Cy in Chains Read online

  “Hard times, boy. I got a family to feed.”

  You don’t know what hard times is, Cy thought bitterly. “You gonna pay!” he cried.

  Arnold chuckled. “That’s where you’s wrong. I already been paid. Your daddy give me ten dollar up front and promise me ten more when I deliver you safe. Twenty bucks ain’t bad for a few hours’ work. But if I take you back to Cain—”

  “No! You can’t—”

  “When I take you back to Cain, he pay me at least ten dollar for your return, maybe more. Then I go back to your daddy and collect again.”

  “How? He won’t pay you a cent more if you don’t take me to him.”

  “I just tell your daddy that it didn’t work out, but he still owe me the other ten for my trouble. If he don’t pay me, I might have to come back and inform Mr. Cain the exact location of Aunt Miriam place. It worth your daddy’s money for me not to go back to Cain. Who knows? Maybe that Aunt Miriam can find some extra cash lyin’ around too. Anything to keep Sam Arnold quiet.”

  “I hope you burn in hell!”

  “Don’t make me laugh! God, hell, the devil—any black man who believe in God and all that nonsense is a fool.”

  “I don’t care about nothin’ you got to say!” Cy was desperate to get his hands around Arnold’s neck.

  “You got spunk,” Arnold went on. “Gotta give you that. Tell you what. I ain’t really a bad fellow, and I know you’s in a tight spot. When we get back to the camp, I can throw Cain off the scent. I’ll say your daddy waitin’ for you in just the opposite direction of where he really at. That way, I got time to collect my thank-you money, and your daddy won’t get caught. With any luck, he get clean away. All you got to do is cooperate, and you can give your daddy a fightin’ chance.”

  Cy was done for, and suddenly he knew it. Arnold had the gun. The bad guy always had the gun. All Cy had was an iron ring around his neck and chains on his feet. And the end of a cruel dream of freedom.

  “All right,” Cy said.

  “Good boy! I knew you’d see it my way. Sure, you’ll get a whippin’, but hell, a whippin’ ain’t nothin’. I done had more’n my share of ’em in my day, and look at me. No harm done. I’s tough, and that’s what you gotta be, if you gonna survive in this stinkin’ world. Tough son of a bitch like me. Now come on.”

  Arnold climbed back into the saddle and told his black horse to walk on. Cy had to follow on foot. Arnold kept hold of the chain and his reins with one hand, and his pistol with the other.

  As Cy trudged along, he found himself thinking of Teufel. Teufel, who could run faster than any other horse he’d ever seen. Who had made the fatal mistake of losing the big race and was shot in his own stall. Cy wondered if the men who buried John Strong did the same for the big stallion, or if the horse’s body was left to rot where it lay.

  Cy thought of trying to break free. He could pull the chain from Arnold’s hand and run for it. The man would shoot him, and it would be over. But then Arnold would tell Cain where his father was and Pete Williams would end up dead too.

  Cy owed him the chance to escape.

  Thirteen

  AS THEY NEARED THE WORK SITE, PANIC ROSE in Cy’s throat. The iron ring was choking him. He clawed at it. “It ain’t too late,” he pleaded. “Please don’t take me back there.”

  Arnold didn’t bother to answer him.

  In the clearing, Arnold brought his horse to a stop. All the boys stood in their two rows, long chains in place, as if ready for the trek back to camp.

  Cain stood between the rows, his back to Arnold.

  “Hey, look there!” one of the boys shouted, pointing their way.

  Cain spun around, and all the boys started talking. Cy could hear his name repeated. He scanned the crowd and caught Jess looking at him with solemn eyes.

  Cain pointed his rifle at Arnold, sitting calmly in his saddle. “Well, what have we here?” he asked.

  Arnold removed his hat. “Sam Arnold, Mr. Cain. You don’t know me, but I knows you. You got a powerful reputation in these parts. I brung you somethin’. Don’t want no trouble.”

  “Where’d you find him?”

  “I can explain, sir, you give me a chance.”

  “Start talking.”

  Cy looked around. Familiar faces were staring at him—West, Mouse, Ring, Billy. He felt ashamed that they should see him like this.

  “How’d you get him?” Cain repeated. “My men are off searchin’ for him right now.” Cain fired into the air. He came toward Cy and nudged the iron ring with the rifle barrel. “You didn’t just run across him by accident,” he told Arnold. “Or do you always ride around with a chain and collar?”

  “You got a sharp eye, Mr. Cain,” Arnold said humbly. “Truth is, I was expectin’ to meet this boy this mornin’, and I was ready for him.”

  “How so?”

  “Well, sir, his daddy—the one come visit him yesterday—he showed up in Colored Town a few days ago, askin’ around to see if he could work up a deal with somebody to make a plan to free his boy. I got wind of it and met up with him.”

  “Why didn’t you go straight to the sheriff?”

  Arnold dropped his eyes. “Aw, shucks, Mr. Cain, you knows how complicated all that can get! I didn’t see no reason to involve the law when you and me can work out this thing between us.”

  “Oh?”

  “I made arrangements to pick up this boy in the woods this mornin’. Him and his daddy made plans for him to pretend to be sick—to go off and relieve hisself. I was waitin’ for him, and I was suppos’ to carry him to a place where his daddy would meet him and take him away.”

  Cain came in close to Cy’s face. “Is that true? You and your daddy in this together?”

  Cy stared at the ground and said nothing.

  “Is it true, or am I gonna have to beat the answer out of you?”

  Stryker and Prescott emerged from the dense stand of pine and palmetto. “What the hell?” Prescott asked.

  “Seems like Cy worked up a little scheme with his daddy yesterday. Only they didn’t figure that one o’ their own kind would turn ’em in.” Cain grabbed Cy’s jacket collar. “Boy, you ain’t answered my question yet. Your daddy put you up to this?”

  Cy couldn’t figure how to keep his father out of it. Cain would realize there was no way Cy could have contacted Arnold on his own. He nodded.

  “And this boy was supposed to whisk you away and deliver you safely somewhere?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “And your daddy was gonna take you back to home, sweet home?”

  Cy nodded. He wondered if Cain had any idea of how bitterly he hated him.

  “How much did he pay you to help?” Cain asked Arnold.

  “Ten dollar, sir.”

  Cain whistled. “That’s a little steep for a nigger. I can get all I want for free.”

  “Yes, sir,” Arnold agreed. “Reckon the boy’s daddy see some value in him.”

  “How much you want for him?” Cain asked.

  “Ten dollar. That how much more his daddy promise me. I don’t reckon he gonna pay me now!”

  Cain chuckled. “I reckon not. Ten dollars, eh? A lot of money. More than this boy is worth. You know what I should pay you?”

  “Can’t rightly say.”

  “Thirty pieces o’ silver.”

  “Sir?”

  “Forget it. So you want ten dollars?”

  “I got six chillun to feed.”

  “Tell you what. You tell me where to find this boy’s daddy, and I’ll give you two dollars.”

  “Aw, shucks, Mr. Cain. No wonder they all say you drive a hard bargain.”

  “That’s right, nigger. Tell me where to find this boy’s daddy so we can finish this deal. The sight of you makes me want to puke.”

  “North o’ here, ’bout five miles. Back off the road, they’s a place yo’ men might be familiar with. Got some real pretty high-yaller gals. His daddy puttin’ up there. He reckon nobody come lookin’ for a respectabl
e man in a whorehouse.”

  Cy felt relief wash over him. He was in terrible trouble, but Arnold had kept his promise so far.

  “Respectable?” Prescott said. “Ain’t no such thing as a respectable nigger.”

  “You two know the place?” Cain asked.

  “Heard tell of it, Cap’n,” Prescott replied.

  Stryker pushed him. “I reckon you have. They got a room with your name on it!”

  “That’s enough,” Cain ordered. He turned to Arnold. “Here’s your money,” he said, dropping two bills into the mud. “Take it and get out before I decide to call the sheriff on you.”

  Arnold got down from his horse and took his money from the muck.

  “Now the boy.”

  All this time Arnold hadn’t let go the chain. “I can unlock his collar,” he offered.

  “Just give me the key.”

  “That my chain.”

  “It was your chain. The key.” Cain put out his hand, waiting.

  Arnold dug in his pocket and dropped a key on Cain’s palm.

  “Now git,” Cain commanded.

  Arnold went to his horse. As he passed Cy, he winked.

  When he was gone, Cain gave orders to head back to camp. “We got more important things to tend to,” he said.

  They tied Cy to the first wagon. Prescott kept up a fast pace, so he had to run to keep from falling and being dragged.

  When they got to camp, Prescott led him to the icehouse and shoved him in. He looked down to where Cy lay, sprawled on the dirt floor.

  “I feel sorry for you, boy. You gonna get the livin’ Jesus beat out of you later on! I ain’t never seen Cain as riled as he is right now. You dumb niggers just never learn.”

  He slammed the door. The key turned in the lock.

  Cy sat in the darkness, trying to keep his hands from tearing themselves to pieces against the rough metal of the strangling iron ring. He couldn’t stop the sobs that rose in his throat.

  At dusk, Cain unlocked the door and peered into the darkness. “You really thought you could get away with a damn-fool thing like that?”

  Cy didn’t speak.

  “Stryker went for the sheriff, and they rode down to Lily’s—uh, the place Arnold said your daddy would meet you. He was right there, too, just like y’all planned it. Stryker said he was one surprised nigger when he showed up with the law, instead of you.”

  You goddamn liar, Cy thought.

  “So tonight, your daddy is in the county jail. I reckon he’ll end up on a chain gang too—followin’ in his boy’s footsteps, as they say.”

  It was all a lie. Cy believed his father was safe. He had to believe it: that was all he had left. Aunt Miriam would hide him, help him get safely away.

  “But we got other things to tend to. Prescott!”

  Cy was dragged to the whipping post. Another bonfire had been lit nearby. All the boys were there.

  Prescott yanked Cy’s jacket from his back, popping some buttons. Cy’s hands were tied to the top of the pole.

  Cain started in on one of his speeches. He made a big point about the boys’ lack of gratitude and how Cy’s foolish plan showed that trying to escape their just punishment could never work. Then he started in on how niggers were untrustworthy, that they couldn’t even count on one another. Sam Arnold was proof of that. Cain said that to his mind, the worst nigger is one who turns against his own kind. Arnold was just like Judas in the Bible, a Jew who betrayed Jesus, a fellow Jew, for thirty pieces of silver. Even animals didn’t go against their own the way Arnold had gone against Cy—for two stinking dollars. But then what did you expect, seeing that niggers couldn’t be civilized . . .

  Cy tried not to listen. His mind searched for something else to focus on, a place of escape from what was about to happen.

  Then came the bite of Cain’s whip. It struck again and again, cutting, burning. He clenched his jaw, then bit his lip until blood came. He would not scream.

  At last, Cain was done. “Cut him down and put him back in the icehouse,” he ordered. “And take that goddamn ring off his neck. Thing makes me sick. I ain’t a cruel man.” He addressed the other boys. “Let’s see how Cy here likes bein’ by himself for a night or two. Give him some time to think things over. Help him realize how good he had it.”

  After the door was locked behind him, Cy’s legs wouldn’t hold him any longer. He fell down and passed out.

  The sound of creaking hinges woke him. Outside it was still dark. Cy pushed himself back toward the wall and pulled his knees up. Instinct told him to be on his guard.

  “So you’re awake.” He couldn’t see Prescott, but he felt the man standing over him, and he smelled whiskey.

  “Answer me!”

  “I’s awake.”

  “How’d you like your little lesson?”

  “I didn’t, sir.”

  “I didn’t think you would. You sure had it comin’, though. Now I got a lesson for you, too. Stand up!”

  As he struggled to his feet, Cy heard the click of a knife blade springing from its holder.

  “I wouldn’t want to have to cut your pretty black throat,” Prescott whispered, “but if you give me any trouble, that’s what I’ll do. All I’d have to tell Cain is that I come here to check up on you and you jumped me. Then I had to fight back. You don’t want to die tonight, do you?” He pressed the blade against Cy’s neck.

  “No, sir. Please, sir!”

  “You say a word to anyone, I’ll tear out your heart. Understand?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “You gonna cooperate?”

  Cy nodded.

  “Good. Then I won’t have to use this.”

  The knife blade snapped shut.

  “Now drop them pants and turn around.”

  Fourteen

  THINGS HE WANTED:

  Something—anything—to drink. He’d emptied the small water bucket long ago.

  To wash himself all over.

  His father.

  His mother.

  To die.

  To forget.

  To destroy Prescott. He dreamed . . .

  “Tie him.”

  Ring and Billy put the ropes around Prescott’s wrists.

  “Tighter!”

  Ring pulled until the ropes cut deep into the white skin.

  “On the ground,” Cy commanded.

  Billy shoved Prescott off his feet. He fell backwards and landed with a thud.

  “You boys better quit right now!” Prescott shouted. “It ain’t too late. You let me go, I won’t say nothing to Cain.”

  “Down!” Cy ordered.

  Prescott obeyed.

  “His arms.”

  Ring and Billy yanked the man’s arms out from his sides and tied the ropes to the stakes in the ground.

  “Now his legs.”

  “You niggers are crazy!” Prescott cried.

  “Bring it!”

  Mouse came forward, a cloth sack in his hands.

  Ring tore open Prescott’s shirt, baring his scrawny, hairy chest.

  “Now.”

  Mouse got down beside Prescott, opened the sack, and pulled out the snake. Eastern diamondback rattler. Big one, five foot long, at least.

  “Jesus God!” Prescott cried.

  “One bite kill you dead,” Mouse intoned.

  “Do it!” Cy ordered.

  Mouse lowered the snake onto Prescott’s body. The man began to scream. “No! Oh, God, help me! Help me!”

  “They ain’t no God,” Cy informed him, “and the sooner you get that through your dumb cracker head, the better off you gonna be—”

  Cy roused.

  Somewhere outside in the darkness, Prescott and Stryker were laughing. Cy put his hands over his ears. He slept again.

  When he woke next, light was filtering through the cracks in the wooden walls of the icehouse. Cy pushed himself to his feet. He groaned. His back was on fire from the beating Cain had given him. His body ached where Prescott had torn him. He had to piss, bu
t where? A corner was the only place, and he used it.

  A spider hung from its web in the corner above his head, lit by a bar of yellow light. Cy went to touch it, make it move—something alive to keep him company. It fell from the web and dropped onto the dirt floor.

  Dead . . .

  He crumpled into the corner, and sobbing took him, until sleep blessed him again.

  Someone was knocking on the door. It was daylight, but which day?

  “Cy? You all right in there?” Rosalee.

  Cain’s woman.

  He didn’t answer.

  “Cy?”

  “Lemme alone.”

  “I got to tell you somethin’.”

  “How long I been in here?” Cy croaked.

  “Two days. Cain say he gonna let you out tonight. You all right?”

  “What you think?”

  “I got to tell you somethin’.”

  “What?”

  “That man—the one what brung you back to camp—”

  “What about him?”

  “I hear Cain tell Stryker that he dead. Shot. Cain laugh and say somethin’ ’bout gettin’ his two dollar back. Thought you want to know.”

  That made him glad. He was only sorry he hadn’t had a chance to kill Arnold himself.

  He wanted to ask Rosalee if she knew anything about his father. He almost spoke, then shut his mouth. Why should he trust this woman?

  “What time is it?” he asked instead.

  “After dinner. They all gone. Only Sudie and me here.”

  “I got to have water.”

  “I know. You hungry too, I reckon.”

  Tears flooded his eyes. “Please bring me some water!”

  “They ain’t no way to get it to you. Cain got the key, and they ain’t no room to get a cup under this door.”

  “Please!”

  “Hold on. I be right back.”

  In a couple minutes, she returned. “I got water and a cloth. I gon’ wet the cloth and push it under the door.”

  Cy pulled the cloth through the crack and twisted it over his mouth. Several drops dripped down. He swallowed them, then began to suck on the cloth.

  “Send it back,” Rosalee told him.

  After she’d wet the cloth many times, Rosalee pushed some slices of bread under the door, and Cy gobbled them. Then Rosalee left him in the shadows of the icehouse, sucking on a ragged piece of feed sack and wishing for his own mother.