“We after a chicken thief!” exploded a man from the darkness. “Damn niggers been stealin’ our chickens!”
“That a fact?” I said. “Well, we’ve had no part in that.”
“How we know?” The question came from behind me. I turned slightly. I couldn’t see the man’s face clearly, just his slight figure, and I noted the smell of liquor. “You coulda done been puttin’ that there nigger up to the stealin’ while you hung back!”
“You see any chickens here?” I asked.
From the other side of the fire came another voice. “You coulda done sold ’em already and I’m figurin’ sellin’ ’em, eatin’ ’em, they all stole jus’ the same!”
“When were the last ones stolen?” I asked, surprising myself at how calm I sounded.
“Jus’ this night!” came a voice from the back. “Two of mine!”
“And you figure we have them?” I motioned to the fire. “You see any chicken cooking here? You see any feathers around or chicken bones, for that matter?”
The men were silent for a moment, then the lead man motioned toward the darkness. “Check it,” he ordered.
From behind me one of the figures came closer and peered down, inspecting the ground. It was at that moment I was grateful Mitchell and I had been too tired to eat before we slept; otherwise there would have been chicken bones in that fire. I just hoped the men wouldn’t go looking in our gear and find Maylene’s fried chicken. Even though it was cooked, they might figure it was stolen chicken cooked elsewhere. My eyes met Mitchell’s and I knew he was thinking the same. We both kept our eyes off the leather bag.
“Well?” questioned the man across the campfire.
The figure shook his head. “Don’t see nothin’ here.” He turned then, and as he did, I could see he was merely a boy with a man’s height. He hesitated a moment, looking at me, then moved back into the darkness. I decided not to let his look bother me. I went on acting my part.
“You mind my asking from where these last chickens were stolen?” I asked, presuming my right as a man free, as a white man free, talking to other white men.
“Told ya, my place!” bellowed the man from the back of the group.
“As I said, we’re traveling through, so I don’t know where that’d be.”
The man thundered his reply. “Back east there, no more’n two miles!”
“Well, does it make sense to you for two men who just stole two chickens to walk no more than two miles, then lie down and go to sleep? Does it make sense to you that there are no feathers and no bones near here? And there would be if we had killed the chickens and eaten them. Do you think that there would be anybody near here to whom we could have sold these chickens, seeing that I’m sure everybody within ten miles knows everybody else? Would any of you buy chickens from some stranger knowing there’s been chicken thieving going on?”
There was no answer from the men. Some of the men looked at one another and lowered their shotguns. But then the man standing behind Mitchell and me said, “Or maybe ya jus’ done been sellin’ t’ niggers.”
Without turning, I said, “We didn’t take the chickens.” My words were steady, strong, but quietly spoken.
“Yeah? And why we s’pose t’ believe that? We don’t know you!”
I took a moment, turned, and stared into the darkness as if I could pierce the man’s unseen eyes. Then, in a tone I’d heard my daddy use to lesser men, I said, “You questioning my word?”
There was silence. I didn’t move. I didn’t even look at Mitchell. I figured Mitchell was ready to do what needed to be done. The man in the darkness said nothing. The lead man finally lowered his gun and said, “Y’all figure t’ be gone come mornin’?”
I turned to him and nodded. “I figure so.”
“Ya best stick t’ that,” he warned. “We don’t take easily t’ strangers round here.” Then he and the others moved away without another word.
Mitchell and I stayed put, listening to the sounds of their footsteps fading, then the sounds of the forest natural. It took a few minutes before I could breathe normal again. Mitchell got up. He was holding his gun. “That was close.”
“Too close,” I said.
“Figured for sure them lumbermen done come after us,” he said, dismissing the chicken hunters.
I didn’t say anything to that. Men looking for chicken thieves and men looking for two men of color who had left their job were all the same to me, as long as those men were white. I turned to my bedding and started rolling it up.