Django stumbled blindly over the yellow terrain. In the sunlight, the yellow rock seemed almost white. It was for this reason that he knew that his were not the only ankles that were steadily losing blood. Sweat dripped into his eyes, and a fly buzzed in his ear.
"Keep up!" shouted the fatter of the Speck brothers. Django scowled in his direction. The fat man was lazily tipping back and forth up on his nag. He took a long drag of water from his canteen. A hot cottony taste in Django's mouth reminded him just how long it had been since he'd last had water.
"I'm gonna kill him," murmured a voice from behind him. Django felt a hot, angry breath on the nape of his neck. "I'm gonna kill him, Django."
"Shut up, Barty," said Django. His voice was tired. His feet were tired. His soul was tired.
"Now hush up, y'hear?" shouted the other Speck. He brought his horse alongside Barty and Django and smacked them with a stick. "We're sellin' you cheap. That means we got less in-cen-tive to keep you around." Django's nostrils flared, and he found a stick under his nose. "Don't cross me, boy."
Django felt a tug in his chest, and in that moment, he found himself back on the Carrugan plantation.
"Don't cross me, boy."
Django giggled softly in the dark. A lock of Hilde's hair was entwined in his fingers. "Whatcha mean, don't cross you?"
"You heard me," she said, and placed her hand gently on his. Her hands were so soft, and her voice was so delicate.
Django smiled into the darkness. "Nothin' but a li'l trouble maker," he murmured.
Her white teeth flashed bright in the dark of her modest quarters. She leaned her forehead against his as they lay side by side, and they fell asleep smiling.
The daydream was interrupted. The sound of one of Django's chain mates attempting to vomit startled him out of the soft reverie. The sweet scent of Hilde's skin soon faded from his memory in the hot sun, and the promise of her love, once so potent, now seemed unreal.
The Speck brothers, though cruel, were indeed dedicated to their jobs. The chain gang marched on through the day and into twilight. Django had found that the anger, and the pain, and the stinging memories faded each day in this twilight and left him with a heavy numbness all throughout his body. Despite the calm that washed over him in the dusky evening, he wasn't sure that he preferred it.
The final rays of sunlight soon slipped underneath the black line of the horizon. As Django's eyes adjusted, he saw the promise of a forest ahead. Better bramble and underbrush to tear up his feet than the jagged rocks of the desert. He knew that they would stop soon, for even the indomitable Speck brothers needed to rest. If they stopped in the forest with the intent of recommencing in the morning, the next day's journey would not be so hot. The man in front of him once again was racked with dry heaves, but with nothing in his body to reject, the action was sadly useless.
They reached the mouth of the forest, and Speck the Fatter slowed his horse to a halt. Django's weary feet cried with joy at the brief rest. Speck tossed a bundle to the first slave in the line. He unfolded the outermost layer, and passed it back. This continued until each of them wore a thin cotton blanket around their shoulders.
"Move out," said Speck brusquely. They entered the forest.
Schultz was calm. The night had always welcomed him as a brother, and he felt an enormous peace.
Fritz nudged his shoulder with his curious nose. He blew spit into Schultz's ear. He chuckled and swatted him away.
"Cease your flirting, Fritz," he said. "We will be in civilized country soon enough, and there we are certain to find you a lovely southern belle." He laughed. Fritz snorted and shook his mane. King looked at him, his eyebrows raised. "Unless it is a beau you seek!" Fritz touched his nose to King's cheek affectionately. "Oh, yes, yes," he said. "I love you too, dear Fritz."
The night fell silent again. King's feet fit snugly into the worn path on which they tread. It was the Greenville path, a hateful, blood-soaked road to a lost humanity. King felt certain that the Speck brothers would arrive on that night.
Fritz whinnied nervously. King scoffed.
"They will come, Fritz," he said. "I have never been wrong in my life."
Surely enough, when the moon was just overhead, the sound of clinking chains met King's ears.
"Time to be off," he said. He climbed onto the cart, and Fritz began to follow the path. He knew he was making a racket, all things considered. The giant tooth that undulated back and forth atop his cart was no accessory to stealth. However, King had no intention of trickery of any kind. Best that they knew of his approach.
King heard a gun cock, and regretted his decision.
"Who's 'at stumblin' around in the dark?" shouted, presumably, one of the Specks. "State your business or prepare to get wing!"
"Calm yourselves, gentlemen," drawled King. "I mean you no harm. I'm simply a fellow weary traveler." He smiled into the darkness that so welcomed him.