It looked to me like a case of, if you can't lick 'em join 'em, so I eased my way through the crowd and grabbed Sam by the hand.
"I want you to know I'm a thousand per cent behind you, Sam," I said. "All these dirty stories going around about you, I know they ain't true Sam, even if it sounds like they are, so you got my moral support a thousand per cent, and I'm goin' to be right up on the speaker's platform with you tonight to prove it!"
He said, "Well, uh," and cleared his throat awkwardly. He said, "Well, uh, that's certainly very nice of you, Sheriff. But, uh-uh-"
What he wanted to say was that he didn't want me within a thousand miles of him, let alone on the same speaker's platform. But the kind of fella he was, he didn't know how to say it.
"Well-uh, now-" he tried again. "I surely appreciate your offer, Sheriff, but wouldn't it be better if, uh-"
I slapped him on the back, cutting him off. I said, by golly, I was going to do it and he didn't need to worry about takin' favors from me, because I wasn't really doin' him one.
"I figure it's just the right thing to do," I said. "You might say it's something I got to do. So come tonight I'm goin' to be up there on the platform with-oof."
Zeke Carlton shoved past me, digging his elbow into my ribs. He dropped an arm around Sam's shoulders, and jerked his head at me.
"I'll say it for you, Sam. You don't want Nick around you, because he's a sneaky, half -assed, triflin' no-good excuse for a sheriff, and you'd be hurt just by bein' seen with him, even if he didn't stick a knife in your ribs!"
Sam cleared his throat again, looking more uncomfortable than ever. Zeke glared at me, like he wanted to spit in my face.
I said, "Well, now Zeke, that ain't hardly no way to talk. Here it is Sunday, and we're still here on the church grounds, and god-dang if you ain't calling me names and using bad words like 'half-assed'."
"Balls!" he sneered. "Who the hell are you to be correctin' me? Why-"
"I'm the sheriff," I said, "an' it's my job to look out for wrong-doin' particularly seem' that the Lord ain't abused right in His own front yard. So you just better not do it no more, Zeke, or I'll by-golly march you right down to the lock-up!"
Zeke let out an angry snort; laughed on a shaky note. He looked around at the crowd, trying to swing them to his side. But we're a real God-fearin' community, like you probably gathered, and everyone was frowning at him or givin' him frosty looks.
That made him madder than ever. "Why, God da-, gosh darn it, don't you see what he's trying to do? He's trying to get at Sam through me! He knows I'm backing Sam so he wants to make trouble for me!"
"Now, that just ain't so," I said. "You know it ain't so, Zeke."
"The hell-the heck it ain't!"
I said, no, sir it sure wasn't and he knew it as well as I did. "I leave it to anyone here," I said, "if they ever knew me to do a man dirty or even say so much as an unkind word about another fella as long as they've lived. Just ask anyone. I'll leave it up to them."
Zeke scowled and muttered something under his breath. Cuss words, it sounded like. I asked Sam if he thought I was out to harm him, and he scuffled his feet and looked embarrassed.
"Well, uh, I'm sure you wouldn't, uh, do so-uh-"
"Right," I said. "I wouldn't. In the first place, it just ain't my nature to hurt another fella, an' in the second place I know it wouldn't do no good. Because I figure you can't be hurt, Sam. The way I see it, you're as good as elected right now."
Sam's head snapped up. He kind of waved his hands, helplesslike, like he didn't know whether to pee or go blind. And if he was surprised, he sure had plenty of company. Everyone was staring at me, their eyes popped open. Even Zeke Carlton was struck dumb for a moment.
"Now, see here, Nick-" he spoke up at last. "Now, let's get this straight. Are you saying that you're concedin' the election to Sam?"
"I'm saying that I'm going to," I said, raising my voice. "I'm concedin' to Sam just as soon as he answers one question."
Zeke asked what kind of question. I said a very simple question, stalling a minute to get as big a crowd as I could.
"A very simple question," I repeated. "One that's already on everyone's lips, you might say, and that Sam would have to answer sooner or later."
"Well, come on!" Zeke scowled impatiently. "Ask it! Sam don't mind answering questions, do you, Sam? Sam's life is an open book!"
"How about that, Sam?" I said. "I'd like to hear you speak for yourself."
Sam said, "Well, uh, yes. I mean I'll be glad to answer your question. Uh, anything I can, that is."
"Well, this is about them dirty stories people are tellin' on you," I said. "Now, wait a minute! Wait a minute, Zeke, Sam,"-! held up my hand-"! know them stories ain't true. I know Sam wouldn't rape a little colored baby or steal the gold teeth out of his grandma's mouth or beat his pappy to death with a stick of cordwood or rob a widder woman of her life's savings or feed his wife to the hawgs. I know a fine fella like Sam wouldn't do nothing like that. So all I'm asking is this; this is my question…
I paused again, gettin' everyone on their toes. I waited until you could have heard a weevil crapping on a cotton boll, and then I asked my question.
"All right," I said, "here it is. If them stories ain't true, how come them to get started? How come almost everybody claims they are true?"
Sam blinked. He opened his mouth, and then he closed it again. And he and Zeke looked at each other.
"Well, uh," Sam began. "I, uh, I-"
"Now, hold up there!" Zeke butted in, turning to me. "What do you mean everybody's saying they're true? Who the hell's everybody?"
"I stand corrected," I said. "I reckon everybody ain't saying it, when you get right down to cases. Prob'ly ain't no more than two, three hundred people that are sayin' it. But that still leaves the same question. How come even two, three hundred people are sayin' it is true that Sam raped a little colored baby an' beat his pappy to death an' fed his wife to the hawgs an'-"
"Never mind, dammit!" Zeke grabbed Sam by the arm. "Come on, Sam. You don't have to answer no damn-fool question like that."
"Well, of course, he don't have to," I said. "But I should think he'd want to. Don't rightly see how he can get elected sheriff if he don't answer."
Zeke hesitated, scowling. He shot a glance at Sam, then gave him a nudge.
"All right, Sam. Maybe you'd better answer."
"Uh, well, of course," Sam nodded. "Uh, what was the question again, Sheriff?"
I started to tell him, but someone behind me interrupted.
"You know the question, Sam! How'd them stories about you get started? How come folks say they're true if they ain't?"