Ludus waited for John to report to Father what Ludus called the 'borrying' of the wagon and team, Father would never know it, and if John waited for Ludus (or any other Negro in the stable or Jefferson either) to tell Father about that pistol, Father would never know that either. So Ludus probably said nothing at all, and John only said, 'All right. But if them mules aint back in their stalls, without one sweat or whip mark on them and not even looking sleepy, a good solid hour before Mr Ballott gets here tomorrow morning' (you will have already noticed how both of them had completely dismissed Boon from the affair: neither Ludus to say, 'Mr Boon knows these mules wont be in tonight; aint he the boss until Mr Ballott comes back in the morning?' nor John to say, 'Anybody that would believe the tale you brought in here tonight in place of them mules, aint competent to be the boss of nothing. And I aint even good convinced yet that his name is Boon Hogganbeck') 'Mr Maury aint just gonter know where that team and wagon wasn't last night, he's gonter know where they was.'
But John didn't say it. And sure enough, although Lu-dus's mules had been back in their stalls a good hour before daylight, fifteen minutes after Mr Ballott reached the stable at six the next morning, he sent for Ludus and told him he was fired. 'Mr Boon knowed my team was out,' Ludus said. 'He sent me himself to get him a jug of whiskey. I brung it back to him about four this morning.'
'I didn't send you anywhere,' Boon said. 'When he come in here last night with that cock-and-bull story about them mules being in Mr Maury's lot, I never even listened. I didn't even bother to ask him where that wagon actually was, let alone why he was in such a sweating need of a wagon and team last night. What I told him was, before he brought that wagon back this morning I would expect him to go by Mack Winbush's and bring me back a gallon of Uncle Cal Bookwright's whiskey. I give him the money for it—two dollars.'
'And I brung you the whiskey,' Ludus said. 'I dont know what you done with it.'
'You brought me a half a jug of rotgut, mainly lye and red pepper,' Boon said. 'I dont know what Mr Maury's going to do to you about keeping them mules out all night but it aint a circumstance to what Calvin Bookwright will do to you when I show him that whiskey and tell him you claim he made it.'
'Mr Winbush stays a solid eight miles from town,' Ludus said. 'It would a been midnight before I could get back to—' and stopped.
'So that's why you needed a wagon,' Boon said. 'You finally tomcatted yourself clean out of Jefferson and now you got to ramshack the country to locate another back window you can crawl in. Well, you'll have plenty of time now; the only trouble is, you'll have to walk—'
'You tole me a jug of whiskey,' Ludus said sullenly. 'I brung you a jug—'
'It wasn't even half full,' Boon said. Then to Mr Ballott: 'Hell fire, you wont even have to give him a week's pay now.' (The weekly pay of drivers was two dollars; this was 1905, remember.) 'He already owes me that for that whiskey. What you waiting for? for Mr Maury to come in his-self and fire him?'
Though if Mr Ballott (and Father) had really intended to fire Ludus for good, they would have given him his week's pay. The very fact that they didn't indicated (and Ludus knew it) that he was merely being docked a week's pay (with vacation) for keeping a team out all night without proper authority; next Monday morning Ludus would appear with the other drivers at the regular time and John Powell would have his team ready for him as if nothing had happened. Only, Fate—Rumor—gossip, had to intervene.
So Father, Luster and I hurried up the alley toward the Square, me trotting now, and still too late. We hadn't even reached the end of the alley when we heard the shots, all five of them: WHOW WHOW WHOW WHOW WHOW like that, then we were in the Square and (it wasn't far: right at the corner in front of Cousin Isaac McCaslin's hardware store) we could see it. There were plenty of them; Boon sure picked his day for witnesses; First Saturdays were trade days even then, even in May when you would think people would be too busy getting land planted. But not in Yoknapatawpha County. They were all there, black and white: one crowd where Mr Hampton (the grandfather of this same Little Hub who is sheriff now, or will be again next year) and two or three bystanders were wrestling with Boon, and another crowd where another deputy was holding Ludus about twenty feet away and still in the frozen attitude of running or frozen in the attitude of running or in the attitude of frozen running, whichever is right, and another crowd around the window of Cousin Ike's store which one of Boon's bullets (they never did find where the other four went) had shattered after creasing the buttock of a Negro girl who was now lying on the pavement screaming until Cousin Ike himself came jumping out of the store and drowned her voice with his, roaring with rage at Boon not for ruining his window but (Cousin Ike was young then but already the best woodsman and hunter this county ever had) for being unable to hit with five shots an object only twenty feet away.
It continued to go fast. Doctor Peabody's office was just across the street, above Christian's drugstore; with Mr Hampton carrying John Powell's pistol and leading, Luster and another Negro man carried the girl, still screaming and bleeding like a stuck pig, up the stairs, Father following with Boon, then me and the deputy with Ludus, and as many more as could crowd onto the stairs until Mr Hampton stopped and turned and bellowed at them. Judge Ste- vens's office was just down the gallery from Doctor Pea-body's; he was standing at the top of the steps as we came up. So we—I mean Father and me and Boon and Ludus and the deputy—went in there to wait for Mr Hampton to come back from Doctor Peabody's office. It wasn't long.
'All right,' Mr Hampton said. 'It barely creased her. Buy her a new dress' (there wasn't anything under it) 'and a bag of candy and give her father ten dollars, and that'll settle Boon with her. I ain't quite decided yet what'll settle him with me.' He breathed hard at Boon a moment: a big man with hard little gray eyes, as big as Boon in fact, though not as tall. 'All right,' he told Boon.
'He insulted me,' Boon said. 'He told Son Thomas I was a narrow-asted son of a bitch.'
Now Mr Hampton looked at Ludus. 'All right,' he said.
'I never said he was norrer-asted,' Ludus said. 'I said he was norror-headed.'
'What?' Boon said. 'That's worse,' Judge Stevens said. 'Of course it's worse,' Boon said, cried. 'Cant you see? And I aint even got any choice. Me, a white man, have got to stand here and let a damn mule-wrestling nigger either criticise my private tail, or state before five public witnesses that I aint got any sense. Cant you see? Because you cant take nothing back, not nothing. You cant even correct it because there aint nothing to correct neither one of them to.' He was almost crying now, his big ugly florid walnut-tough, walnut-hard face wrung and twisted like a child's. 'Even if I managed to get another pistol somewhere to shoot Son Thomas with, I'd likely miss him too.' Father got up, quickly and briskly. He was the only one sitting down; even Judge Stevens was standing spraddled on the hearth before the cold fireplace with his hands under his coattails exactly like it was winter and there was a fire burning. 'I must get back to work,' Father said. 'What does the old saw say about idle hands?' He said, not to anybody: 'I want both of them, Boon and this boy, put under bond to keep the peace: say, a hundred dollars each; I will make the bond. Only, I want two mutual double-action bonds. I want two bonds, both of which will be abrogated, fall due, at the same moment that either one of them does anything that—that I—'
'That dont suit you,' Judge Stevens said, 'Much obliged,' Father said. '—the same second that either one of them breaks the peace. I dont know if that is legal or not.'
'I dont either,' Judge Stevens said. 'We can try. If such a bond is not legal, it ought to be.'
