I handed the old man another cigarette and a silver dollar.
"Tell me about it," I asked.
It was a short story. The Colonel had gone to war in '61 and his servant had gone with him. In '62 the negro had brought his Master back blind. Years later he had died, and was buried on the knoll, and a cypress was planted at the head of the grave. Now he was forgotten by all except the whitened slave. The land had been sold and a school house built on it. Today was the first day of school. The old man, afraid that the grave would be desecrated by the cheap white trash, had dug four holes, put in four posts, wired them and was now sitting guard till school was out and the children gone.
"The Colonel shure wouldn't like it. Gwine to bother him riding."
"Does he ride?" I asked.
"Bound to. That air man was almost borned in saddle. He rid to the war and he rid back, blind tho he war, and he rides ever since. He done told me, 'Sam, I am bound to ride till Miss Belle Flowers marries me.' Corse, he done gone to Heaven years ago, but every night he rides on his white mare, and I done kiver me head with the blanket when Ise hear her hoofs go pounding up and down the road."
"He was going to marry Miss Belle Flowers?" I asked.
It appeared so. They were engaged when he rode away and when he came back blind, she was married to another. Every night he had the white mare saddled and would gallop up and down the road in front of her house. He and the mare died the same day, and according to his will, the Colonel and the Colonel's horse were buried in the same grave.
School was dismissed. The children piled into the old Ford, into the old buggies, on top of the saddle-horses, one, two and even three to the horse. The school teachers, young and old, seven of them, left the building. It was time for my examination of Miss Belle Flowers.
I threw the rest of my cigarettes to the old negro.