Always before, I'd let the word get around that I was against this and that, things like cockfighting and gambling and whiskey and soon. So my opposition would figure they'd better come out against 'em, too, only twice as strong as I did. And I went right ahead and let 'em. Me, almost anyone can make a better speech than I can, and anyone can come out stronger against or for something. Because, me, I've got no very strong convictions about anything. Not any more I haven't.
Well, anyway, by the time it got ready to vote, it looked like a fella wouldn't be able to have no fun at all any more, if my opponents were elected. About all a fella would be able to do, without getting arrested, was to drink sody-pop and maybe kiss his wife. And no one liked the idea very much, the wives included.
So, all and all, I began to look pretty good to folks. It was a case of nothing looking better than something, because all anyone had to do was listen to me and look at me a while to know that I wasn't against anything very much, except having my pay stopped, and that I wouldn't have enough gumption to do anything even if I did want to. I'd just let things go along like they always had, because there wasn't much point in trying to change 'em. And when the votes were counted, I was still sheriff.
I'm not saying that there weren't a lot of folks who really liked me. There was a lot of 'em, folks that I'd been kids with and who knew me as a nice friendly fella who was always ready to do a favor if it didn't put him out of pocket too much or offend someone else. But it seemed to me that I didn't have as many friends as I'd used to. Even the very folks I'd favored, them most of all, it seemed like, weren't as friendly as they had been. They seemed to kind of hold it against me because I hadn't cracked down on 'em. And I didn't know quite what to do about it, since I'd never really got the habit of doing anything, and I didn't know how I was going to get myself elected again. But I knew I was going to have to do something. I was going to have to do something or think of something entirely different from the stuff I'd come up with in the past. Or I'd be out of a job when fall came.
I rounded the corner from the depot, and turned into Main Street. Then I started to duck back off of it, because there was a heck of a racket a couple of blocks down the street, a lot of fellas jamming the sidewalk. It looked like a fight of some kind was going on, which meant that I'd better get out of sight before! had to arrest someone besides maybe getting hurt myself.
I started to dart back around the corner; then, somehow, I caught myself, and I went on down the street to where the ruckus was.
It wasn't really a fight, like I'd been afraid of. Just Tom Hauck beating a colored fella named Uncle John. It seemed like Tom had been coming out of the hardware store with a box of shotgun shells when Uncle John had bumped into him or vice versa. Anyway, he'd dropped the shells and some of 'em had spilled off into the street mud. Which was why he'd grabbed hold of the colored fella and started beating him.
I pushed myself between them, and told Tom to stop.
I felt kind of funny about it, because Tom was the husband of Rose Hauck, the gal who was so generous with me. I guess a fella always feels kind of funny in a situation like that; guilty, I mean,. like he ought to give the fella any break that he can. Aside from that, Tom was a lot bigger than I was-mean fellas are always bigger than I am-and he was about half-loaded with booze.
About all Tom ever did was booze-up and go hunting. His wife, Rose, did most of the farm work when she wasn't laid up from Tom beating her. Tom would set her chores for her, before he went off on a hunting trip. They were usually more than a strong man and a boy could do, but if Rose didn't have 'em done by the time he got back, she was in for a beating.
Now, he pushed his big red face into mine, and asked me what the hell I meant by interferin' with him.
"You tellin' me a white man can't whip a nigger if he feels like it? You sayin' there's some law against it?"
"Well," I said. "I don't know about that. I ain't saying there is, and I ain't saying there ain't. But there's a law against disturbin' the peace, and that's what you're doin'."
"And what about him disturbin' my peace? How about that, huh? A god-danged stinkin' nigger almost knocking me off the sidewalk and making me spill my shotgun shells!"
"Well, now, there's some division of opinion about that," I said. "It looks like maybe you might have bumped into him instead of him bumpin' you."
Tom yelled that what was the god -danged difference, anyways? It was a nigger's place to look out for a white man and keep out of his way. "Just ask anyone," he said, looking around at the crowd. "Ain't that right, fellas?"
Someone said, "That's right, Tom," and there was a little murmur of agreement. A kind of half-hearted murmur, because no one liked Tom very much even if they did have to side with him against a colored fella.
It looked to me like they'd really rather be on my side. All I had to do was change the issue a little, make it between me and him instead of between a white man and a black.
"Where did you get that board you been beating him with?" I said. "It looks to me like it came out of the sidewalk."
"So what if it did?" Tom said. "You expect me to use my fists on a nigger?"
"Now, never you mind about that," I said. "The point is, you got no right to beat him with city property. Suppose you broke that board, then what? Why these good taxpayers here has got to pay for a new one. Suppose someone comes along and steps in that empty place in the sidewalk? These taxpayers has got to pay the damages."
Tom scowled and cussed, and glared around at the crowd. There wasn't hardly a friendly face among 'em, so he cussed some more and said all right, then, to hell with the board. He'd just get the harness straps from his horse and beat Uncle John with them.
"Uh-huh," I said. "I don't reckon you will. Not right now, anyways."
"Who's gonna stop me? What the hell you mean I won't do it right now?"
"I mean Uncle John ain't here right now," I said. "Kind of 'pears like he got tired of waitin' for you."
Tom's mouth gaped open, and he looked around wildly. Everybody began to laugh, because naturally Uncle John had skipped out, and the expression on Tom's face was a sight to see.
He cussed me; he cussed the crowd. Then, he jumped on his mare and rode away, heeling her so hard in the flanks that she screamed with pain.
I stomped the sidewalk board back in place. Robert Lee Jefferson, the owner of the hardware store, caught my eye and motioned me to come inside. I went in, and followed him back to his little office.
Robert Lee Jefferson was the county attorney as well as the store owner, there not being enough work in the job to interfere with his business. I sat down, and he told me I'd handled the situation with Tom Hauck real well, and that Tom would surely have a lot of respect for law and order from now on.
"In fact, I imagine the whole town will, don't you, Nick? All those noble taxpayers who observed the manner in which you maintained the peace."