Mandingo by Onstott Kyle 1886-

Author:Onstott, Kyle, 1886- [Onstott, Kyle, 1886-]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Fawcett Publications
Published: 1958-03-20T06:00:00+00:00

in her empty voice. "That's it. That nigger killed him an' stole that money. My boy! My pore boy! He's dead!"

"He ain't dead! You knows he ain't dead!" the Major laid his hand on his wife's arm for emphasis and consolation. "No sich thing. Charles is off, a-spendin' that money of mine. You'll see when he come ridin' up one of these days." He assumed as cheerful a tone as he was able and reinforced it with a grimace resembling a smile, although his assurance somehow lacked confidence. He was, in fact, except for his wife's sake, indifferent to the fate of his son if not the fate of the twenty-five hundred dollars.

*'He dead. I say he dead. I knows it; I feels it," protested Beatrix, rolling her head back and forth on the back of her chair. "My boy dead." She broke into weeping.

Dick brushed his father aside to reach the trumpet. "An' he wasn't saved!" he screamed into her ear. "Charles never got right with Jesus! I knew it would happen. An' he dead, he bumin' in hell fire right now, burnin'! That ol' devil got ol' Charles on the ol' gridiron right now, an' punchin' him with that ol' pitchfork an' flames leapin' up all aroun' him. He wasn't never saved."

"No! No! No!" cried his mother. "I pray for him; I been a-prayin' ever' day an' ever' night. Mayhap he saved. Mayhap, jest as that nigger come down on his head, he seen Jesus an' embraced Him. Jesus is right kind; He goin' to save my boy an' He kin." She toppled forward upon her knees and bowed her head in silent prayer.

The Major picked up her trumpet which had fallen to the floor and held it to Beatrix's ear. "Whut about that weddin'? Whut you craves to do about that?" he vociferated.

"Do whut you wants! Do whut you goin' to do anyways!" the bereft mother looked up in irritation at the interruption of her prayer. "You drive away Charles; now you a-drivin' Blanche. Sellin' her jest like she was a nigger. Go on an' sell her, an' that whut you bent on."

"I ain't neither a-sellin' her. He done send the money an' Charles stolen it. He won't sen' no more." Woodford held the horn to his wife's ear and spoke loudly but not directly into the horn. He did not know and cared little whether Beatrix heard him.

She refused to be diverted from her eff"orts to rescue her murdered son from the fires of hell and shifted the responsibility to the father for the disposal of her daughter. He laid the horn upon the chair and looked at Dick.

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