His delirious brain was suddenly cleared by an ominous baying close at hand. Those damned dogs again. They’d never take him alive! He felt in his pockets to see if the gun was still there. It was. He felt in the other pocket to count the cartridges there while he ran. One—two—three—four—five—six—seven—eight! All there! Seven for the mob! One—for—Bob!
An old barn suddenly loomed up before him in the rapidly approaching light of dawn. He dragged himself into it and barred the door. Not much protection! But—a little! Just a little! Better’n none! He sat down on an old box by the door, There was a knot-hole farther over. He dragged the box in front of it. Reloaded the revolver. One—two—three—four cartridges! Two that hadn’t been used! That left six in the gun! And four more! Listen! The dogs sound like they’re near!
There they are! He wouldn’t waste his precious bullets on dogs! Oh, no! He’d save them for the human dogs! God damn ’em! He’d show ’em a “damned nigger” knew how to die! Like a man! Here they come! God, but it was tough to have to die! Just when life seemed so sweet! Wonder who’d sit in his seat at Harvard! Hope a coloured boy’d get it! Harvard seemed so far away from where he was! Looked like it was as far’s the moon! Might as well be for him!
Look at ’em spreading out! Whyn’t they come up like men and get him? There’s Jim Archer’s brother! Bang! Got him! Look at ’im squirm!
That’s two Archers won’t run after coloured girls any more! Bang! Damn it, I missed ’im! Can’t waste ’em like that! Got to be more careful! Must take better aim next time! Bang! Bang! Hell, I missed again! Nope! Got one of ’em!
One—two—three—four gone! Six left! Five for the “Crackers”! One for me! Bang! Bang!
Got another! Must reload! One—two—three four! Nearly all gone! Five—ten—fifteen minutes to live! Why did they pick on Mamie?
Whyn’t they take one of those girls that live in those houses on Butler Street? That’s always running around after men? Why’d they bother a nice girl like Mamie?
Bang! Listen at ’im howl? That’s music for you! Listen to the damn “Peck” squalling!
What’s th’ matter? Looks like they’ve gone! Wonder if I can make a run for it? Th’ damn cowards! Fifty—one hundred—a thousand—five thousand—to one! That’s the way “Crackers” always fight coloured folks! Never heard yet of one “Cracker” fighting one Negro! Have to have thousan’ to kill one little fellow like Bob Harper!