Two
__A__ TWO THE NEXT MORNING, after all the eating and cleaning up our camp, we started in checking our wagons for any kind of damage that might have happened coming up the mountain. Then we hitched up and took our places with the wagons, to head downhill . I sure was pleased with the way JoJo was handling his team, sitting up high in his seat. He called out to ask if he could move up to the position ahead of me. Dave came over and told him it would be his choice to have any position he wanted, with the way he was handling them big blacks. "You are going to make a real good driver," he said. All the other drivers agreed with him, JoJo was doing a good job. Now, it was about two miles from where we topped the mountain to where we started down the other side. As each wagon came to where we turned down, Dave and my dad were there to check and make sure all the brake shoes were in good shape and the rear wheel on the left was equipped with a good heavy chain. One end wrapped around the rim and iron tire. The other end was hooked to a ring bolted to the strong rocking bolster that supported the carriage for the wagon bed. This was called rough locking. As the wagon moved ahead the chain would stop the wheel from rolling and the chain part wrapped around the rim would dig into the ground. This caused the horses to have to pull a little even to get the wagon to go downhill. When we came to the valley at the foot we loosened our rough lock chains and checked the crates, boxes, and cases in our wagons. It sure was rough coming down. The well-packed loads would be shifted around and holes would tear in the sugar sacks. Cases of other stuff turned over. You just about had to unload and then reload. The wagons were covered with tarps. We took off down the 11 valley. That is, some of us did. The others went up the valley to scattered homes and little country stores, dropping off whatever they had ordered. Me and the other three drivers came to the first farm. We pulled into the barn lot, unharnessed our teams, and were letting them drink. Mr. Morgan came from the house, a big two-story house with a trot. A trot is a covered space between the main house and the kitchen and eating room. He called to us to come in to supper. We cared for the stock after doing the feeding. We walked down to the creek, stripped our shirts off, and with some homemade yellow lye soap we began to scrub all the dirt and sweat from our upper bodies. Hanging on an old rail fence were a few dry clothes left there for anyone to use. We dried off, then slipped into a clean rolled-up shirt, washed the mud and dirt off our shoes, and then walked up to Mr. Morgan's. He greeted us and welcomed us to come into the kitchen. As the door swung open, I got the aroma of food and my stomach started to put forth hunger pains. All the Morgans were having supper. The kitchen and eating room was about a thirty-foot square room, with a wide long table over near two big windows. This was not my first time here. Dad and my brother Jim had been here many times. After dinner Mr. Morgan walked down to the barn with us. We wanted to grease our wagons and groom our stock. After this was taken care of, it was getting dark, and Mr. Morgan suggested we go to bed. He knew we were tired. Jesse said he would climb up in the barn to sleep, for he didn't think it proper for a black man to sleep in a white man's house. Mr. Morgan told him to suit himself, but to not pay any attention to the noises he would probably hear during the night. Jesse asked, "What kind of noise?" Mr. Morgan told him it was probably wind blowing in and around cracks, or maybe a loose board flapping on the roof. He said, "It sure sounds like someone gasping and moaning." As he was telling this, Jesse's eyes seemed to be popping out of his head. Mr. Morgan continued...
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