Pretty Quadroon
BY CHARLES FONTENAY
Once a man has chosen a path to follow, there's
no turning back. But what if the die could be
recast and we could retrace our steps when we
chose the wrong one ... and choose another?
[Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from
Worlds of If Science Fiction, June 1957.
Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that
the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]
General Beauregard Courtney sat in his staff car atop a slight rise and watched the slow, meshing movement of his troops on the plains south of Tullahoma, Tennessee. Clouds of dust drifted westward in the lazy summer air, and the dull boom of enemy artillery sounded from the north.
"You damn black coon," he said without rancor, "you know you're costing me a night's sleep?"
The Negro courier stood beside his motorcycle and his teeth flashed white in his good-natured face. The dust of the road filmed his uniform of Southern grey.
"Miss Piquette told me to bring you the message, suh," he answered.