“What’s this nigger charged with?” demanded the Judge when the first black boy was brought up before him.
“Breaking his labor contract.”
“Any witnesses?”
“I have the contract here,” announced the sheriff. “He refuses to work.”
“A year, or one hundred dollars.”
Colonel Cresswell paid his fine, and took him in charge.
“What’s the charge here?” said the Judge, pointing to Aunt Rachel’s boy.
“Attempt to kill a white man.”
“Any witnesses?”
“None except the victim.”
“And I,” said Zora, coming forward.
Both the sheriff and Colonel Cresswell stared at her. Of course, she was simply a black girl but she was an educated woman, who knew things about the Cresswell plantations that it was unnecessary to air in court. The newly elected Judge had not yet taken his seat, and Cresswell’s word was still law in the court. He whispered to the Judge.
“Case postponed,” said the Court.
The sheriff scowled.
“Wait till Jim gets on the bench,” he growled.