“It’s always been on my mind.”
Mitchell just shook his head.
It was already nightfall by the time Mitchell and I had started out. We walked the night through. Mostly we kept to the trail except for when we heard someone coming, then we slipped into the woods for a spell. But the woods were dense with overgrowth and black with the night, and we didn’t stay long in them. When the morning came, though, the woods were where we stayed. We moved cautiously as we kept north and out of sight. We walked steady, but we didn’t run. If anybody had seen us running, the first thing they would’ve wanted to know was why we were running. It was a dangerous thing for a black man to be running if he couldn’t explain his reason for it. Several times we stopped to rest, but we didn’t linger long at any one spot, for we both were thinking on that boy from the turpentine camp, and we wanted to put as much distance between Jessup’s camp and us as we could before nightfall. We kept on moving and we didn’t complain. By midday we figured we were far enough away to take time to eat some of Maylene’s fried chicken and corn bread.
“That Maylene,” said Mitchell as he stripped a chicken bone clean, “she was right ’bout one thing. She sure ’nough can cook.”
“She seems to have a good heart,” I commented.
“Yeah, thing is she gone and got it tied to mine.”
“Well,” I said, “that happens a lot with you and women. You got yours tied to hers?”
“Naw. Womenfolks jus’ seem they give they hearts easy like.”
“And they get broken easy like too,” I observed.
Mitchell grunted. “Well, I don’t promise ’em nothin’. How they end up feelin’ is they business.”
I was quiet to that. I munched on my corn bread and took some water. Then I said to my friend, “You given any thought to settling?”
Mitchell laughed his deepest laugh. “Me? Look here, Paul, jus’ ’cause you wantin’ t’ set yo’self on some land, don’t get the idea that’s what I want. All I want is what I’m doin’ right now.”
I studied him. “But what’ll that get you?”
“Freedom t’ move and freedom t’ be. That’s all I want.”
“Nothing else? You’ve got to want more than that. You’ve got to have some dreams too, Mitchell.”
Mitchell scoffed. “Like you goin’ west? Like you havin’ land like yo’ daddy’s? Shoot! What dreams get ya? You still a black man in this white man’s land, and you got no freedom ’cept for what you make for yo’self. You put in yo’ time and you die, and I figure t’ keep my freedom ’til that day come.”
We finished our eating, then pushed on. By nightfall we were exhausted, and we finally found ourselves an open spot on a ridge to sleep. “How far you think we come?” asked Mitchell as he slumped exhausted to the ground.
“All I can say is we’re a day closer to Vicksburg.”
Mitchell tugged at his boots. “That may be, but my feet tellin’ me we done put in more’n ten times a trip to Vicksburg.”
I agreed and slipped my pack off my back. We made a fire to keep ourselves warm, but both of us were too tired to eat any more of Maylene’s good food. Mitchell spread his blanket on one side of the fire and placed his gun, which he always kept handy, under the blanket where he could reach it easily, and I spread my blanket on the other side of the fire with no weapon but my knife, and we lay down. “Sure wish I had me my other good blanket,” Mitchell grumped as he settled himself, but within a minute or so was snoring. I closed my eyes and fell asleep myself.
“Y’all niggers get up from there!”
I woke with a start and sat up. Men with shotguns stood just beyond the dying fire. The shotguns were pointed at Mitchell and me. I heard rustling at my back and saw two more figures behind us. Mitchell sat up too, but he did so slowly. I glanced his way and cautiously stood. Mitchell stayed put. “What’s this about?” I said, showing my face full in the waning firelight. The men stared at me, and I could see in their faces I was not what they had expected.
“Who are ya?” one of them asked, his shotgun still pointed our way.
“Man traveling,” I answered, figuring to hold my own with them.
The man waved his shotgun toward Mitchell. “Wit’ this nigger here?”
I glanced over at Mitchell. He was sitting like stone, but I knew that under his blanket he had hold of his gun. “We came out of Georgia together,” I answered truthfully. “He worked for my daddy. Now we’re headed west.” I took a chance on what those men were thinking about me. “I don’t know what my business has to do with yours. Why don’t you tell me why you’ve got those shotguns pointed at us?”