Story #2: The Bad Man

Summary: When a black family's wagon breaks down on the way to their new home in the West, they receive help from an unexpected source, leaving Mama to have a frank discussion with little Sara that evening after the five-year-old starts asking questions. Written for the Caesar's Palace forum's May 2018 Monthly Oneshot Contest. It was also inspired by the rules of the WA All-Dialogue challenge.

Disclaimer: Same as before.

"Mama, why'd the bad man help us?"

"Hold on, Sara. Let me move this pot and stir it or it's going to get burned and we won't have anything good to eat when your papa and brother get back. There. Now, what were you asking about?"

"When our wagon was broke. Why'd the bad man help us?"

"Broken, Sara. Was broken. What do you mean about a bad man?"

"You know, the bad man, the one with the mask. Papa told me to stay down, but I was peeking out of the side so I could see what was happening and I saw the bad man with the mask and the white hat."

"Oh, sweetheart, your papa told you to stay down to keep you safe because we didn't know who he was and if there was going to be trouble."

"There wasn't any trouble, was there?"

"No, fortunately, this time it was okay and there wasn't. Papa heard about a masked man a few towns back, but we didn't believe the tale he heard. It was true, though, and that masked man's every bit as strange as they said. Yes, he's a strange one, for sure, but he's not a bad man or an outlaw. Word is, he's been around these parts for over fifteen years, helping people who need it and making the West a safer place."

"Mama, then why does he wear a mask? I thought only bad men wear masks. That's what Mark said. He called 'em 'outlaws.'"

"I see. Sara, your brother would generally be right about that, but I think this masked man's a special case. I wish I could it explain it better, but I think his mask helps keep him safe from the real outlaws who want to hurt him. He's put lots of them in jail over the years where they'll be punished and pay for their crimes."

"Is Papa an outlaw?"

"Good Lord, child! Why on Earth would you ask that?"

"Cause he's got stripes on his back. Mark said they meant Papa got whipped. That's punished. Right? So was Papa in jail?"

"Ahhhh. No, dear. I guess you're old enough to learn the truth. When your papa and I were younger, it was a different time. Back then, the law let one person own another person."

"Own? Like we own Pete?"

"No, sweetheart, not exactly. I guess you could say we own Pete, but really, he's part of our family and we take care of him. We give him food and water and give him lots of petting and loving, and he loves us back and helps protect us. You know, how he's always barking to let us know if someone's coming, and the way he barked and growled and kept between you and that snake a few weeks ago. He stays with us because he wants to. Say, if Papa were to sell Pete—"

"No! Mama! Don't let Papa sell Pete!"

"Oh, he's not going to, silly girl! But, say, if he did sell or give Pete to somebody, do you think Pete would stay with them? No? He'd come running right back to us wouldn't he? Because he loves us."

"I love Pete, too, Mama."

"I know you do, dear, and he knows it, too. No, while they're not people, I guess the situation would be a little like our oxen. Papa feeds them and takes good care of them, but he makes them work, too, or we wouldn't be able to afford to keep them. That's the way it was back then. The people who owned the other people called them slaves and made them work. If the slaves wouldn't, or couldn't, work, the people who owned them would sometimes sell them."

"That's bad, Mama. I wouldn't want somebody to make me work or to sell me."

"Nobody's going to sell you, dear, so don't you worry your pretty head about that. Work, though—well, you'll have to work someday when you get a little bigger, but the difference is that you'll be doing it for our family or for yourself and for your family when you get big. You'll be making a living, which is a good thing, since when you work you'll get paid or you'll be growing or making something to sell to somebody else. Most of the people who owned slaves didn't do it like that though. Most of them made the slaves work and then kept all the money to themselves. If they didn't work or didn't work hard enough, sometimes the slaves would get punished."

"That's scary, Mama. Was...was Papa a slave?"

"Yes, dear. And your mama, too. When I was little, I played with Miss Daisy and she taught me to read and use proper English, but when I was about your brother's age, I had to start working around the house and didn't get to play with Miss Daisy anymore. Your papa is a few years older than me; they sent him straight out to work out in the cotton field in Mississippi. One day, when your papa was about sixteen or seventeen years old, the boss-man was yelling at one of the old slaves and your papa told him to stop. The old man was sick, but the boss-man didn't like being told what to do. The boss called Papa some terrible names and took a strap to him, over and over. He cut Papa's back up something awful. Said it was teaching him a lesson, but I think the boss-man was just being mean since Papa was just trying to help the old man, kind of like the masked man was helping us. Sara, that's why Papa's got the stripes on his back; they're scars from when he was whipped."

"Mama...did...did it hurt?

"It hurt lots, dear, but dry those tears. Papa's all better now and times are different."

"Am...am I...a slave?"

"No, praise the Lord! It was only a year or two after Papa got whipped when a great, big war started. The folks up north and the folks down south got into it really bad and it lasted a long time, almost as long as you are old, but when it was all over, Mr. Lincoln—God rest his soul—said us black folks didn't have to be slaves any more. He did what they call 'emancipated' us. That means freed us so we could do what we want, go where we want, and earn a living how we want. That's what I mean by things being different now. We're free! We're not slaves any more! Papa and I decided to leave Mississippi and move out west where we could buy some land and start a real farm. We want to be able to have a better life for you, your brother, and us."

"And Pete?"

"And Pete, too. It's going to be really hard work, Sara, but it will be worth it 'cause it will be ours and all our work won't be going to help some boss-man or some master."

"Mama, is the Indian the masked man's slave?"

"Oh, no, dear. Tonto's his friend. They work together to catch outlaws to keep them from hurting people and when they're not doing that, they help people, like they helped us. When they're done, they move on to track down more outlaws or help somebody else. That's helping make the West a safer place for everybody.

"Say! Look at the sun, Sara. Papa and Mark should be back any time now, so you go wash your hands and face for supper. And don't pet Pete again afterwards until after you've finished eating. Now, what's with that look? You've got another question?"

"Yes, ma'am, one more. Who was the masked man? What's his name?"

"Nobody knows who he is, Sara, but people know what he stands for and they call him the Lone Ranger."

The End

Author's Note: Thanks for reading this story. Since the subject matter is a little different than usual for me and for the fandom, I'd really appreciate any feedback you might offer as a reader.

The prompt for this month's event was to write about a diverse character of some type so young Sara was selected as a type of character neither typically thought about in this setting nor pictured in most movie and TV westerns. However, while this story is set a few years later, it is believed that over 200,000 blacks moved to Texas in the roughly five years following the Civil War, joining approximately 200,000 who were already there. It's also estimated that black cowboys made up almost 25 percent of the workforce on the western range in the years that followed.

The style of the chapter was inspired by the WA All-Dialogue challenge, in which one was to write an entire story without any narrative other than simple dialogue tags to identify who was speaking. Due to the nature of this story and the way the discussion flows, I didn't think the dialogue tags were needed.