Lady Mae watched the Deputy lower his megaphone. “It ain’t safe, Arbuckle,” she said. But her eyes stayed on the Deputy, who had stepped aside and out of the sun. She squinted, scrunched her eyes up as tight as she could without closing them. “Come on,” she said again, barely hearing the words spill from her own mouth.

There’s something, Mama.

You’ll know it when it’s right, my girl.

The man on the scaffold stood defiantly, hands on his hips. “I ain’t done nothing that you all ain’t do! Thomas! You’s a coward!” He pointed down at the crowd, though from where Lady Mae was she could not see to whom he was referring. A loud roar came up from the crowd. It was not uncommon to blame others, to try to figure who gave them up to the Deputies. But as he scanned the residents for the likely culprit, he must not have heard the other Deputies quietly creep up behind him carrying with them their chains and sticks and torches. Lady Mae watched as the Deputies quickly surrounded the man, who, upon discovering that he was trapped began to lash out, animalistic and full of rage. The Deputies danced around him, around their prey, waiting for the man to make a move. And when the man finally realized that he was outnumbered, he let out a wail that could wake the dead and ran headfirst toward the Deputy with the megaphone still in his hand.

Lady Mae pulled hard on Arbuckle’s arm. “We got to go now,” she said.

“Okay, but is this—”

She grabbed him by his coat just as the men and women and children in the crowd turned around to run; they’d been to enough outcries to know that the Deputies spared no one when provoked. The eyes of the residents were wild, their faces flushed, and as they tore past Lady Mae they spat at her and shouldered their way around her, slamming into her arms and stepping on her toes. Arbuckle put his arms around her and attempted to pull her out of the way, but old Edmonds broke through their embrace and pushed Arbuckle who staggered, surprised and unready, and fell to the ground.

“Arbuckle!” Lady Mae cried.

The small man kicked Arbuckle in the side as hard as he could, but he was thin, and even with all of his weight, he could not keep Arbuckle down. The man scrambled behind Arbuckle, hooked his arm around his neck, and pulled with all his might. There in the dust they tumbled, a pile of limbs and grunts and boots digging deep in earth.

“Go,” Arbuckle yelled, his voice thin and whisper-like. “Get help.”

She looked up and saw that they were the only ones left in the square. The five Deputies atop the scaffold stood tall, their shoulders back, chains hanging across arms and dangling from their hands. Lady Mae dove at Arbuckle and the old man, tried to rip them apart with her small, strong hands. The man flailed and struck Lady Mae in the side of the head. But she did not feel it. She tore at Edmonds’ face, put her arm around his own neck and pulled with all her might. It was enough to loosen Arbuckle, who jumped to his feet coughing. The man fought. His face reddened and swelled, his throat garbled, but still he thrashed at both of them.