One day, about three months after the accident, Jared and I had ridden Augustus (bareback of course) into the little town of Tilson, located some 10 miles from my home. Because of all the northerners who had arrived in our region to profit from Reconstruction (what a badly chosen term that was), the town was bustling – as much with strangers as with locals.

We had tied Augustus’ reins to a railing built for that purpose and began ambling about to see what we could see. Since it was a Saturday morning, there was much to see. Wagons full of produce squeaking and rolling up and down the main street to and from the weekly market that was open all year except in the most severe weather. There were females of all ages parading around in their pretty dresses and comely bonnets. Several politely greeted us and asked after Horatio – many locals had heard about the accident. And there were all manner of interesting items from hardware to cigars and fancy suits in the establishments we were wandering in and out of.

As we emerged from a haberdashery, a stout, redheaded gentleman of about 35 or so blocked our way. As we tried to step around him, the man shoved me with an elbow so I near stumbled into the street. As I recovered I could see Jared (not one to ever back away from fisticuffs, even with the burliest of opponents) stiffen and prepare to say something. I whispered (too loudly, I fear), “Let it go, Jared. We don’t need another incident to get our parents all in a fuss.”

“Yeah, let it go, country boy. Follow your skinny young friend’s advice and don’t even consider messing with the likes of me. For I shall make short work of you.” The man had an accent that placed him from an area far outside the South. Now I know it was a Boston accent. At the time I couldn’t have told you.

After that remark I knew Jared would not heed my counsel. “That right, fat man? You gonna whip my young ass if I take you on?”

“That’s right Sonny. I’ll kick your nigger-loving ass and the ass of your friend. And I’d kick that little nigger boy’s ass, the one with the hook hand, if he was here just to put a little frosting on the cake.”

Jared smiled politely, tipped his cap to the man, and said, “Yes, sir. Sorry to bother you, sir.” And then he turned to leave. As a smug sneer formed on the man’s face, Jared turned back with the swiftness of a rattlesnake and kicked the man straight in the groin. It was a powerful kick because he was knocked backward onto his hind side as he howled with pain.

“Good sense would dictate that I kick you again right away, sir. But I’m a gentleman and will allow you to gather yourself before you set about to fulfill your promise to whip my ass.” The man was still plainly suffering, but not ready to admit that a boy had handed him such an embarrassment.

With effort he managed, “I’ve revised my plans, sonny. I no longer intend to give you a whipping. I intend to kill you.” And with that he drew a large knife he had concealed somewhere on his person.

I tugged hard on Jared’s shirt and said, “We best leave now ‘fore this gets any uglier than it already has.” Jared paid me no mind at all and directed his full attention on the man as a crowd of onlookers, mostly men, began to gather. The females were retreating; some were screaming for someone to find the sheriff.

“Well now,” said Jared, “We might us have the makings of a fair fight. An overfed Yankee scallywag with a knife matched against a southern boy barely turned thirteen.”

If the man had been angry and humiliated before, he was now in a fury. He sprang from his prone position with surprising speed and lunged at Jared with the knife. Jared smoothly evaded the man’s thrust and threw a short but solid punch to the man’s temple as he stumbled forward and past him. I don’t know how this dustup would have ended, but I’m quite certain Jared would have prevailed. We shall never know, however, because out of nowhere Sheriff Farnsworth appeared with a Colt .44 aimed at the Yankee and calmly but forcefully said, “Sir, drop your knife and stand up.”

The man did not comply. He shouted, “I will drop my knife only after I have gutted this boy like a deer.”

“You will do exactly as I instructed, sir, or I will shoot you in the knee and cripple you for life.” Apparently the man believed the sheriff because he dropped the knife. Then he vomited and struggled to a standing position. The sheriff kept his revolver aimed at the Yankee. He then ordered one of his deputies to haul the big man off to the jail.

After the sheriff had got the crowd mostly dispersed, he turned to Jared and me and said, “The two of you will follow me.” With that he turned and marched at a brisk pace towards the outskirts of the town. Jared and I trailed behind, laboring to match his long strides. I could see Jared was about to say something, but I shook my head vigorously and pointed just as vigorously at the sheriff who was now walking even faster.

When we had reached a wooded area, the sheriff pointed to a large fallen poplar and said, “Sit.” We sat. Then he commenced to pacing back and forth with his hands on his hips as he made snorting sounds that reminded me of a bull readying for a charge.

Once again I could see Jared forming words on his mouth. When I elbowed him hard in the thigh, he grimaced but uttered not a word. It was probably two minutes or so until the sheriff stopped his pacing. To the two of us, it seemed longer. He looked at both of us, but then fixed his withering gaze on Jared. “What in the goddam hell got into you, boy, to do such a fool thing as that? If that oaf you kicked and punched had not been one of those northern opportunists, your young ass would be right there in my jail sharing a cell with him.”

I expected an embarrassed and contrite, “Yessir. I am most sorry for having done such a foolish thing, sir.” That’s not what I heard. Jared snickered ever so slightly and muttered, “Would give me a chance to finish what I begun with that pile of Yankee horse shit.” The sheriff placed a boot in the middle of Jared’s chest and shoved him backwards off the log.

“I think I missed what you said, Jared. Would you mind speaking more forcefully and repeating it?”

I could see Jared was not truly intimidated by the shove, but I could also see he had decided to adopt a more subservient attitude towards a man whom I knew he both liked and respected.

“Sheriff, I was saying that I am sincerely regretful for my foolish act in fighting with that gentleman and that I have learned a hard lesson.”

“I thought that’s what you said, son, but I needed to assure myself that I had heard you correctly.”

Without further words the sheriff turned back towards town and began walking far more slowly than he had on the way out. Jared and I waited silently until he was out of sight. Then we began trudging into town to retrieve Augustus.

Jared and I had little to say to each other on our walk back. I suppose we needed the time to let what happened settle in on us a bit. I know my nerves had been mostly drained. As for Jared? Certainly his physical resources were far greater than my own. And while he was more mentally tough than I, I knew the experience had taken some wind out of his normally billowing sails.

Once we were astride Augustus, I said: “I’m a bit curious. I could speculate on why that fellow set you off so much. But why guess at it when you can tell me directly?”

“How about he’s a good for nothing Northern turd come down here to take advantage of us all and just on general principles deserved the whipping I didn’t quite get to finish giving him?”

I scrunched up my nose and said. “Jared, most folks who know you, or at least know of you, would buy that and then steer the subject in another direction. Trouble is, I ain’t them. I ain’t ready to lay out cash money for the purchase.”

“That right?

“Yep.”

He was quiet for a bit and then said, “Well, if you gonna press me, which you are much in the habit of doing, I’d say what got me going was he attacked my friends. He shoved you and he called Horatio a nigger.”

I couldn’t restrain a chuckle, “Jared, you shove me all the time and you’ve called Horatio a nigger to his face more times than I care to count.”

“Ain’t the same thing.”

“How so?”

“What the three of us been through together, I got the right to do and say just about anything I please around the two of you. He don’t. He ain’t got no goddam right at all, and I needed to let him know that in a way only a fool like him would understand.”

‘Huhm … sounds as if we’re getting there. Is there more to it than that?”

“Like what?”

“Like something deeper. Like how you see things the way they are, and maybe how those things are catawampus — out of kilter with the way they ought to be.”

“That’d be right.” I waited him out.

“Maybe it boils down to the whole idea of some people thinking they better than everybody else. Like somebody give ‘em permission to look down on the rest of us and boss us around and tell us what’s what and that we oughta keep our mouths shut and go along with what they say.”

“You got a particular in mind?”

 “Well, take how most white folks got the notion they’re better than most black folks. I don’t see no proof of it. If anything, I see proof in a contrary direction. Are we bigger and stronger than they are? Average black man could whip the tar out of the average white man. Don’t do no wagering on that one ‘less you got money to throw away.”

“Or how ‘bout the idea we’re smarter than they are?”

“Yeah, how ‘bout that? Take Horatio. You real smart. I ain’t no genius, but I got common sense and you don’t gotta lead me around with a rope. But Horatio, he’s smarter than the two of us put together. And you know that’s the straight-out truth.”

“I do.”

“Or take Beulah at your place. How long she been with you all?”

“Since before I was born.”

“And who’s the boss in your house when it comes right down to it? Is it your Mamma? Is it your daddy?”

I smiled and shook my head.

“I thought so.”

At that that point it seemed wise to turn the conversation to other topics.