It was just noon when the sheriff reached the jail with
Lucas Beauchamp tho the whole town (the whole
county too for that matter) had known since the night
before that he had killed a white man.

He was there, waiting. He was the first one, standing
lounging trying to look occupied or at least innocent, un-
der the shed in front of the blacksmith's across the
street from the jail where his uncle would be less
likely to see him if or rather when he should cross the
square from his office to the courthouse.

Because he knew Lucas Beauchamp too – as well that is as
any white person knew him. Better than any maybe unless
it was Carothers Edmonds on whose place Lucas lived 17
miles from town because he had eaten a meal in Lucas'
house. It was in the early winter 4 years ago: he had been
only 12 then and it had happened this way: Edmonds
was a friend of his uncle:; they had been to school to-
gether at the state University before his uncle had gone
to Harvard and then to Europe and the day before Edmonds
had come in to see his uncle on some county business (his
uncle was County Attorney, and had been for years) and
had stayed the night with them and at supper that eve-
ning Edmonds had said to him:

'Come out home with me tomorrow and go rabbit hunting.'
Then to his mother: 'I'll send him back in tomorrow after-
noon. I'll send a boy along with him.' Then to him again:
'<A good hunter.>' He's got a good dog.

'He's got a boy,' his uncle said.

<So the next morning he and Aleck Sander <<went home with>>
had gone home with Edmonds, who sent the son of one of
his tenants along to show them where to hunt (as tho he
and Aleck Sander by themselves could not have found>