“I didn’t git any, Marse Tom,” Pap declared, hoping to build up some sort of defense. “It wus dat fool Figger Bush an’ Prince Total whut succulated de repote!”
There was a wild yell up the street and a rumble of wagon wheels.
Gaitskill sprang up and walked to the front of the bank, where he could look through the window.
Pap Curtain, trembling, horrified, followed Gaitskill because he was afraid to remain alone.
Ten wagons passed the bank, the teams going in a fast trot, each wagon containing ten or twelve squalling blacks, who waved their hands at the bank as far as they could see it.
Pap Curtain ducked behind the door and kept himself invisible—for each wagon contained a load of his victims!
“That’s your work, Pap!” Gaitskill grinned, when the wagons had passed.
“Yes, suh,” Pap answered in a weak, tearful, hopeless voice.
“If I had known about it when I telephoned the constable, I would not have had him bring you back, Pap. I thought you had robbed all those niggers of a dollar each.”
“Yes, suh,” Pap sighed, praying for more light.