“Boom”; the noise from down the street sounded like cannon but it was a shotgun. Mr. Birt was drivin’ the bright yellow buckboard that Mr. Malone used to deliver ice. The wagon bounce into a pot hole but Mr. Birt, with his one hand slapped the reins on the two horses so they came down the street at a gallop. Mr. Malone opened a sawed off double barreled shotgun and dropped another shell into the breech. Mr. Birt sawed on the reins to stop the wagon twenty feet from Murphy’s men that were drawn up in a bunch. Mr. Malone pulled back both hammers and took aim. “Both barrels are loaded with buckshot. I wouldn’t mind killing every one of you bastards. Turn around and go on home or I’ll fill your hides with buckshot,” said Mr. Malone. Murphy twisted around as if he was going to aim his rifle at Mr. Malone, but one look at that the big black muzzle convinced him to put the Henry back in the scabbard. His men slumped in their saddles and turned their horses. “We gonna nail that darkies hide to a wall by damn,” Murphy said.
“Tom, Your quick thinking saved a life,” said Mr. Birt. I walked Isaiah back into the hotel, where he polished glasses as if nothing had happened.
That night, I woke up out of a sound sleep to the ringing school bell, the fire alarm. I pulled on my pants, went out the front door and saw flames downtown. I ran all the way but when I got there the firemen were pumping water on Mr. Birt’s newspaper office. Billy Malone’s pa organized bucket carriers to throw water on stacks of smoldering paper. We saved the printing press and almost all the front office. It is a good thing the night watchman was awake and saw the blaze when it first started. Mr. Malone said he smelled coal oil at the back when he first got there. “The Murphy gang did this,” he said.
Billy and I went to the horse trough to wash off the soot. “They did it to get even,” I said. “You watch out, they will come for you next,” said Billy