Free The Good Lord Bird by James McBride

sniffed. “But you been told. Now. You read these resolutions to me and I’ll sign ’em.” He thrust the paper out to Kelly.
    Kelly hemmed and hawed. He coughed. He blew his nose. He flustered around. “I ain’t much on reading,” he muttered. He snatched the paper from Pardee and turned to the posse. “Who here reads?”
    Weren’t a man among them spoke. Finally a feller in the back said, “I ain’t setting here watching you fiddle with your noodle a minute more, Kelly. Old Man Brown’s hiding out near here somewhere, and I aim to find him.”
    With that he galloped off, and the men followed. Kelly rushed to follow them, staggering to his mount. When he swung his horse around, Pardee said, “At least gimme my gun back, ya knobhead.”
    â€œI sold it in Palmyra, ya mule-face abolitionist. I oughta kick your teeth out for screwing up that land title,” Kelly said. He rode off with the rest.
    Pardee and Nigger Bob watched him leave.
    When he was out of sight, Nigger Bob moved from the driver’s seat to the back and untied Pardee’s ankles without a word.
    â€œRide me home,” Pardee fumed. He said it over his shoulder as he rubbed his ankles, setting in back of the wagon.
    Nigger Bob hopped into the driver’s seat, but didn’t move. He sat atop the wagon and looked straight ahead. “I ain’t riding you no place,” he said.
    That floored me. I had never heard a Negro talk to a white man like that before in my entire life.
    Pardee blinked, stunned. “What you say?”
    â€œYou heard it. This here wagon belongs to Mr. Settles and I’m taking it home to him.”
    â€œBut you got to pass Palmyra! That’s right where I live.”
    â€œI ain’t going nowhere with you, Mr. Pardee. You can go where you want, however you please. But this here wagon belongs to Marse Jack Settles. And he ain’t give me no permission to ride nobody in it. I done what Mr. Kelly said ’cause I had to. But I ain’t got to now.”
    â€œGit down off that seat and come down here.”
    Bob ignored him. He sat in the driver’s seat, staring off into the distance.
    Pardee reached for his heater, but found his holster empty. He stood up and glared at Nigger Bob like he was fit to whup him, but that Negro was bigger than him and I reckon he thought better of it. Instead, he jumped down off the wagon, stomped down the road a piece, picked up a large stone, walked back to the wagon, and chinked out the wood cotter pin on one of the wagon wheels. Just banged it right out. That pin held the wheel on. Bob sat there as he chinked. Didn’t move.
    When Pardee was done, he throwed the pin in the thickets. “If I got to walk home, you walking too, ya black bastard,” he said, and stomped up the road.
    Bob watched him till he was out of sight, then climbed down from the wagon and looked at the wheel. I waited several long minutes before I finally come out the woods. “I can help you fix that if you take me up the road a piece,” I said.
    He stared at me, startled. “What you doing out, little girl?” he said.
    Well, that throwed me, for I forgot how I was done up. I quick tried to untie the bonnet. But it was tied tight. So I went at the dress, which was tied from behind.
    â€œGood Lord, child,” Bob said. “You ain’t got to do that to get no ride from Nigger Bob.”
    â€œIt ain’t what it looks like,” I said. “In fact, if you’d be so kind as to help me take this thing off—”
    â€œI’ll be heading out,” he said, backing away.
    But I had my chance and I weren’t going to lose it. “Wait a minute. Help me. If you don’t mind, just untie—”
    Good God, he jumped atop the wagon, hustled onto the driver’s seat, called up that horse to trotting, and was off, pin or no pin. He got about ten yards before that back wheel got to