Please refer to previous stories for background information.
Jer hid in a small cave, fearing that the band of Gypsies would find him, and willing himself to stay awake. The next thing he knew, he woke up with a start, as a shaft of sunlight entered the small cave. Stiffly, he crawled out, ever on the watch for anyone else. Seeing nobody, he checked the direction of the Sun, and headed West. Some two hours later, he came upon a small settlement, and knocked on a door of a small house, hoping to get some kind of food, as he was starving. The lady who came to the door looked at him in horror and told him to get away, calling him a _d_a_m_n_ Gypsy, and slammed the door in his face, even before he could open his mouth. He was in shock to be treated like that, and ran back behind some sort of a livery stable. There was a shiny black coach there, and he could see his reflection in it (although it was wavy). What he saw was a little, dirty faced Gypsy kid! He never thought that the clothes he had been given would cause people to turn against him. He sat in the shade of the building and cried. Later, he removed his red shirt, and tore off the shoulder straps and fancy buttons, until it was just a red shirt. He knew that he could do nothing with the trousers, as they had a bright gold stripe down each pants leg. Determined, he tried to cover the stripe with dirt, but it just became a dirty gold stripe. Rejected, he slowly walked away from the little village, toward the West. As he walked, he passed by a large white-washed home, with a white fence around it, and several children playing in the front yard. Skirting the building, so as not to attract attention to himself, he saw some clothes on a wash line, and knew that he had to do something, or starve. As quietly as he was able, he snuck from tree to tree, until he reached the clothesline, and quickly snatched a pair of bib overalls from the line. Although they were a bit small, they looked like the nicest thing he had ever seen. Running back to the shelter of the livery stable, he quickly stepped out of his Gypsy trousers, and into his new overalls. He then shoved his Gypsy pants under a manure pile (he quickly washed his hands in a horse trough), and made his way back Westbound.
About 1/2 mile from town, he was overtaken by a fast wagon, with two men, and a woman in it. They pulled up beside him, and quickly stopped. The woman said "that's him, that's the one", as one of the men grabbed Jer by the arm.
"Yep, those are my Tommy's pants alright" said the lady. Jer was pushed into the back of the buckboard type wagon, and quickly had his hands and legs tied together, as the wagon turned back toward the little town. Jer was taken to a small building which had a sign "SHERIFF" on it. He was pushed inside, and shoved into a tiny cell with metal bars on the door and window. There was no place to sit or lay down, so he sat in the corner, his hands and feet still tied. In about an hour, the door to the little building opened, and the Sheriff entered, followed by the other man who was with him, (who also had on a badge). Jer was amazed at the size of this man. The woman squeezed in, and then another man came in, who was wearing a black coat and hat. He sat at the table, and said something about court being in session. He asked the lady what had happened, and she told him that she had seen this little Gypsy sneaking into her back yard, and that the little thief had taken a pair of her Tommy's pants off of her line, right in front of her eyes. The fellow (Who later was called "Judge") asked her if she could identify the pants. She said she could. Then, the man waived his hand at the Sheriff, who opened the little cell door, and stood Jer up on his legs, as he untied his legs. Then, without so much as a word, he unbuttoned the overalls that Jer had on, and stripped them down to the floor, pulling his feet up out of the legs, as he then carried the pants to the lady, leaving Jer standing naked from the waist down, in front of strangers and a lady! The woman showed the judge where she had sowed on a couple of patches, and the judge said that was good enough.
The judge then looked Jer in the eyes, and told him that they normally hang thieves in this town. He said he was thinking what to do with him, but whatever he decided, Jer would know soon enough. The cell was then slammed shut, and Jer again sat down, this time his bare butt was on the dirt floor, his hands tied.
Jer had almost nodded off, when the door was flung open, and the big deputy opened his cell door, and, without saying anything, pulled Jer upright, and shoved him in front of him, outside, toward the center square of the town. There, Jer saw a large tree with a hangman's noose hanging from it. He was pushed up, under the noose, and was so scared that he peed right there. A snickering, followed by laughter caused him to look around to see a crowd of 15 or so people, including some girls and boys, were watching him. He was so humiliated, that he thought it would be preferable to die. Quickly, his hands were untied, the noose was let down, and his hands were raised over his head, and shoved inside the noose, which was pulled tight, and then pulled up, causing him to hang by his hands, at least two feet off of the ground. The rope caused him to twist around, and he could see the crowd pointing to him, and laughing, as his butt erupted in fire and pain. Twisting around, kicking his legs, he saw the deputy standing holding a wicked looking whip, which once again visited his poor little butt cheeks as he twisted back into target range. Jer cried out at this stroke, and then found himself screaming in agony at each subsequent stroke. After what seemed like an eternity, the whipping stopped, and he was let down. He rubbed his hands to get circulation back, and then quickly rubbed his hands over his butt cheeks, feeling the terrible welts. He was told that he had best get out of town. He wanted to ask if he could go to the maure pile to get his Gypsy pants, but the whip cracking in the dirt at his feet caused him to pick up and run out of town, until he could run no more.
The sound of running water came to him, and he crashed through the brush to find a small stream, which he sat his striped butt into. Sitting there in the cool water, he cried and cried. Finally, he got up, took a deep drink, and slowly walked West again, this time, much the worse for wear, in only a shirt, his red, beaten butt a beacon for people to know that he had done something wrong. In his mind, he felt he might never eat again. He walked down the dusty trail, his feet casting up swirls of dust, as he head again West, ever West.