Early the next morning, he went to see Sheriff Payne and told him what he had seen––and what he’d learned. He’d already filed his report, one that named names, the city superintendent’s name among them. “Leave town,” was Payne’s polite advice. Saying it was for David’s safety, Payne had him escorted to the station and put on the next train that came through. But five men were waiting at the next stop––Payne among them. They dragged David off the train, down into the dust. “You one lucky white bastard,” Payne said. “We hates Yankee nigger-lovers down here, almost as much as we hates niggers themselves.” He delivered a ferocious kick to David’s side. One of the men standing alongside slammed the toe of his boot into David’s lower back. The others moved to join in, but Payne held up his hand. Bending down, he grinned in David’s face with brown, tobacco-stained teeth. “Don’t worry. I ain’t gonna let them kill you. I wouldn’t do that to one of my own.
