A rifle butt struck me in the belly and I doubled over. They dragged me over to the furnace, made to lift me, then pulled me back and threw me against the wall. I struck my head.

I’d rather kill a nigger. It’s more fun.

I looked. Johnson’s face was terrible. His eyes had turned to stone.

They lifted him off the ground. He began to sing. It didn’t really sound like singing.

“No more moaning!” he screeched. “No more moaning!”

He twisted his head so that the muscles of his neck stood out like ropes. His mouth curved in a smile.

“No more moaning over me!”

An orange sheet of flame belched from the furnace. Johnson’s head fell back, I met his eyes, I knew he did not see me, that he was ripping his soul from his body and soaring away with it.

“And before I’ll be a slave—”

They tossed him inside the furnace and slammed the door.

They raised me up.

“Go on home,” Denbigh said. “You’ve got twenty-four hours to get out of Justice County or you’re dead.”

I stumbled outside and vomited. Somehow I made it back to the house. Mommy and Daddy were in the kitchen and Daddy met me at the door.

“Thank the Lord! Your head’s a-bleeding. They beat on you?”

I nodded.

“What kind of trouble you got yourself in?” Mommy demanded.

I looked at Daddy. “I got to git. Out of the county in twenty-four hours.”

Mommy came closer. “You’re a leaving.”

I gasped for air. I went to my bed and stuffed my belongings into a pillowcase. Two shirts, socks, and a change of underwear, a Bible and a copy of Huckleberry Finn that C.J. gave me, a comb, pocket knife, toothbrush, watch. I knotted the laces of my good shoes and hung them around my neck, picked up my banjo, hugged the pillowcase to my chest and went back to the kitchen. Mommy waited for me.

“You are good for nothing,” she said.

“Vernie!” Daddy said.

“You have ruint your brother over some foolishness. He’ll go down the mines. He’ll pay for your sins.”

“Vernie!”

I brushed past her. “Daddy, I love you. Tell Talcott and Kerwin goodbye.”

I went out the screen door. A gun thug stood in the yard and watched me go. I walked the five miles to Annadel, following the railroad track.

“Huntington or Kentucky,” C.J. said.

“Kentucky.”

“Huntington’s safer.”

“Kentucky’s closer.”

We glared at one another.

“What did you think?” I said. “You think they was going to let us do all this without a fight?”

He covered his face with his hands. “I dont have to enjoy it, do I?”

“So they throwed Annadel up to you?” Doc Booker said. “I reckon we got to protect ourselves better.”

“I reckon you better,” I said.