“Doesn’t matter now.” That was the sort of thing nobody ever found out. The why of a thing was always just smoke. The facts were all you had. “By the time the white men get done writing the history of this election, you won’t even know there ever was an Afro-American newspaper in this town.”

“The office is all locked up, pastor has the only key,” Frank said. “You’ve made your record. Nobody can pretend different.”

“Oh, you might be surprised what people can pretend.”

They were crossing Market now. Here, the patrols were frequent.

Alex said, “The Hoe press will be gone. Tom Clawson will collect it first thing.”

“Ain’t the only printing press on the planet. We’ll find another one.”

Alex didn’t think so. He didn’t think he had the zeal to start it all again. For six years now, he’d been pushing, and he felt suddenly weary. For six years, he’d pushed his rock uphill, and now it was rolling pell-mell right back down the hill. If he didn’t get out of the way, it would roll right over him. Some community leader—slinking out of town in the dead of night.

A party of five riders appeared from the direction of the river. They spurred their horses to a trot when they spotted the buggy.

“Uh-oh,” Frank said. “Trouble coming in a crowd.”

“Pull up your scarf,” Alex said. “Relax. And whatever happens, don’t open your mouth.”

Frank cursed and pulled back on the reins, stopping the buggy in the middle of the intersection. The horsemen slowed to a walk. When they got near enough, the lead rider called out, “Where you boys traveling so late?”

Alex waited till he was closer. He didn’t feel like shouting. He wanted this thing to be as calm as possible. “Heard there might be some excitement down in Brooklyn tonight,” he said, looking the rider in the eye. The rider had no lantern, and the buggy top shielded the brothers from the gaslight on the corner.

The lead rider, joined now by the other four, laughed. “Niggers don’t much like the cold. I don’t reckon they’ll make trouble tonight.”

“We’re on the lookout for the Manlys,” Alex said. “We only have one horse between us, or we’d go mounted, like you. That’s the proper way to hunt blackbirds.”

The riders laughed and blew out clouds of breath. The horses snorted, impatient to be moving.

“We heard they might try to slip out tonight or tomorrow,” the leader said. “We’re on the lookout ourselves.” He peered into the buggy. In the shadows, Frank sat very still. “Hey, you boys don’t have no rifles.”

Alex said, “We heard they wasn’t armed.”

“Just the same, you’ll need more than a buggy whip,” the leader said. “Piner—let me have that Winchester.”