I was no longer
afraid of anything. Yelling my uncle's name I came on ... I beat the
knife out of the other's hand and bloodied his knuckles with the next
blow. I beat him down with rapid blows, threshing at him, shouting and
yelling exultantly.
The other men thought me gone crazy. I had, for the time, gone crazy.
The fellow lay at my feet, inert. I stopped for the moment.
In that moment the gang began to close in on me, half frightened
themselves. I threatened them back.
"By hell, I've had enough of bullying," I shouted wildly; "I'm not
afraid of anything or anybody any more ... if there's anyone else here
that wants a taste of this pipe, let them step up."
"We ain't a-tryin' to fight you-all," called out the big negro who was
in for rape, "we jest don' want you to kill him an' git hung foh
murduh."
At the word "murder" I stepped quickly back.
"Well, don't let him come bothering me or my pal for a fight any more
when we've done nothing to him."
"Don' worry, he won't no moh!" assured the fiddler....
I threw down the lead pipe. It had seemed to me that all the while it
was my Uncle Landon who had received the blows.
The rough-neck farmer was in bad shape; he was bloodied all over like a
stuck pig. The mulatto girl on the outside had for the last five minutes
been occupied in calling out of the window for help. She managed to
attract the attention of a passerby-by.
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