She ran to the sheriff’s office. The sheriff had his feet up on his desk and was drinking from a bottle of whiskey.
“Mornin’, Miss Katherine,” he said. “They’re destroying the schoolhouse,” she said, gasping for breath.
“They’ll burn it to the ground if someone doesn’t stop them!”
“Just calm your pretty self down a second,” the sheriff said in a slow drawl. “And tell me what you’re talking about.”
He got up from his desk and walked over to her. “Trout Walker has—” “Now don’t go saying nothing bad about Charles Walker,” said the sheriff.
“We don’t have much time!” urged Katherine. “You’ve got to stop them.”
“You’re sure pretty,” said the sheriff. Miss Katherine stared at him in horror.
“Kiss me,” said the sheriff. She slapped him across the face. He laughed.
“You kissed the onion picker. Why won’t you kiss me?” She tried to slap him again, but he caught her by the hand.
She tried to wriggle free. “You’re drunk!” she yelled. “I always get drunk before a hanging.”
“A hanging? Who—” “It’s against the law for a Negro to kiss a white woman.”
“Well, then you’ll have to hang me, too,” said Katherine. “Because I kissed him back.”
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