THE dark was just beginning to thin when Mac looked into the tent. On the central post the lantern still burned. London and Jim were sleeping, side by side. Mac stepped in, and as he did London jerked upright and peered about. “Who is it?”
“Me,” said Mac. “Just got in. How’s the kid?”
“I been asleep,” said London. He yawned and scratched the round bald spot on his head.
Mac stepped over and looked down at Jim. The tired lines were gone out of the boy’s face, and the nervous muscles were relaxed. “He looks fine. He got a good rest.”
London stood up. “What time is it?”
“I don’t know. It’s just starting to get light.”
“The guys building the fires yet?”
“I saw somebody moving around over there. I smelled wood smoke. It might be Anderson’s barn smouldering.”
“I didn’t leave the kid a minute,” said London.
“Good for you.”
“When you goin’ to get some sleep?”
“Oh, Christ knows. I don’t feel it much yet. I got some last night, or rather the night before, it was. Seems a week ago. We just buried Joy yesterday, just yesterday.”
London yawned again. “I guess it’s beef and beans this morning. God, I’d like a cup of coffee!”
“Well, let’s go in and get coffee and ham and eggs in town.”
“Oh, go to hell. I’m goin’ to get them cooks movin’.” He stumbled sleepily outside.
Mac pulled a box under the light and took a rolled newspaper out of his pocket. As he opened it, Jim said, “I’ve been awake, Mac. Where have you been?”
“Had to go mail a letter. I picked a paper off a lawn. We’ll see what’s going on.”
“Mac, did I make a horse’s ass of myself last night?”
“Hell, no, Jim. You made it stick. You had us eating out of your hand.”
“It just came over me. I never felt that way before.”
“How do you feel this morning?”
“Fine. But not like that. I could of lifted a cow last night.”
“Well, you sure lifted us around. That’s a good gag about the two trucks, too. The owner of the car that has to bust the barricade may not like it much. Now let’s see what’s going on in town. Oh—oh, headlines for the scrapbook! Listen, Jim:
STRIKERS BURN HOUSES—KILL MEN!
Last night at ten o’clock fire destroyed the suburban home of William Hunter. Police say the men now on strike from the apple orchards are responsible. A suspect, captured, assaulted his captor and escaped. The injured man, Olaf Bingham, special deputy, is not expected to live.
Now let’s see, farther down:—
Earlier in the evening strikers, either through carelessness or malice, burned the barn on the Anderson farm. Mr. Anderson had previously given the men permission to camp on his land.
It’s a long story, Jim. You can read it if you want to.” He turned the page. “Oh boy, oh boy. Listen to this editorial:
We believe the time has come to take action. When transient laborers tie up the Valley’s most important industry, when fruit tramps, led and inspired by paid foreign agitators (That’s us, Jim), carry on a campaign of violence and burning, bringing Red Russia into peaceful America, when our highways are no longer safe for American citizens, nor their homes safe from firebrands, we believe the time for action has come!
This county takes care of its own people, but these strikers do not belong here. They flout the laws, and destroy life and property. They are living on the fat of the land, supplied by secret sympathizers. This paper does not, and has never believed in violence; but it does believe that when law is not sufficient to cope with these malcontents and murderers, an aroused citizenry must take a hand. The incendiary deserves no mercy. We must drive out these paid trouble-makers. This paper recommends that citizens inquire into the sources of luxuries these men have been given. It is reported that three prime steers were slaughtered in their camp yesterday.”
Mac smashed the paper down on the ground. “And that last means that tonight a flock of pool-room-Americans will start slinging rocks through the windows of poor devils who said they wished times might get better.”
Jim was sitting up. “Jesus Christ, Mac! Do we have to take all the blame?’
“Every damn bit.”
“How about that guy they say was murdered.”
“Well, Sam did it. They caught him. He had to get away. The guy had a gun; all Sam had was his feet.”
Jim lay back again. “Yeah,” he said. “I saw him use his feet the other day. But God, it sounds bad. Sounds awful!”
“Sure. That editor used some dollar-an’-a-half words, all right. ’Paid foreign agitators.’ Me, born in Minneapolis! An’ granpaw fought in the Battle of Bull Run. He always said he thought it was a bull-fight instead of a battle he was goin’ to ’til they started shootin’ at him. An’ you’re about as foreign as the Hoover administration. Oh, hell, Jim. That’s the way it always is. But—” he brought out the last of his tobacco—’’it’s closing in, Jim. Sam shouldn’t of set that fire.”
“You told him to go ahead.”
“I know, I was mad about the barn.”
“Well, what do we do now?”
“Just go ahead, just go ahead. We start those cars out at the scabs. We keep it up as long as we can fight, and then we get away, if we can. Are you scared, Jim?”
“N-no-o.”
“It’s closing in on us, Jim. I can feel it, closing in.” He got up from his box and walked to the mattress and sat down. “Maybe it’s because I need sleep. On the way out from town just now it seemed to me there was a bunch of guys waiting for me in the shadow under every tree. I got so scared, I’d of run if a mouse moved.”
“You’re all tired,” Jim said gently. “Maybe I could of been some use around here, if I hadn’t got myself hurt. I just lie around, and get in the way’
Mac said, “The hell you do. Every time I get low you steam me up, and, baby, I need steam this morning. My guts are just water! I’d take a drink if I could get it.”
“You’ll be all right when you get something to eat.”
Mac said, “I wrote to Harry Nilson; told him we had to have help and supplies. But I’m afraid it’s too late.” He stared strangely at Jim. “Listen, Jim, I found Dick last night. Now you listen close. Remember the night we came in?”
“Sure.”
“Well, you remember when we turned left at that bridge and went to the jungle?”
“Yeah.”
“Well, listen close. If hell should pop and we get separated, you get to that bridge and go underneath, clear up under the arch, on the side away from town. You’ll find a pile of dead willows there. Lift ’em aside. There’s a deep cave underneath. Get inside, and pull the willows over the hole. You can go in about fifteen feet, see? Now Dick’s putting blankets in there, an’ canned goods. If they dynamite us, you go there an’ wait for me a couple o’ days. If I don’t come, you’ll know something’s happened to me. You get back to town. Travel at night till you’re clear of this county. They’ve got nothing on us that’ll get us more than six months unless they pad up a murder charge about that guy last night. I don’t think they will, because it’d be too much publicity. I.L.D’d come through and break that upstairs shooting of Joy. Now will you remember, Jim? Go there and wait for a couple of days. I don’t think they’ll root you out of there.”
Jim asked, “What do you know, Mac? You’re keeping something back.”
“I don’t know a thing,” Mac said. “I’ve just got a feeling this joint’s closing in on us—just a feeling. A lot of the guys took it on the lam last night, mostly the guys with women and kids. London’s O.K. He’ll be a Party member pretty soon. But right now I wouldn’t trust the rest of these guys with a road-apple at a banquet. They’re so God damn jumpy they might knife us themselves.”
“You’re jumpy yourself, Mac. Calm down.” Jim got to his knees and stood carefully up, his head cocked as though he listened for pain. Mac watched him in alarm. “It’s swell,” said Jim. “Shoulder’s a little bit heavy, but I feel swell. Not even light-headed. I ought to get around some today.”
“That bandage ought to be changed,” said Mac.
“Oh, yeah, say, did Doc come back?”
“No, I guess they got him. What a nice guy he was.”
“Was?”
“No. I hope not. Maybe they’d only beat hell out of him. But so many of our guys just disappear and never show up again.”
“You’re a fine, happy influence,” said Jim.
“I know. If I wasn’t sure you could take it, I’d shut up. Makes me feel better to get it off my chest. I want a cup of coffee so bad I could bust into tears. Just think of all the coffee we used to have in town. Three cups if we wanted. All we wanted.”
Jim said sternly, “Maybe a little bit of that might be good for you. You better pull up now. You’ll get feeling sorry for yourself.”
Mac tightened his loose face. “O.K., kid. I’m all right now. You want to go outside? Can you walk all right?”
“Sure I can.”
“Well, blow out that lantern. We’ll go see about some beef and beans.”
The shade screeched when Jim raised it. The dawn grey leapt into the tent, grey like a wash of ink. Jim lifted the tent-flaps and tied them back. “Let’s air this place out,” he said. “It’s getting strong. The whole damn bunch of us could do with a bath.”
Mac agreed. “I’ll try to get a bucket of warm water, and we’ll sponge off after we eat.”
The dawn had come into the sky. The trees were still black against the light east, and a colony of crows, flapping eastward, were etched heavily against it. Under the trees a dusk still held, and the earth was dark, as though the light had to be sucked in slowly. Now that they could see, the guards had given up their pacing. They stood in tired groups, hands in pockets, coats turned up and buttoned over their throats. And they talked in the soft monotone of men who only talk to stay awake.
Mac and Jim approached a group of them on their way to the stove. “Anything happen last night?” Mac asked.
Talk stopped. The men looked at him with weary, blood-shot eyes. “Not a thing, buddy. Frank was just sayin’—sayin’ he had a feelin’ there was people movin’ around all night. I had that feelin’ too, just creepin’ around; but we didn’t hear nothing. We went around two together.”
Mac laughed, and his voice seemed to penetrate deep into the air. “I was in the army,” he said, “trained in Texas. By Christ, when I’d go on guard duty I could hear Germans all around me, could hear ’em whispering in German.” The men chuckled softly, without amusement.
One said, “London told us we could sleep today. Soon’s I get somethin’ in my stomach, I’m goin’ to roll in.”
“Me too. Roll right in. I got gravel in my skin, like a hop-head. Ever seen a hop-head when he’s got bugs in his skin? Make you laugh to watch him.”
Mac asked, “Why’n’t you come over to the stoves an’ warm up?”
“Well, we was just talkin’ about doin’ that.”
Jim said, “I’m going down to the can, Mac. See you over at the stove.” He walked down the line of tents, and each tent was a little cave of darkness. Snores came from some, and in the entrances of others men lay on their stomachs and looked out at the morning, and their eyes were full of the inwardness of sleep. As he walked along, some men came into the air and hunched their shoulders and drew down their necks against the cold. He heard an irritable, sleepy voice of a woman detailing how she felt. “I want to get out o’ this dump. What good we doin’ here? An’ I got a lump in my stomach big’s your fist. It’s a cancer, that’s what it is. Card-reader tol’ me two years ago I’d get a cancer if I din’ watch out. Said I was the cancer type. Sleepin’ on the ground, eatin’ garbage.” An inaudible grumble answered.
As Jim passed another tent, a tousled head stuck out. “Come on in quick, kid. He’s gone.”
“Can’t,” said Jim.
Two tents down a man kneeling on his blankets said, “Got the time, buddy?”
“No. Must be after six, I guess, though.”
“I heard her give you the come-on. God damn lucky you didn’ go. She’s caused more trouble in this camp’n the scabs. They ought to run her out. Gets ever’body fightin’. They got a fire goin’ over there?”
“Yes,” said Jim. He passed out from between the row of tents. Fifteen yards away, in the open, stood the square canvas screen. Inside there was a two-by-four supported at each end, over a hole. There was room on board for three men. Jim picked up a box of chloride of lime and shook it, but it was empty. One man sat hunched up on the board. “Sompin’ ought to be done about it,” he said. “Where in hell is ’at doctor? He ain’t done nothing about it since yesterday.”
“Maybe we could shovel in a little dirt,” said Jim. “That’d help.”
“It ain’t my business. That doctor ought to do sompin’ about it. The guys are liable t’get sick.”
Jim’s voice was angry. “Guys like you that won’t do anything damn well deserve to get sick.” He kicked dirt into the hole with the side of his foot.
“You’re a smart punk, ain’t you?” the man said. “Wait till you been around a little and got dry behind the ears, ’n’en maybe you’ll know sompin’.”
“I know enough right now to know you’re a lazy bastard.”
“You wait till I get my pants up; I’ll show you who’s a lazy bastard.” But he made no move.
Jim looked down at the ground. “I can’t take you on. I’m shot in the shoulder.”
“Sure, an’ when you know you’re safe from a sportin’ man, you miscall a man. You lousy punks got sompin’ comin’ to you.”
Jim controlled his voice. “I didn’t mean to miscall you, mister. I wouldn’t fight you. We got all the fighting to do we can take care of, without fighting each other.”
“Well, now, that’s better,” said the man. “I’ll he’p you kick some dirt in when I get through. What’s goin’ on today? You know?”
Jim began, “We’re——” and then he remembered. “Damn’ if I know. I guess London’ll tell us when he gets ready.”
“London ain’t done nothing yet,” said the man. “Hey, don’t sit so near the middle. You’re liable to break that two-by-four. Get over near the edge. London ain’t done nothing. Just walks around lookin’ big. Know what a guy told me? London’s got cases an’ cases of can’ goods in his tent—ever’thing. Corn-beef, an’ sardines, an’ can’ peaches. He won’t eat what us poor stiffs got to eat, not him. He’s too God damn good.”
“And that’s a God damn lie,” said Jim.
“Got smart again, have you? There’s plenty guys seen them can’ goods. How do you know it’s a lie?”
“Because I’ve been in that tent. He let me sleep in there last night because I was hurt. There’s an old mattress and two empty boxes in that tent, and not another damn thing.”
“Well, a whole slough o’ guys says there’s can’ peaches an’ sardines in there. Some of the boys was goin’ to bust in an’ get some last night.”
Jim laughed hopelessly. “Oh, Jesus, what a bunch of swine! You get a good man, and you start picking him to pieces.”
“There you go, miscalling guys again. Wait’ll you get well an’ somebody’s goin’ slap that smart puss right off you.”
Jim got up from the plank and buttoned his jeans and went outside. The short stove-pipes of the cook stoves puffed grey smoke into the air, still, straight columns that went up fifty feet before they mushroomed at the top and spread out evenly. The eastern sky was yellow now, and the sky overhead had turned eggshell blue. From the tents men came rapidly. The awakening silence of the camp was replaced with the rustling footsteps, the voices, the movement of people.
A dark-haired woman stood in front of a tent, her head thrown back; and her throat was white. She combed her hair with long, beautiful sweeps of her arm. When Jim walked by she smiled wisely and said, “Good morning,” and the combing didn’t pause. Jim stopped. “No,” she said. “Only good morning.”
“You make me feel good,” he said. For a moment he looked at the long white throat and the sharply defined jaws. “Good morning again,” he said, and he saw her lips form to a line of deep and delicious understanding. And when he passed along, and the tousled head darted out and the husky voice whispered, “Come on in, quick, he’s gone now,” Jim only glanced, and went quickly on without responding.
Men were gathering about the old stoves, stretching their hands to the warmth, waiting patiently until the beef and beans in the big wash-boilers should be hot. Jim stepped to a water-barrel and dipped some water into a tin basin. He threw the cold water into his face, and into his hair, and he rubbed his hands together without soap. He let the water cling in drops to his face.
Mac saw him and walked over, holding out a food can. “I rinsed it out,” he said. “What’s the matter, Jim? You look tickled to death.”
“I saw a woman——”
“You couldn’t. Didn’t have time.”
“I just saw her,” said Jim. “She was combing her hair. It’s a funny thing—sometimes a person gets into an ordinary position, and it seems wonderful, it just stays in your mind all your life.”
“If I saw a decent looking woman, I’d go nuts,” said Mac.
Jim looked down into the empty can. “She had her head back. She was combing her hair—she had a funny kind of a smile on her face. You know, Mac, my mother was a Catholic. She didn’t go to church Sundays because my old man hated churches as bad as we do. But in the middle of the week, sometimes, she’d go into the church when my old man was working. When I was a little kid she took me in sometimes, too. The smile on that woman—that’s why I’m telling you this——Well, there was a Mary in there, and she had the same kind of a smile, wise and cool and sure. One time I asked my mother why she smiled like that. My mother said, ‘She can smile because she’s in Heaven.’ I think she was jealous, a little.” His voice tumbled on, “And one time I was there, looking at that Mary, and I saw a ring of little stars in the air, over her head, going around and around, like little birds. Really saw them, I mean. It’s not funny, Mac. This isn’t religion—it’s kind of what the books I’ve read call wish-fulfillment, I guess. I saw them, all right. They made me feel happy, too. My old man would have been sore if he knew. He never took any position that lasted. Everything was wasted in him.”
Mac said, “You’re going to be a great talker some time, Jim. You got a kind of a persuasive tone. Jesus, just now you made me think it’d be nice to sit in church. Nice! That’s good talking. If you can talk guys over to our side, you’ll be good.” He took a little clean tin can that hung on a nail on the side of the water-barrel, and he filled the can and drank from it. “Let’s go over and see if the slum is hot.”
The men were forming in a line, and as they passed the stoves, the cooks ladled lima beans and lumps of boiled beef into the cans. Mac and Jim got on the end of the line and eventually passed the boilers. “Is that all the food?” Mac asked a cook.
“There’s beans and beef enough for one more meal. We’re out of salt, though. We need more salt.”
They drifted along, eating as they went. A lance of sunlight shot over the trees and fell on the ground of the clearing, fell on the tents and made them seem less dingy. At the line of old cars London was talking to a group of men. “Let’s see what’s doing,” Mac suggested. They walked toward the road, where the old cars stood. A light rust was settling on radiators, and some of the worn tires were down, and all of the cars had the appearance of having stood there a long while.
London saluted with a wave of his hand. “Hello, Mac. H’ya, Jim?”
“Fine,” said Jim.
“Me and these guys is lookin’ over the heaps. Tryin’ to see which ones to send out. There ain’t none of ’em worth a hoot in hell.”
“How many’d you figure to send out?”
“ ’Bout five couples. Two together, so if anything went wrong with one the other’d pick our guys up and go on.” He pointed down the line. “That old Hudson’s all right. There’s five four-cylinder Dodges, and them old babies will go to hell on their bellies after you knock the wheels off. My model T’s all right—runs, anyway. Let’s see, we don’t want no closed cars; y’can’t heave a rock out of a closed car. Here’s a shovel-nose. Think she’ll run?”
A man stepped up. “Damn right she’ll run. I brung her straight through Louisiana in winter. She never even warmed up, even comin’ over the mountains.”
They walked down the row, picking out prospects in the line of wrecks. “These guys is squad leaders,” London explained. “I’m goin’ give one of ’em charge of each bus, an’ let ’em pick their own guys, five or six apiece. Guys they can trust, good fighters, see?”
“Sounds swell,” said Mac. “I don’t see how anybody’s goin’ to stop ’em.”
One of the men turned on him. “And they ain’t nobody goin’ to stop us, neither,” he said.
“Feelin’ pretty tough, huh?”
“Just give us a show, an’ see.”
Mac said, “We’ll walk around a little bit, London.”
“Oh, wait a minute, the guys come back from Anderson’s a little while ago. They says Anderson cussed ’em all night. An’ this mornin’ he started in town, still cussin’.”
“Well, I thought he would. How about Al?”
“Al?”
“Yeah, Anderson’s boy, the one that got smacked.”
“Well, the guys went in an’ seen him. He wanted to come over here, but they didn’t want to move him. Couple guys stayed with him.”
London stepped close and lowered his voice so the other men could not hear. “Where do you think Anderson’s goin’, Mac?”
“I guess he’s goin’ in town to put in a complaint and get us kicked off. He’ll probably claim we burned his barn now. He’s so scared he’ll do anything to get in good with the other side.”
“Uh-huh. Think we ought to fight here?”
“I’ll tell you how I think it’ll be,” said Mac. “I think first they might send out a few guys to try to scare us off. We’ll stand up to ’em. After that, they’ll come out with a mob. We’ll see how our guys feel. If they’re sore and mean, we’ll fight. But if they look yellow, we’ll clear out, if we can.” He tapped London on the shoulder. “If that happens, you and me and Jim have to go quick and far. That mob’s going to want a chicken to kill, and they won’t care much who it is.”
London called to the men, “Drain the gas out of all the tanks, and put it in them cars we picked out. Start up the motors ’n’ see if they’re all right, but don’t waste no gas.” He turned back. “I’ll walk along. I want to talk this out. What you think about our guys? Them babies over by the heaps ’ll fight. How about the others?”
Mac said, “If I could tell in advance what a bunch of guys’d do, I’d be president. Some things I do know, though. A smell of blood seems to steam ’em up. Let ’em kill somethin’, even a cat, an’ they’ll want to go right on killin’. If there’s a fight, an’ our guys get first blood, they’ll put up a hell of a battle. But if we lose a man first, I wouldn’t be surprised to see them hit for the trees.”
“I know,” London agreed. “Take one guy that you know ever’thing about him, an’ take ten more the same, an’ you can’t tell what in hell they’ll do. What you think of doin’? Just waitin’ to see?”
“That’s it,” said Mac. “When you’re used to mobs, you can tell, just a little bit ahead of time. You can feel it in the air. But remember, if our guys crack, get under somethin’, an’ stay there. Listen, under the Torgas River bridge there’s a dug-out covered with dead willows. It’s got food and blankets in it. That’s the place to hit for. A mob don’t stay crazy long. When you get in town, go to forty-two Center Avenue and say I sent you.”
“I wish they was some way to get the kid and Lisa out. I don’t want ’em to get hurt.”
Jim broke in on them. “You guys talk like it was sure to happen. Nothing’s happened yet, maybe nothing will. Maybe Anderson only went in to stay with somebody.”
“I know it sounds like I’m calamity-howling,” Mac said apologetically. “Maybe it won’t happen. But London’s a valuable guy. We need him. I don’t like to get these stiffs killed off; they’re good guys. But we need London. This whole strike’s worth it if London comes over.”
London looked pleased. “You been in plenty strikes, Mac. Always do they go this way?”
“Hell, no. This place is organized, I tell you. None of the other workers came out on strike with us. The owners cut us off out here with nothing to eat. If this bunch of raiders gets stopped today, we’ll catch it good. You weren’t planning to go out, were you, London?”
“Sure. I ain’t been in a fight yet.”
“I don’t think you’d better go,” Mac advised. “We’re goin’ to need you here. They’ll try to root us out today. If you aren’t here the guys might get scared and beat it. You’re still the boss, London. The boss’s got to stick in the center of the biggest group till the last minute. Let’s get those cars on the move, shall we? There’s plenty of scabs out, and they’ll be working by now.”
London turned and hurried back to the cars. “Come on, you guys. Step on it. Let’s get rollin’.”
The squad leaders trotted to the tents and picked their men, men armed with rocks and pieces of wood, and here and there a knife. The whole crowd moved out to the edge of the road, talking loudly and giving advice.
“Give ’em hell, Joe.”
“Knock their can off.”
The motors started and struggled against their age. The chosen men climbed in and took their places. London held up both hands to stop the noise. He shouted, “Three pairs go that way, and two this way.” The gears dropped in. The cars crawled across the ditch and lined up in the road. Raiders stood up and waved their hats furiously, and shook their fists and made murderous cuts in the air with their clubs. The cars moved away slowly, in two directions, and the mob left in the camp shrieked after them.
When they had gone, the shouting stopped suddenly. The men stood, wondering and uneasy. They looked down the road and saw the cars jog out of sight. Mac and Jim and London walked back into the camp side by side.
“I hope to Christ they do some damage,” Mac said. “If everything happens to us and nothing to anybody else, we aren’t goin’ to last much longer. Come on, Jim. Let’s take a look at the old guy Dan. An’ then maybe we can get some guys together and go over and see Al. I promised Al something. He’ll need some encouragement.”
London said, “I’m goin’ to see about gettin’ some water. The barrel’s low.”
Jim led the way to the hospital tent. The flaps were tied back to let in the morning sunshine. In a pool of sun old Dan lay. His face was transparent white and waxen, and heavy black veins puffed out on his cheeks. “How you feeling, Dan?” Jim asked.
The old man mumbled weakly.
“What’s that you say?” Mac bent over to hear.
Dan’s lips worked carefully this time. “I ain’t had nothing to eat.”
Jim cried, “You poor devil. I’ll get you something.” He stepped out of the door. “Mac,” he shouted, “they’re coming back.”
From the direction of the town four cars drew up and stopped in the road. London came running and flung himself through the crowd. “What th’ hell’s the matter?”
The driver of the first car smiled foolishly. The crowd fell completely silent. “We couldn’t get through,” the driver said, and he smiled again. “There’s a barricade across the road.”
“I thought I told you to crash it if it was there.”
“You don’t unda’stan’,” the driver said dully. “They was two cars ahead of us. We come to the barricade. There’s about twenty guys with guns behind it.” He swallowed nervously. “A guy with a star on to him gets up on top an’ he says, ‘It’s unlawful to picket in this county. Get back.’ So that old Hudson tries to go around, an’ it tips over in a ditch, an’ the guys spill out. So, like you said, the guys run an’ get in the shovel-nose.” The men in the other seats nodded solemnly at his words.
“Go on.” London’s voice was subdued.
“So then the shovel-nose starts to try to knock over the barricade. So then those guys start the tear gas an’ shoot the tires off the shovel-nose. Then our guys start coughin’, an’ there’s so much gas you can’t see. So then those guys got on gas masks, an’ they come in, an’ they got ’bout a thousan’ hand-cuffs.” He smiled again. “So we come back. We couldn’t do nothing. We didn’ even have a decent rock to throw. They grabbed all the guys in the shovel-nose. Hell, I never seen so much gas.” He looked up. “There’s the other bunch comin’,” he said hopelessly. “I guess they got the road blocked at both ends.”
A curious, long sigh escaped from the crowd. Some of the men turned and walked slowly back toward the tents, walked glidingly, with their heads down, as though they were in deep thought.
London turned to Mac, and his face was perplexed. Mac said, “Do you suppose we could get the cars across the orchard, and out that way? They can’t have all the roads blocked.”
London shook his head. “Too wet. A car’d squat down in the mud before we could get it ten feet.”
Mac leaped on the running-board of one of the cars. “Listen, you guys,” he cried. “There’s one way we can get through. Let’s the whole bunch of us go down there and knock those barricades off the road. They can’t block us in, God damn it!” He paused for a response, a quickening. But the men looked away from him, each waiting for another to speak.
At last a man said, “We got nothing to fight with, mister. We can’t fight guns an’ gas with our han’s. Give us guns, an’ we’ll fight.”
Mac’s speech turned into fury. “You let ’em shoot our guys, an’ burn the buildings of our friends, an’ you won’t fight. Now they got you trapped, an’ still you won’t fight. Why even a God damn rat’ll fight when he’s in a trap.”
The hopelessness hung in the air like a gas itself. The same man repeated, “Mister, we can’t fight guns and gas with our han’s.”
Mac’s voice broke with rage. “Will any six of you yellow bastards fight me with your hands? Will you?" His mouth worked helplessly. “Try to help you—try to get something for you——” he shrieked.
London reached up and pulled him firmly off the running-board. Mac’s eyes were mad. He tried to jerk free. “I’ll kill the yellow bastards myself,” he cried.
Jim stepped over and took his other arm. “Mac,” he said. “Mac, for Christ’s sake, you don’t know what you’re saying.” Between them, Jim and London turned him and led him through the crowd, and the men looked shamefacedly at the ground. They told each other softly, “But we can’t fight guns and gas with our hands.”
The raiders climbed stiffly down from their cars and joined the crowd, and left the automobiles standing in the road.
Mac was limp now. He allowed himself to be led into London’s tent, and settled down on the mattress. Jim soaked a rag in the water bucket and tried to wash his face, but Mac took the cloth from him and did it for himself. “I’m all right now,” he said quietly. “I’m no good. The Party ought to get rid of me. I lose my head.”
“You’re dead for sleep,” said Jim.
“Oh, I know. But it isn’t that. They won’t help themselves. Sometimes I’ve seen men just like these go through a machine-gun nest with their hands. And here today they won’t fight a few green deputy-sheriffs. Just scared to death.” He said, “Jim, I’m as bad as they are. I’m supposed to use my head. When I got up on that running-board, I was going to try to steam them up. An’ then the God damn sheep made me mad. I didn’t have any right to get mad. They ought to kick me out of the Party.”
London said in sympathy, “I got pretty damn mad myself.”
Mac looked at each of his fingers carefully. “Makes me want to run away,” he said ruefully. “I’d like to crawl down in a haystack and go to sleep, and to hell with the whole damn bunch of them.”
Jim said, “Just as soon as you get rested up, you’ll feel strong again. Lie down and get some sleep, Mac. We’ll call you if we need you, won’t we, London?”
“Sure,” said London. “You just stretch out. There ain’t nothing you can do now. I’m goin’ to go out an’ talk to them squad leaders. Maybe we could take a few good guys an’ sneak up on the barricades.”
“I’m scared they’ve got us now,” Mac said. “They took the heart out of the guys before they could get going.” He lay down on the mattress. “What they need is blood,” he muttered. “A mob’s got to kill something. Oh, Christ, I guess I’ve bungled everything right from the start.” He closed his eyes, then suddenly opened them again. “Listen, they’ll pay us a visit pretty soon, the sheriff or somebody. Be sure and wake me up. Don’t let ’em get away with anything. Be sure and call me.” He stretched like a cat and clasped his hands over his head. His breathing became regular.
The sun threw shadows of the tent-ropes on the canvas, and in the open entrance a piece of sunlight lay on the foot-beaten earth. Jim and London walked quietly outside. “Poor guy,” London said. “He needs it. I never seen a guy so far gone for sleep. I heard how the cops keep a guy awake till he goes crazy.”
“He’ll be different when he wakes up,” said Jim. “Lord, I said I’d take something to old Dan. An’ then those cars came up. I better do it now.”
“I’ll go see how Lisa’s getting along. Maybe she better go an’ take care of the old duck.”
Jim walked to the stove and ladled some beans into a can and carried them to the hospital tent. The idle men, standing about, had collected into little groups. Jim looked into the hospital tent. The triangular sunny place had shortened and fallen off the cot. Old Dan’s eyes were closed, and his breathing was slow and light. A curious musty, rancid odor filled the tent, the breath from a congested and slowly dying body. Jim leaned over the cot. “Dan, I brought you something to eat.”
Dan opened his eyes slowly. “I don’t want none. I ain’t got the strength to chew.”
“You have to eat, Dan. Have to eat to get strong. Look, I’ll put a pillow under your head, and I’ll feed you.”
“Don’t want to get strong.” His voice was langorous. “Just want to lay here. I been a top-faller.” His eyes closed again. “You’d go up the stick, way up, way up, an’ you could see all the little trees, second, third growth timber down below. Then you fix your safety belt.” He sighed deeply, and his mouth went on whispering. A shadow fell in the spot of sunlight. Jim looked up.
Lisa stood in the door of the tent, and her baby was under the shoulder blanket. “I got enough to do, takin’ care of the baby. He says I got to come an’ take care of a old man, too.”
Jim said, “Sh-h.” He stood from the cot so she could see Dan’s sunken face.
She crept in and sat down on the extra cot. “Oh, I di’n’ know. What you want me to do?”
“Nothing. Just stay with him.”
She said, “I don’t like ’em like that. I can smell ’em. I know that smell.” She shifted nervously, covered the baby’s round face to protect it from the smell.
“Shh-h,” Jim said. “Maybe he’s going to be all right.”
“Not with that smell. I know that smell. Part of ’im’s dead already.”
“Poor devil!” Jim said.
Something in the words caught at her. Her eyes grew wet with tears. “I’ll stay. I seen it before. It don’t hurt nobody.”
Jim sat down beside her. “I like to be near you,” he said softly.
“Don’t you come none of that.”
“No, I won’t. I just wondered why it was warm beside you.”
“I ain’t cold.”
He turned his face away. “I’m going to talk to you, Lisa. You won’t understand, and it won’t matter, not a bit. Everything’s crumbling down and washing away. But this is just a little bit of the whole thing. This isn’t anything, Lisa. You and I aren’t much in the whole thing. See, Lisa? I’m telling it to myself, but I understand it better with you listening. You don’t know what I’m talking about, do you, Lisa?”
He saw a blush creep up the side of her neck. “I jus’ had a baby,” she said. “Besides, I ain’t that kind.” She lifted her shamed eyes. “Don’t talk that way. Don’t get that tone on you,” she begged. “You know I ain’t that kind.” He reached out his hand to pat her, but she shrank away from him. “No.”
He stood up. “Be nice to the old guy. See? There’s water and a spoon on the table. Give him a little, now and then.” He raised his head tensely to listen to a stir of voices in the camp, a gradually increasing stir. And then, over the bass of voices, a haranguing voice sounded, a voice that rose and fell angrily. “I’ve got to go,” Jim said. “Take care of him.” He hurried out of the tent.
By the stoves he saw men collecting around some central object, all faces inward. The angry voice came from the center. As Jim watched, the crowd moved sideways toward the naked little stand that had been built for Joy’s body. The mob touched the stand and flowed around it, but out of the group one man shot up and took his position in the stand. Jim ran over. He could see, now. It was the sullen, scowling Burke. His arms gesticulated. His voice bellowed over the heads of the crowd. Jim saw London hurrying in from the road.
Burke grasped the hand-rail. “There he is now,” he shouted. “Look at ’im. That’s the guy that’s spoiled ever’thing. What the hell’s he done? Set in his tent an’ et canned peaches while we got wet and lived on garbage a pig wouldn’ touch.”
London’s mouth was open with astonishment. “What’s goin’ on here?” he cried.
Burke leaned forward over the rail. “I’ll tell you what’s goin’ on. Us guys decided we wanted a real leader. We decided we want a guy that won’t sell out for a load o’ canned goods.”
London’s face paled, and his shoulders dropped. With a roar he charged the unresisting crowd, flung men aside, burrowed through the mass of men. He came to the stand and grasped the hand-rail. As he pulled himself up, Burke kicked at his head, missed, struck the shoulder and tore one hand loose from the rail. London roared again. He was under the rail and on his feet. Burke struck at his face, and missed. And then, with the terrible smooth speed of a heavy man, London lanced with his left hand and, as Burke ducked, the great right fist caught him on the side of the jaw, lifted him clear, and dropped him. His head hung over the edge of the platform, broken jaw torn sideways, shattered teeth hanging loosely between his lips. A thin stream of blood flowed from his mouth, beside his nose and eye, and disappeared into his hair.
London stood, panting, over him, looking down. He raised his head slowly. “Does any more sons-of-bitches think I double-crossed ’em?”
The men nearest Burke’s hanging head stared, fascinated. From the other sides of the stared the people began to mill, to press in, standing on tip-toes for a look. Their eyes were bright and angry. A man said, “Bust his jaw clean off. That’s blood out o’ his brain.” Another shouted hysterically, “Killed ’um. Busted his head off.”
Women swam through the crowd and looked woodenly at the hanging head. A heavy, sobbing gasp went up from the mob. The eyes flared. All the shoulders were dropped, and the arms bowed dangerously. London still stood panting, but his face was perplexed. He looked down at his fist, at the split and bleeding knuckles. Then he looked out over the crowd for help, and he saw Jim standing on the outskirts. Jim shook his clasped hands together over his head. And then he pointed to the road, where the cars stood, and down the road, and to the cars again, and down the road again. London looked back at the snarling mob. The perplexity left his face and he scowled.
“All right, you guys,” he yelled. “Why ain’t I done nothing? Because you ain’t helped me. But by Christ, now you’re ready! Nothin’ can stop you now.” A long, throaty animal howl went up. London held up his hands. “Who’ll follow now, and knock hell out o’ that barricade?” The crowd was changing rapidly. The eyes of the men and women were entranced. The bodies weaved slowly, in unison. No more lone cries came from lone men. They moved together, looked alike. The roar was one voice, coming from many throats.
“Some of you bring cars,” London shouted. “Come on, the rest of you. Come on, we’ll see. Come, come on.” He vaulted down from the stand and fought his way through to the head of the mob. Quickly the cars were started. The crowd poured into the road, and it was no longer loose and listless. It had become a quick, silent and deadly efficient machine. It swung down the road at a dog-trot, controlled and directed. And behind it the cars moved slowly along.
Jim had watched the start. He commanded himself aloud, “Don’t get caught. Don’t get caught. Don’t let it catch you. Use your head.”
Most of the women were running with the departing men, but a few who remained behind looked strangely at Jim, for his eyes, too, were entranced as he stared down the road after the terrible mechanism. When it had disappeared he sighed shudderingly and turned away. His hand went up to the hurt shoulder and pressed it, to make a steadying pain. He walked slowly to London’s tent, went in silently, and sat down on a box.
Mac looked at him under lowered eyelids. Only a shiny slit showed that he was awake. “How long’ve I been sleeping, Jim?”
“Just a little while. I don’t think it’s even noon yet, near noon.”
“I dreamed a lot, but I’m rested. I think I’ll get up now.”
“Better get some more sleep if you can.”
“What’s the use? I’m rested now.” He opened his eyes wide. “Lost the sandy feeling. You sleep hard when you’re that tired. I dreamed commotion.”
“Better go to sleep again.”
“No.” He sat up and stretched. “Anything happen while I was asleep? It’s awful quiet out there.”
“Plenty happened,” Jim said. “Burke tried to kick London out, and London smashed him—nearly killed him, and—Christ! I forgot Burke.” He ran to the door, and around the back to the tent, and looked toward the stand. Then he went into the tent again. “Somebody took him in,” he said.
Mac was up now, and excited. “Tell me.”
“Well, when the crowd saw the blood they went nuts, and London started ’em down to break the barricade.”
Mac cried, “Didn’t I tell you? They need blood. That works. That’s what I told you. Well then—what?”
“They’re down there now. God, Mac, you ought to of seen them. It was like all of them disappeared, and it was just one big—animal, going down the road. Just all one animal. I nearly was there. I wanted to go, and then I thought, ‘You can’t. You’ve got to use your head.’”
“Right!” said Mac. “People think a mob is wasteful, but I’ve seen plenty; and I tell you, a mob with something it wants to do is just about as efficient as trained soldiers, but tricky. They’ll knock that barricade, but then what? They’ll want to do something else before they cool off.” And he went on, “That’s right, what you said. It is a big animal. It’s different from the men in it. And it’s stronger than all the men put together. It doesn’t want the same things men want—it’s like Doc said—and we don’t know what it’ll do.”
“It’ll get that barricade,” said Jim.
“That’s not what I mean. The animal don’t want the barricade. I don’t know what it wants. Trouble is, guys that study people always think it’s men, and it isn’t men. It’s a different kind of animal. It’s as different from men as dogs are. Jim, it’s swell when we can use it, but we don’t know enough. When it gets started it might do anything.” His face was alive and excited, and slightly fearful.
Jim said, “Listen, I think I hear——” He ran to the entrance. “Coming back,” he cried. “It’s different now. It’s spread out now, not the same.”
Mac stood beside him. The road was full of the returning men. London broke out ahead and trotted heavily toward them. And when he came near enough he yelled, “Get back in the tent. Get back in the tent.”
“What’s he mean?” Jim asked. But Mac pushed him inside the tent, untied the strings and dropped the flaps.
“He knows,” Mac said. “Just keep quiet and let him handle it. No matter what happens, don’t go out there.”
They heard the rain of footsteps on the ground, and shouting voices. Then they saw London’s squat black shadow on the canvas and heard him yell, “Now you guys cool off.”
“We’ll show ’im who’s yellow bastards!”
London cried, “You’re sore because we told you off. Now you go an’ get a drink an’ cool down. You just done fine, but you ain’t a’gonna get my friend. He’s your friend, too. I tell you he’s been workin’ for you till he’s dead tired.”
Mac and Jim, in the tent, could feel the thrust change, break up, lose itself in a hundred cries. “We know, London.”
“Sure, but he called us yellow.”
Mac’s breath came out, heavily. “That was close, Jim. Jesus, that was close.” London’s square shadow still stood on the tent wall, but the many excited voices drifted and lost their impact.
London stretched the subject. “If any of you guys think I got canned peaches, you can come in and look.”
“Hell, no, London. We never thought that.”
“It was that son-of-a-bitch Burke.”
“He’s been workin’ against you, London. I heard him.”
“Well, you guys clear out, then. I got work to do.” The shadow stayed still on the tent wall until the voices had dwindled until no crowd faced the tent. London lifted the flap and stepped tiredly inside.
“Thanks,” said Mac. “You don’t know how close it was any better than I do. You handled ’em, London. Oh, you handled ’em.”
London said, “I was scared. You won’t think no worse of me, Mac, for that. On the way back I caught myself wantin’ to come an’ kill you myself.” He grinned. “I don’t know why.”
“Nobody does,” said Mac. “But that’s the way it is. Tell us what happened down the road.”
“We ironed ’em out,” said London. “We just rolled over ’em like they wasn’t there. They give us the gas, an’ some of the guys coughed an’ cried, but, hell, them green cops didn’t stand a chance. Some of ’em got away—I guess most of ’em did. But the rest of ’em got kicked to pieces like cheese. God, the guys was sore.”
“Any shooting?”
“No. Too quick for ’em. They shot over us, thought we’d stop, I guess. But we come right on. Some cops like to shoot guys, but most of ’em don’t, I guess. An’ then we just rolled ’em out, an’ tore down the barricade.”
“Well, did the cars get out?”
“Hell, yes, eight of ’em went through, loaded with guys cuttin’ hell loose.”
“Kill any of the cops?” Mac demanded.
“Huh? Kill ’em? I don’t know. I didn’t look. Maybe we did. We might of. I bet machine-guns wouldn’t of stopped us.”
“That’s swell,” said Mac. “If we could turn on the heat like that when we wanted it, and turn it off when we were through, we’d have our God damn revolution tomorrow, and all over tomorrow night. The guys got over it pretty quick.”
“It was all that runnin’ that did it,” London said. “Damn near a mile. Time they got back, they was clear winded. I feel sick myself. I ain’t used to runnin’.”
“I know,” said Mac. “It’s not the running, so much, though. A thing like that gets you all messed up inside. I bet a lot of the guys are losing their breakfast right now.”
London seemed suddenly to see Jim. He went over and banged him a clap on the back. “You pulled it, Jim. I was standin’ up there after I cold-cocked Burke; I didn’t know what the hell to do. An’ them guys in the circle didn’t know what to do, neither. They was all ready to get me, or anybody. An’ I look out, and I seen you pointin’, an’ I know what to do with ’em.”
Jim’s face was alight with pleasure. “I’m not much use, with my bum shoulder. I was thinking what Mac said about a little blood setting the guys off. You remember saying that, Mac?”
“Sure I remember. But I’m not sure I would of thought of it out there. I don’t know how you do it, Jim. Everybody loses their head except you. I heard about your old man; he wasn’t a genius, all he knew was fight. I don’t know where you learned to use your bean and keep clear.”
“I’ve got to be some use,” Jim said. “My father was like you say, but my mother was so cool she’d make you shiver.”
London flexed his hand at his side, and then he looked in astonishment at his crushed knuckles. “Holy Christ! Look at that!”
“You sure smashed ’em,” said Mac.
“I smashed ’em on that son-of-a-bitch Burke. How is he, Jim? Felt like I knocked his head clear off when I socked ’im.”
Jim said, “I don’t know how he is. Somebody took ’im off the stand.”
“Guess I better see,” said London. “Funny I never felt that hand till now.”
“When you get mixed up with the animal, you never feel anything,” said Mac.
“What animal?”
“Oh, it’s just a kind of a joke. Be a good idea if you look at Burke. And see how the guys feel. They’ll feel pretty rocky by now, I think.”
London said, “I don’t trust ’em no more. I can’t tell what they’ll do no more. I’m glad I wasn’t back of that barricade.”
Mac said, “Well, I’m glad you was in front of this tent. Jim an’ me might be hangin’ up on an apple tree by now.”
“There was a minute there——” said London. He gathered the tent-flaps and tied them back. The sun did not enter the tent, it had passed its meridian. Mac and Jim watched London walk away, and then they faced each other again. Mac flopped down on the mattress. Jim looked at him until Mac said, “You accusing me of something?”
“No, I was just wondering—seems to me now we’ve won a fight an’ got our guys through we’re more in danger of losing than ever. We came out here to do something, Mac. Have we messed up everything?”
Mac said sharply, “You think we’re too important, and this little bang-up is too important. If the thing blew up right now it’d be worth it. A lot of the guys’ve been believing this crap about the noble American working-man, an’ the partnership of capital and labor. A lot of ’em are straight now. They know how much capital thinks of ’em, and how quick capital would poison ’em like a bunch of ants. An’ by Christ, we showed ’em two things—what they are, an’ what they’ve got to do. And this last little ruckus showed ’em they could do it. Remember what the ’Frisco strike did to Sam? Well, all these guys’ll get to be a little like Sam.”
“But do you think they’ve got brains enough to see it?”
“Not brains, Jim. It don’t take brains. After it’s all over the thing’ll go on working down inside of ’em. They’ll know it without thinking it out.”
“Well, what do you think’s going to happen now?”
Mac rubbed his front teeth with a finger. “I guess they’ll just have to steam-roller us out of here, Jim. Might be this afternoon, might be tonight.”
“Well, what do you think; had we better just fade, or put up a fight?”
“Fight, if we can make the guys do it,” said Mac. “If they sneak off, they get a bad feeling out of it, but if they fight and get licked, well, they still fought; and it’s worth doing.”
Jim settled down on one knee. “Look, if they come through with guns they’re going to kill a lot of our guys.”
Mac’s eyes grew slitted and cold. “We keep switching sides, Jim. Suppose they do kill some of our men? That helps our side. For every man they kill ten new ones come over to us. The news goes creeping around the country and men all over hear it and get mad. Guys that are just half-warm get hot, see? But if we sneak off and the word gets around, and men say ’They didn’t even put up a fight,’ why all the working stiffs will be unsure of themselves. If we fight, an’ the news gets around, other men in the same position’ll fight too.”
Jim put down the other knee and squatted on his heels. “I wanted to get the thing straight. But will the guys fight?”
“I don’t know. Right now they won’t. They’re pretty sick. Maybe later. Maybe if we could throw ’em another chicken like Burke they would. Burke stepped on the third rail just in time, just when we needed him. Maybe somebody else’ll spill a little blood for the cause.”
Jim said, “Mac, if blood’s all we need, I could pull off this bandage and start the hole bleeding.”
“You’re kind of funny, Jim,” Mac said kindly. “You’re so God damn serious.”
“I don’t see anything funny.”
“No. Remember the lady that was buying a dog? She asks, ’Are you sure he’s a bloodhound?’ The owner says, ’Sure he is. Bleed for the lady, Oscar.’”
Jim smiled thinly. Mac went on, “No, Jim, you’re more use to the cause than a hundred of these guys.”
“Well, a little loss of blood won’t hurt me.”
Mac stroked his lower lip nervously. “Jim,” he said. “Did you ever see four or five dogs all fighting?”
“No.”
“Well, if one of those dogs gets hurt or goes down, all the rest’ll turn on him and kill him.”
“So what?”
“So—men do that sometimes, too. I don’t know why. It’s kind of like Doc says to me one time, ’Men hate something in themselves.’”
“Doc was a nice guy, but he didn’t get anywhere with his high-falutin’ ideas. His ideas didn’t go anywhere, just around in a circle.”
“All the same, I wish he was here. Your shoulder feel all right?”
“Sure. I’m not using it any more than I can help.”
Mac got up. “Come on, let’s look at it. Take off that coat.” Jim worked the coat off. Mac pulled the plaster loose and carefully raised the bandage. “Looks pretty good. It’s a little bit angry. I’ll throw away a couple of layers of this gauze. I’ll be glad when we get in town. You can get it taken care of. Now I’ll put this clean part back.” He pressed the plaster down in place and held it firmly until the body heat made it takehold.
“Maybe we’ll find Doc in town,” said Jim. “He talked awful funny just before he disappeared. Maybe he got disgusted, or scared, and beat it.”
“Here, I’ll help you with your coat. You can forget that. If Doc was goin’ to get disgusted, he’d of got years ago. An’ I’ve seen him under fire. He don’t get scared.”
London came in and stood quietly in the doorway. He looked serious and frightened. “I didn’t kill ’im, but damn near. His jaw’s busted terrible. I’m scared he’ll die if he don’t get a doctor.”
“Well, we can ship him to town, but I don’t think they’d take very good care of him in there.”
London went on, “That woman of his is raisin’ hell. Says she’s goin’ to have the whole bunch of us up for murder. Says the whole strike was just to get Burke.”
Mac said, “It’d almost be worth it, at that. I never liked the bastard. I always thought he was the stool-pigeon. How do the guys feel?”
“They’re just sittin’ around, like you said. Look sick, like a bunch of kids that broke into a candy store.”
“Sure,” said Mac. “They used up the juice that should of lasted ’em about a week. We better get some food into ’em if we can. Maybe they’ll sleep it off then. You’re sure right, London. We need a doctor. How’s the guy that hurt his ankle?”
“Well, he’s raisin’ merry hell too. Says it ain’t set right, an’ it hurts. An’ he won’t never be able to walk no more. All this howlin’ around ain’t helpin’ the way the guys feel none.”
“Yeah, an’ there’s Al,” said Mac. “I wonder how Al is? We ought to go over an’ see him. Think the guys you told to stay there stayed?”
London shrugged. “I don’t know.”
“Well, could we get half a dozen guys to go over with us?”
London said, “I don’t think you’ll get none of these guys to go no place. They just want to set there an’ look at their feet.”
“Well, by Christ, I’ll go alone, then. Al’s a good guy.”
“I’ll go with you, Mac,” Jim broke in.
“No. You stay here.”
London said, “I don’t think there’s nobody to bother you.”
Mac begged, “Jim, I wish you’d stay. S’pose they got both of us? There’d be nobody here to go on. Stay here, Jim.”
“I’m going. I’ve sat around here and nursed myself long enough. Why don’t you stay and let me go?”
“All right, kid,” Mac said resignedly. “We’ll just be careful, and keep our eyes open. Try to keep the guys alive till we get back, London. Try to get a little of that beef and beans into ’em. They’re sick of it, but it’s food. We ought to be hearing something about those cars pretty soon.”
London grunted, “I guess I’ll just open me up a can of them peaches, an’ some sardines. The guys said I had a flock of ’em, piled right up to the roof. I’ll have some ready for you when you get back.”