A Book of Short Stories

This is a story of how we the Brotherhood came to be.  For a group of Blackmen during these times there were little if any freedom for men of my nationality and color.  My life began just before the turn of the 19th century; I was about fourteen years of age, as told to me by the people who allowed me work on their ranch.  My parents were unknown to me, whether they left me or were killed by the people in charge, I do not know and I did not want to know, for it would only create an anger inside me which would alter my thinking pattern, and lead to my downfall. 

I am very good with a gun and could ride any horse, these things I learned from friends and watching others display their abilities, as I cleaned and worked around the ranch.  I am very intelligent for my age and race.  I speak of race for during this time the color of a man's skin weight heavy on his position in this economic world.  One other note that lingers within my mind, I could not remember my life prior to this turn of events.  It is as if I did not exist, or my life began at this time, this place and at this precise moment.  There are no prior activities of a child like existence within my mind, to leave a past to be remembered.

The things that spark my remembrance of this time, after leaving the ranch with several friends from other farms, is the robbery of a southern bank and my life as a bank robber.  It was a slick job, using the policy of the time.  Being a colored, we were able to enter the back of the bank unheeded by the sheriff or the bank guards.  The very thought of doing this act being impossible, coloreds were robbing the bank with guns aimed a white people, showed on their faces and responses as we gave orders.  It appeared that the sheriff, bank guards, and tellers were ashamed to admit that they were robbed by coloreds.  I am not sure how they explained the lost of the bank money, but no one came after us.  Our first three robberies were risk free; we got away without any bullets being fired at the four of us, or any posse chasing us.  We made sure that we did not come back to any town we robbed a bank in, with the fear of being lynched. 

Things were going quite well until our seventh bank job, I should have realized that some things changes eventually.  The hold up went on as usual, the look of surprise and discuss, disrespect, that four Negroes with gun pointed at white men were robbing a bank in broad daylight was never thought of.  But they feared us and did what was asked of them, could it be the look on our faces, the way we talked and handled our guns.  But within all the fear we felt their looks of discuss, no way are we going to tell anyone, we was robbed by a group of niggers.  No one said anything as we walked out the back of the bank with our loot. 

We were heading north with a fast gallop when about five miles out of town, we notice a dusk cloud made by riders, riding fast.  This was the first time a posse of sheriff’s men had made an attempt to catch us.  At first we tried to out run them but who ever was leading them were determined to catch us.  It was my fault, I had always expected the unexpected, but let my guard down, and we left an easy trail to follow. I vowed that I will remember this tactical error for my future exploits, if, we get out of this.

I wanted to know who it was who wanted us that badly, that they were willing to ride their horses into the ground.  We must have made someone very upset and they wanted our necks.  I gave the order for the gang to ride on ahead and I would catch up to them near Dry Bed Creek.  I set my equipment on a knoll and using binoculars, I watched the riders in front.  I saw twenty men with a colored tracker riding hard, I thought how lucky the white man is, the only reason they were this close is that we did not expect the unexpected and covered our tracks.  Someone must have gave the alarm that the bank was robbed by colored, I am sure new names were being thought of for our gang. 

They hired a colored tracker to track us; maybe we left things only a colored bank robber would leave.  They were ridding very close, as the idea came to me if I was to shoot the two lead rider’s horses, the time it would take them to regroup would be long enough for us to make a complete get away.  Using my Kentucky long rifle I had purchased from a gunsmith, I worked for while setting up one bank job.  I shot the sheriff’s horse and the horse of the rider next to him.  The time lapsed between when the first horse was hit and my next shot hitting the second rider’s horse was short and sweet, and with no sound of what caused the horses to fall, made for more confusion, and panic.  The horse and rider tumbled throwing the rider off in front of the other riders, who was ridding hard behind them in the dusk cloud made by the front riders, they could not see the horses fall.