Chapter I
It was a hard row to hoe for the Negro after the abolition of slavery, especially in the southern states. Freedom brought many opportunities, but it also brought many hardships as well. When one rose above the hardship and grief, there was a saying, You are Shittin in Tall Cotton. Stoney Baker was born in a small shotgun house, the name referring to an 'A' frame building, in a small farming community in Arkansas, and was raised by his grandparents who were sharecroppers. When Stoney was old enough to figure out what a sharecropper was, he made up his mind that was not for him. He didn't want to share the crop; he was determined to take the whole thing. I was eighteen years old when I set out on my own. With my rifle, knife and my horse, Jet, I left Arkansas headed for Texas. I didn't really know what to expect, only what I had heard from drifters about the wild, wild west, which was that wit and the six gun ruled. With that being the case, I figured I was ready. It had been said that I was the best with guns that I could ever be. The people in the community where I grew up gave me the nickname the "Arkansas Kid," because when I would enter any local shooting contest, no one could come close to beating me at the draw or hitting targets. They would say that greased lightning couldn't hold a candle to me. Before I could get out of Arkansas, I was put to the test.
A few miles from the Texas border, I came upon a small settlement where trouble was waiting for me.
"Hey Joe, the nigger's got a gun."
"Well, where do you suppose he got dat, and if that ain't enough, he got the nerve to be ridin a horse." Then with a look of disdain, Joe said to me, "Nigger, don't you know that horses and guns is fer white folk. Niggers, if they be a ridin, ride a mule and carry a good strong cotton sack here in Leaks Deaden. So I'll be a takin dat horse and gun, boy." He signaled to a couple of his friends as he came out on to the porch of Foster's General Store, strapping down his iron.
I stepped down from my horse, counting as I turned, facing three offenders with only two rounds in my Colt. A trapper I'd met a while back on the trail had warned me to beware of the attitude of a lot of the whites in the southern states, being that the war was just ending. Leaks Deaden was the nearest town for miles. I was low on grub and ammo, and I wasn't meaning to let a couple three redneck hillbillies turn me around. I didn't move, as if I didn't hear anything the men had said.
"Hey Joe," one of the other men yelled. "The nigger must be deaf or maybe he needs a little friendly persuading. I'll give him some friendly persuading all right. Boy, you got to the count of three to un-ass dat gun."
On the count of two, old Joe went for his gun as did the other two men. With only two bullets in my Colt, I reached for my Bowie with my right hand and my Colt with my left. The knife landed in Joe's gun hand forcing his gun to fall to the ground as my Colt rang out, cutting the other two men, bringing them down.
Big Joe, holding onto his wrist, blood gushing out from the knife wound, looked up at me, groaned with pain and defeat in his face and muttered in a strained voice, "Next time we meet, you'll pay for this."
I calmly reached down, picked up my knife, wiped the blood off on the heel of my boot. "So you won't be confused," I said to the man down at my feet, "the name is Stoney Baker, my friends call me The Arkansas Kid. The next time that we meet, mister, you'll be one less sucker the world will have to deal with."
The townspeople began to gather out of their hiding places into the street, as Big Joe and his men carried each other off to tend their wounds.
"I'll be needing some supplies," I said to the gray-headed man standing in the door of the general store.
"You got it, Mr. Baker. I heard you tell the scum going yonder your name," the old man spoke cheerfully. "Mighty pleased to oblige ya. The town folk be beholdin to ya fer standin up to the likes of Big Joe and his klan. They've been a terrorizin and a shootin up the town and troublin travelers comin in town for months. How long will you be a stayin in Leaks Deaden? This town could use a strong brave man like you around here."
"Sorry to disappoint you," I answered, "but I'll be moving on as soon as I gather a few supplies. I'm headed into Little Rock on some business, and then up north to Illinois where niggers ride horses and carry guns."
The old man didn't comment, after seeing what had happened earlier when those words about horses and guns were spoken. "Big Joe will be a comin lookin fer ya as soon as those wounds are mended. He don't take too kindly you a outdoin him and his boys like that," the old man rattled off as he stuffed the gunny sack with jerky and hard tack. "Those vermins is lower than a snake, so you
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