At midnight the marching column of singing negroes disbanded.
“Vinegar,” Skeeter said, “me an’ Figger an’ Hitch is decided to go to Kerlerac in de automobile an’ git in on de nigger dance at dat place.”
“I ain’t gwine!” Vinegar answered. “’Tain’t fitten fer a nigger preacher to dance. Excusin’ dat, I’s too fat an’ de women folks step on my foots.”
“You got to go!” Skeeter wailed. “You got to he’p Hitch Diamond push de auto through de sand!”
“Dat’s right,” Vinegar acceded. “You can’t trabbel nowhere widout my muscle. I’ll tag along wid you-alls!”
When they got to the automobile Vinegar found certain mysterious bundles piled up in the machine.
“Whut is dis?” he demanded.
“Fire-works!” Skeeter snickered. “We raked off a few so we could go to Kerlerac an’ surprise dem niggers!”
“I’s glad I’s gwine!” Vinegar chuckled. “I bet us will hab plenty big doin’s!”
Three hours later Skeeter stopped his machine at the foot of the Mississippi protection levee at Kerlerac. The town was asleep. There were no electric lights and the river fog concealed the stars, making total darkness.