From their observatory upon the roof, our friends beheld a mob of men surround the house and cautiously inspect all the lawn, the outhouses, and the land surrounding. Half a dozen men under the direction of Sheriff Flournoy searched the house, lighting up every room, looking in every closet, examining every corner, and peering under every bed. “I reckon the robbers, if any, got away, fellows,” Flournoy announced as he came out on the front porch. “We cannot find anybody, and cannot see that anything has been disturbed.”
“Where are the niggers who raised the alarm?” a voice asked.
“I guess they hit the grit,” Flournoy smiled. “I can’t imagine Hopey and Dazzle staying to see what a burglar wanted, or returning to see what he got.”
“Here’s one nigger has showed up!” a voice responded.
“White folks!” Vinegar Atts bawled as he was pushed into the light through a crowd of men. “Whut done happened to Marse Tom’s house?”
“Where have you been?” Flournoy snapped.
“Jes’ got back from a chu’ch religious meetin’,” Vinegar explained. “Marse Tom lef’ me an’ Hopey in charge of dis house, an’ he ain’t gwine approve his lawn gittin’ trompled up wid white folks.”
“Somebody tried to rob this house while you were away,” Flournoy told him.
Vinegar’s eyes opened until they glowed in the light from the porch like two china door-knobs.
“Did you-all good white folks ketch de robber?”
“No.”
“Did de robber steal anything?”
“No.”
“Whar is Hopey at?”
“The robber may have kidnapped her.”
“You’s prankin’ wid me, Marse John,” Vinegar howled. “Dar ain’t no one robber could kidnack Hopey. Dat wus a band of robbers—I surmises about fawty in de gang.”
Vinegar fumbled with his hat, and his breath came and went in labored gasps.
“I’m glad de robbers never stole nothin’,” he sighed. “Dat house am plum’ full of pretty doodads, an’ ef Marse Tom wus to come home an’ find dem rooms empty, I’d hab to esplain to him. An’ Marse Tom cain’t onderstand nothin’—when a nigger esplains.”
Vinegar shook his head in great perplexity over this particular white man’s mental fulness. One of the mysteries of his life was that he had never put anything across with Colonel Gaitskill. He knew the end from the beginning, and all the ramifications thereof, and with him, Vinegar’s explanations never explained. They merely caused complications.
“Whut is us gwine do now, Marse John?” he asked.
“I’m going to leave you to guard this house until daylight,” Flournoy told him. “Then I’ll come and examine it more carefully.”
“I ain’t got to guard it from de inside, is I, Marse John?” Vinegar asked in frightened tones.
“Yes—no, I think you had better stay outside,” Flournoy replied in a meditative tone. “If you go inside, you’ll go to sleep. If you stay out, the weather is ’most too cool to sleep comfortably, and you will have intervals of wakefulness.”
“I ain’t gwine sleep wid no band of burglars trapesin’ aroun’,” Vinegar assured him stoutly. “But I’ll feel a whole heap safer on de outside.”
“I’ll leave an automatic shotgun and two pistols with you, Vinegar,” Flournoy said. “Now you sit down by that tree over there and keep watch. Hear me?”
“I prefers to stand up an’ keep watch, Marse John,” Vinegar said as he placed the two pistols in his pocket and reached out for the gun. “I never could shoot good settin’ down.”
“You can’t run good settin’ down, either, can you?” Flournoy said mockingly.
“Naw, suh, I cain’t git a real good runnin’ start,” Vinegar chuckled.
“If you see anybody, don’t you run—you shoot!” Flournoy snapped. “But don’t shoot until we all get off this lot.”
“Dis here powder an’ shot don’t cost me nothin’,” Vinegar grinned. “I’ll shore shoot—but I ain’t sayin’ dat I won’t run. My religium teaches me to exoncise discretion.”
Thereupon the crowd, with much joking and loud laughter, wandered off toward the town. They assembled in various popular resorts for liquid refreshment, and then went home for the night.
Vinegar stood under the tree in the silence and darkness. His first thought was that he would stand like a watchful sentinel all night long. But the novelty of standing guard over a silent, unlighted house soon wore off, especially when, as he expressed it, “standing up ailed his feets.”
He sat down “to rest his feets,” removing his shoes for greater comfort. He had spent many years of his life on that hill, and it had always seemed to be a populous place up to that night. Now it was lonely and lonesome; nobody to talk to but himself, a poor listener and an unedifying conversationalist.
Sitting upright “ailed his back.” He shuffled along the ground on the seat of his trousers until he felt the trunk of the tree as a support for his spine. Holding the chilly barrel of his shotgun “ailed his hands”; sitting upon the two pistols in his hip pockets “ailed his thighs.” He laid his weapons aside within easy reach.
The ground was warmer than the trunk of the tree against which he was leaning. It wouldn’t do for his back to get chilled—he might catch “de Spanish fluence.” So he placed the spine of his back level with the earth and permitted the genial warmth of the soil to permeate his massive frame from his head to his heels. Lying flat upon the ground “ailed his head.” He reached for his shoes, placed them under his head for a pillow, looked straight up in the sky and counted three stars—four—seven—fo’teen——
About that time, eight negroes who had been crouched in very cramped attitudes on the steep roof, stood up to ease themselves and seek more comfortable positions.
“How we gwine git word to Vinegar ’thout gittin’ our fool heads shot off?” Pap Curtain whispered, looking down into the yard, where he could see a dark mass under a tree.
“Telerphome him,” Little Bit suggested.
“Us mought start to sing a religious toon,” Figger Bush, vocalist, proposed. “Dat’ll ca’m his mind an’ make him peaceful.”
“Wid all dem guns on him, we wants him to favor peace,” Skeeter agreed.
“Singin’ on top of de Shoofly Chu’ch mought ca’m his mind,” Hitch rumbled doubtfully. “But ef he hears singin’ on top of dis house, it mought trouble his mind.”
“Don’t whisper so loud,” Dazzle warned the men. “Ef de white folks ketch us up on dis roof dey’ll kill us dead wid gu............