Free A Perilous Proposal by Michael Phillips Page A

biscuits are ready?”
    â€œI don’t know—half an hour, maybe,” answered the girl.
    â€œThen you and I ain’t in any hurry, are we?” He took the girl’s hand and began leading her away. “You watch the horses, Jake,” he said.
    â€œWhere’s you goin’, Sergeant?” said Jake.
    â€œNever you mind, Jake. You just keep your eyes on those horses.”
    Jake watched as the sergeant led the girl toward a clump of trees bordering the pasture.
    â€œThe house is over that way, Sergeant,” she said.
    â€œBut like I said, you and I ain’t in no hurry. I figure we’ll take the long way around and get to know each other a little better. You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”
    â€œI don’t think so, Sergeant,” said the girl, now pulling her hand away. “I think we should go straight home.”
    â€œWhat’s your hurry? There ain’t no harm in us having a little fun.”
    Genuinely frightened now, the girl turned and began running back the way she had come. But Billings’ blood was by now running hot and he wasn’t about to give up so easily.
    â€œHey, what’s that for, missy!” he yelled, running after her. “I’m trying to be friendly and you go running away. What kind of Southern hospitality is that?”
    Jake’s blood was rising too. He was filled with anger at what he saw. He hadn’t done what he should have a year ago and it had cost his mother her life. He wasn’t going to make that mistake again.
    The girl cried for help. But Sergeant Billings caught up with her quickly. He took hold of her hand again and half dragged, half carried her toward the woods.
    Suddenly Jake crashed into him like a huge black locomotive.
    â€œWhat the—” he cried, trying desperately to right himself as he fell to the ground.
    â€œGit outta here, girl,” said Jake, struggling to keep his own feet beneath him. “You jes’ git back ter yo mama . . . git goin’!”
    The girl glanced back and forth between the white man and big Negro boy, then turned and dashed for the house. Billings climbed back to his feet.
    â€œWhat in tarnation you doing, Jake!” he yelled.
    â€œI seen dat look in yo eye, suh,” replied Jake, breathing hard from the exertion of the run. “I din’t think you wuz gwine do right by dat girl.”
    â€œAnd what business is it of yours?”
    â€œLikely none, suh. But I had ter proteck da girl.”
    â€œ Protect her!” fumed Billings. “You, a slave kid . . . you protect a white girl from me! ”
    Before Jake could defend himself, the sergeant charged him and delivered two quick blows of his fist to Jake’s jaw and nose. But Jake was too big to be knocked down so easily. The blows stunned him awake. Heedless of his bandages and sling, he turned on Sergeant Billings with a pent-up wrath that it might have been wiser to keep under control. Though eight years older, Billings found Jake more than he could handle. A few swift jabs from Jake’s good arm to his own face brought blood from his nose and a nasty cut above his right eye. For a minute or two it looked as if Jake might thrash him good. But from where he had fallen, Billings lifted one foot. As Jake stooped down to hit him again, he kicked at his chest with all his might.
    Jake howled and stumbled back. The sergeant’s boot had hit dead center against Jake’s broken ribs and injured left arm. Jake’s eyes filled in an agony of pain, and his whole left side was suddenly useless. Billings jumped to his feet and ran toward him.
    â€œYou blamed fool nigger!” he cried, pounding at Jake’s face. “You should have minded your own business! Now I gotta teach you what your kind never seems to learn—not to interfere with your betters!”
    No longer trying to fight back but merely to protect himself with his one good arm, Jake was no match for