"Go on," Grandfather said. Ned did.
"Then the white man would ask what automobile? and Bobo would let me tend to that; and then the white man would maybe ask what I'm doing in it nohow, and then Bobo would tell him that I want that horse because I know how to make it run; that we already got a match race waiting Tuesday, and if the white man wanted, he could come along too and win enough on the horse to pay back three or four times them hundred and thirteen dollars, and then he wouldn't even have to worry with the automobile if he didn't want to. Because he would be the kind of a white man that done already had enough experience to know what would sell easy and what would be a embarrassment to get caught with. So that's what we were gonter do until yawl come and ruint it: let that white man just watch the first heat without betting yes or no, which he would likely do, and see Lightning lose it like he always done, which the white man would a heard all about too, by now; then we would say Nemmine, just wait to the next heat, and then bet him the horse against the automobile on that one without needing to remind him that when Lightning got beat this time, he would own him too." They—Grandfather and Colonel Linscomb and Mr van Tosch—looked at Ned. I wont try to describe their expressions. I cant. "Then yawl come and ruint it," Ned said.
"I see," Mr van Tosch said. "It was all just to save Bobo. Suppose you had failed to make Coppermine run, and lost him too. What about Bobo then?"
"I made him run," Ned said. "You seen it."
"But just suppose, for the sake of the argument," Mr van Tosch said.
"That would a been Bobo's lookout," Ned said. "It wasn't me advised him to give up Missippi cotton farming and take up Memphis frolicking and gambling for a living in place of it."
"But I thought Mr Priest said he's your cousin," Mr van. Tosch said.
"Everybody got kinfolks that aint got no more sense than Bobo," Ned said.
"Well," Mr van Tosch said.
"Let's all have a toddy," Colonel Linscomb said briskly. He got up and mixed and passed them. "You too," he told Ned. Ned brought his glass and Colonel Linscomb poured. This time when Ned set the untasted glass on the mantel, nobody said anything.
"Yes," Mr van Tosch said. Then he said: "Well, Priest, you've got your automobile. And I've got my horse. And maybe I frightened that damn scoundrel enough to stay clear of my stable hands anyway." They sat there. "What shall I do about Bobo?" They sat there. "I'm asking you," Mr van Tosch said to Ned.
"Keep him," Ned said. "Folks—boys and young men anyhow—in my people dont convince easy—"
"Why just Negroes?" Mr van Tosch said.
"Maybe he means McCaslins," Colonel Linscomb said.
"That's right," Ned said. "McCaslins and niggers both act like the mixtry of the other just makes it worse. Right now I'm talking about young folks, even if this one is a nigger McCaslin. Maybe they dont hear good. Anyhow, they got to learn for themselves that roguishness dont pay. Maybe Bobo learnt it this time. Aint that easier for you than having to break in a new one?"
"Yes," Mr van Tosch said. They sat there. "Yes," Mr van Tosch said again. "So I'll either have to buy Ned, or sell you Coppermine." They sat there. "Can you make him run again, Ned?"
"I made him run that time," Ned said. "I said, again," Mr van Tosch said. They sat there. "Priest," Mr van Tosch said, "do you believe he can do it again?"
"Yes," Grandfather said.
"How much do you believe it?" They sat there. "Are you addressing me as a banker or a what?" Grandfather said.
"Call it a perfectly normal and natural northwest Mississippi countryman taking his perfectly normal and natural God-given and bill-of-rights-defended sabbatical among the fleshpots of southwestern Tennessee," Colonel Linscomb said.
"All right," Mr van Tosch said. "I'll bet you Coppermine against Ned's secret, one heat of one mile. If Ned can make Coppermine beat that black of Linscomb's again, I get the secret and Coppermine is yours. If Coppermine loses, I dont want your secret and you take or leave Coppermine for five hundred dollars—"
"That is, if he loses, I can have Coppermine for five hundred dollars, or if I pay you five hundred dollars, I dont have to take him," Grandfather said.
"Right," Mr van Tosch said. "And to give you a chance to hedge, I will bet you two dollars to one that Ned cant make him run again." They sat there.
"So I've either got to win that horse or buy him in spite of anything I can do," Grandfather said.
"Or maybe you didn't have a youth," Mr van Tosch said. "But try to remember one. You're among friends here; try for a little while not to be a banker. Try." They sat there.
"Two-fifty," Grandfather said. "Five," Mr van Tosch said. "Three-fifty," Grandfather said. "Five," Mr van Tosch said. "Four-and-a-quarter," Grandfather said.
"Five," Mr van Tosch said.
"Four-fifty," Grandfather said. "Four-ninety-five," Mr van Tosch said. "Done," Grandfather said. "Done," Mr van Tosch said.
So for the fourth time McWillie on Acheron and I on Lightning (I mean Coppermine) skittered and jockeyed behind that taut little frail jute string. McWillie wasn't speaking to me at all now; he was frightened and outraged, baffled and determined; he knew that something had happened yesterday which should not have happened; which in a sense should not have happened to anyone, certainly not to a nineteen-year-old boy who was simply trying to win what he had thought was a simple horse race: no holds barred, of course, but at least a mutual agreement that nobody would resort to necromancy. We had not drawn for position this time. We—McWillie and I —had been offered the privilege, but Ned said at once: "Nemmine this time. McWillie needs to feel better after yesterday, so let him have the pole where he can start feeling better now." Which, from rage or chivalry, I didn't know which, McWillie refused, bringing us to what appeared insoluble impasse, until the official—the pending homicide one—solved it quick by saying,
"Here, you boys, if you aim to run this race, get on up behind that-ere bagging twine where you belong." Nor had Ned gone through his preliminary incantation or ritual of rubbing Lightning's muzzle. I dont say, forgot to; Ned didn't forget things. So obviously I hadn't been watching, noticing closely enough; anyway, it was too late now. Nor had he given me any last-minute instructions this time either; but then, what was there for him to say? And last night Mr van Tosch and Colonel Linscomb and Grandfather had agreed that, since this was a private running, almost you might say a grudge match, effort should be made and all concerned cautioned to keep it private. Which would have been as easy to do in Parsham as to keep tomorrow's weather private and restricted to Colonel Lin-scomb's pasture, since—a community composed of one winter-resort hotel and two stores and a cattle chute and depot at a railroad intersection and the churches and schools and scattered farmhouses of a remote countryside —any news, let alone word of any horse race, not to mention a repeat between these two horses, spread across Par-sham as instantaneously as weather does. So they were here today too, including the night-telegraphist judge who really should sleep sometimes: not as many as yesterday, but a considerable more than Grandfather and Mr van Tosch had given the impression of wanting—the stained hats, the tobacco, the tieless shirts and overalls—when somebody hollered Go! and the string snatched away and we were off.