The Land(96)

“Well, Mister Granger,” I said, after a glance at Mitchell, standing somewhat apart from us, “we’ll have half of this forty cleared before a year of our contract’s up.”

“That’s not what I’m talking about,” said Filmore Granger. “I need more trees cut a week, more than you been cutting.”

I frowned. We had produced as many logs as we could in a day’s time. There was no way we could increase that unless we took on more help. “How many more?”

“Eighty.”

I shook my head. “I don’t know how we could do that, Mister Granger. We’re putting in more than fourteen hours a day as it is to produce the logs we’ve cut so far.”

“I know that, and you’ve done a good job. I had my doubts you could do it, but you’ve done it. Now I’m going to need those extra trees.”

“Well, eighty’s a lot.”

“Know that, but I’ve got a new contract I’ve got to meet, and that contract calls for so many board feet a week. So, that means more trees, and you’ll just have to figure a way to cut those eighty more. You can’t do it, then I’ll just have to get me somebody who can.”

I looked straight into Filmore Granger’s eyes. “Our agreement calls for cutting all trees sixteen inches or more in diameter at the smaller end within two years.”

“And that’s still what it’ll be, just that there’ll be more trees cut sooner rather than later. Course now, that agreement’s only good if you get all the trees cut, and you know now how many I want cut and when.”

I wasn’t fool enough not to know when I was being threatened. We didn’t cut these trees for Filmore Granger, we could lose the forty. “How long would we have to keep this up?”

“’Til I figure I got enough to fill my contract.”

“I need to know how long if we figure to do this.”

Filmore Granger was silent, and his eyes narrowed at my questioning him, but then he gave a little. “Well, let’s just say until you’ve finished cutting twenty of these forty acres. You figure you can do that? Look at things this way. Sooner you get these acres cut, sooner you can get to your plowing and your crops.”

Throughout this exchange Mitchell had said nothing. I looked at him now. “What do you think?”

Mitchell’s eyes were on Filmore Granger, and I think his gaze made Filmore Granger uneasy, for a sudden scowl crossed his face when he found Mitchell’s eyes upon him. “I think,” said Mitchell, “we’ve put months of sweat into this land that’s ’bout t’ go for nothing. It’s up to you, you wanna let it go. I go ’long with what you decide.”

I turned back to Filmore Granger and remembered the warnings both J. T. Hollenbeck and Charles Jamison had made concerning him. Mitchell was right. We had put months of sweat in the land, too much sweat to lose the forty now. “All right, Mister Granger,” I said, “somehow we’ll cut the extra eighty.”

“And another thing,” he added, “I’ll be bringing men in here every two weeks instead of once a month to run the logs down creek. Be sure you’ve got the logs I need.”

“You’ll have them.”

“Good boy,” said Filmore Granger as if complimenting somebody’s dog. I knew how he felt about doing white man’s business with me, and I knew how I felt being treated like somebody’s dog. My mind raged and my blood went rushing, but I held my words. My daddy had taught me that. I wasn’t going to let this man beat me down.

When the Grangers were gone, Mitchell slammed his axe into a tree. “You shoulda done broke his head open for that.”

I gave Mitchell a look. “That’s right, and then have a whole bunch of white folks come snap my neck with a lynch rope?”

“I don’t trust that scound’,” was Mitchell’s reply.

“I don’t either. But I’ve got a written agreement with him, and I mean to have this land.”

“And jus’ how you figure we’re gonna cut and log another eighty trees a week? Good-a choppers as we are, we can’t hardly do that.”

I shrugged. “Sleep less, I guess.”

Mitchell grunted. “Not me. I need what little sleep I get.”

“What do you suggest, then?”

Mitchell looked away for a moment, then back at me. “I know a man by the name of Tom Bee. He done lumberin’ with me up at that last camp I was at, but he done quit that camp ’fore me. He’s a good man. He’s older’n us and got a family, but he knows how t’ chop. Can’t chop good as us, maybe ten, twelve trees a day, but he could help and we could make up the rest between us. Seein’ he got his family down in here, maybe he be willin’ t’ come in with us.”