FROM DAYS GONE BY March 1, 1918

March 1, 1918.
One negro to his credit which he admits, another in his grave on his account, it is claimed, Nat Walker is now safely resting behind bars in the county jail and is being closely confined by Sheriff Willis Rowland until a jury sets on his case and decides his final fate.
Nat has a checkered career. According to his colored neighbors Nat is a bad character and has done a thousand and one things to terrorize the community in which he has lived for past years. So Nat was to be evaded as far as possible by people of his own color, who hated, envied and feared him.
Sunday night, February 17th, he shot a negro named Whitfield on the line of Johnson and Laurens but in Johnson. Whitfield died. Nat admits the killing but claims self defense. On Saturday night before a negro man was shot and killed on Mr. Tarbutton's place. By numbers this crime is lain at Nat's door. "Whistlers" blood is said to be on Nat's hands.
Anyhow Nat lay in. It was reported in town that Nat had made threats upon the person of one of the county's most highly respected, wealthy and esteemed white citizens. This report came from Nat's frightful "friends." This report gained some credence and getting an inkling of his whereabouts the sheriff and deputies went for a search of the territory where Nat was most likely to be.
Information was obtained as to his probable location, a search was made there. It was on the place of Mr. John Webb that the house of Nat and his wife was. So going there and beginning a search of the premises Mr. Webb told the sheriff where he was hiding. Nat had taken refuge for the day in the potato bank. The sheriff called to Nat to come forth which he did at once. Nat carried a pocket knife only.
The authorities do not place much credence upon the story of the various threats it has been claimed that Nat made because he was unarmed and for other reasons Nat awaits his doom pleasantly situated with the sheriff.
Wash Harris, colored, was instantly killed and another colored man badly wounded, Saturday night when the Ford car they were riding in left the road and hit a tree lying in the ditch, beside the road. A limb of the tree hit Wash in the breast, killing him on the spot. The other darkey, the driver, was hurt but will get over it.
The accident happened seven miles this side of Dublin on the upper road. Wash moved to the plantation of Mr. J. T. Fulford the first of the year. Mr. Fulford and son, John, went out with a truck and brought Wash into town Sunday morning where a coffin was procured and he was turned over to relatives for burial.
The medical office of Dr. T. L. Harris fronting the Bank of Wrightsville and beside the City Market is completed. The doctor is moving his equipment in now.
Living at home for all of his 80 years Uncle Ben Martin has lived at home in the true sense of the word. He has bank money raising corn, food of every kind suitable to his land and cotton as a surplus. He is now nearing his last activity, but he points to his life on the farm with pride.
This fifty-fifty crop proposition is nothing new to him, he says he has practiced it, his four boys have, also, and all of them are living a prosperous life on the farm by reason, of same. Uncle Ben went through the Civil War and knows all about war's hardships and battles, both at home and on the field of action. Thus his advice and council are of interest and importance at this terrible crisis at hand.