13

THE coffin rested on the flat bed of an old Dodge truck. On each side of it the bearers sat, hanging their legs over. And Jim rode hanging his feet over the rear. The motor throbbed and coughed, Albert Johnson drove out of the park and stopped in the road until the line formed, about eight men to a file. Then he dropped into low gear and moved slowly along the road, and the long line of men shuffled after him. The hundred guards stood in the camp and watched the parade move away.

At first the men tried to keep step, saying, “Hep, hep,” but they tired of it soon. Their feet scuffed and dragged on the gravel road. A little hum of talk came from them, but each man was constrained to speak softly, in honor to the coffin. At the concrete state highway the speed cops were waiting, a dozen of them on motorcycles. Their captain, in a roadster, shouted, “We’re not interfering with you men. We always conduct parades.”

The feet sounded sharply on the concrete. The ranks straggled along in disorder. Only when they reached the outskirts of the town did the men straighten up. In the yards and on the sidewalks the people stood and watched the procession go by. Many took off their hats to the casket. But Mac’s wish was denied. At each corner of the line of march the police stood, re-routing the traffic, turning it aside, and opening the way for the funeral. As they entered the business district of Torgas the sun broke through and glittered on the wet streets. The damp clothes of the marching men steamed under the sudden warmth. Now the sidewalks were dense with curious people, staring at the coffin; and the marchers straightened up. The squads drew close together. The men fell into step, while their faces took on expressions of importance. No one interfered, and the road was kept clear of vehicles.

Behind the truck, they marched through the town, through the thinning town again, and out into the country, toward the county cemetery. About a mile out they came to it, weed-grown and small. Over the new graves were little galvanized posts, stamped with names and dates. At the back of the lot a pile of new, wet dirt was heaped. The truck stopped at the gate. The bearers climbed down and took the casket on their forearms again. In the road the traffic cops rested their machines and stood waiting.

Albert Johnson took two lengths of tow-rope from under his seat and followed the bearers. The crowd broke ranks and followed. Jim jumped down from the truck and started to join the crowd, but Mac caught him. “Let them do it now; the main thing was the march. We’ll wait here.”

A young man with red hair strolled through the cemetery gate and approached. “Know a guy they call Mac?” he asked.

“They call me Mac.”

“Well, do you know a guy they call Dick?”

“Sure.”

“Yeah? What’s his other name?”

“Halsing. What’s the matter with him?”

“Nothing, but he sent you this note.”

Mac opened the folded paper and read it. “Hot damn,” he said. “Look, Jim!”

Jim took the note. It said:

“The lady wins. She has got a ranch, R.F.D. Box 221, Gallinas Road. Send out a truck there right away. They have got two cows, old, and one bull calf and ten sks. lima beans. Send some guys to kill the cows.                                          Dick.

P. S. I nearly got picked up last night.

P.P.S. Only twelve axe-handles.”

Mac was laughing. “Oh, Jesus! Oh, Christ! Two cows and a calf and beans. That gives us time. Jim, run over and find London. Tell him to come here as quick as he can.”

Jim plunged off, and walked through the crowd. In a moment he came back, with London hurrying beside him.

Mac cried, “Did he tell you, London? Did he?”

“He says you got food.”

“Hell yes. Two cows and a calf. Ten sacks of beans! Why the guys can go right out in this truck now.”

From the crowded side of the cemetery came the beating of mud thrown down on the pine casket. “Y’see,” Mac said. “The guys’ll feel fine when they get their stomachs full of meat and beans.”

London said, “I could do with a piece of meat myself.”

“Look, London, I’ll go on the truck. Give me about ten men to guard it. Jim, you can come with me.” He hesitated. “Where we going to get wood? We’re about out of wood. Look, London, let every guy pick up a piece or two of wood, fence picket, piece of culvert, anything. Tell ’em what it’s for. When you get back, dig a hole and start a fire in it. You’ll find enough junk in those damned old cars to piece out a screen. Get your fire going.” He turned back to the red-haired young man. “Where is this Gallinas Road?”

“ ’Bout a mile from here. You can drop me off on the way.”

London said, “I’ll get Albert Johnson and some men.” He hurried over and disappeared in the crowd.

Mac still laughed softly to himself. “What a break!” he said. “New lease on life. Oh, Dick’s a great guy. He’s a great guy.”

Jim, looking at the crowd, saw it stir to life, it swirled. An excited commotion overcame it. The mob eddied, broke and started back to the truck. London, in the lead, was pointing out men with his finger. The crowd surrounded the truck, laughing, shouting. Albert Johnson put his muddy ropes under the seat and climbed in. Mac got in beside him, and helped Jim in. “Keep the guys together, London,” he shouted. “Don’t let ’em straggle.” The ten chosen men leaped on the bed of the truck.

And then the crowd played. They held the tailboard until the wheels churned. They made mud-balls and threw them at the men sitting on the truck. Outside, in the road, the police stood quietly and waited.

Albert Johnson jerked his clutch in and tore loose from the grip of the crowd. The motor panted heavily as he struck the road. Two of the cops kicked over their motors and fell in beside the truck. Mac turned and looked out through the rear window of the cab at the crowd. They came boiling out of the cemetery in a wave. They broke on the road, hurrying along, filling the road, while the cops vainly tried to keep a passage clear for automobiles. The jubilant men mocked them and pushed them and surged around them, laughing like children. The truck, with its escorts, turned a corner and moved quickly away.

Albert watched his speedometer warily. “I guess these babies’d like to pick me up for speeding.”

“Damn right,” said Mac. He turned to Jim. “Keep your head down if we pass anybody, Jim.” And then to Albert, “If anybody tries to stop us, drive right over ’em. Remember what happened to Dakin’s truck.”

Albert nodded and dropped his speed to forty. “Nobody ain’t goin’ to stop me,” he said. “I’ve drove a truck all my life when I could get it.”

They did not go through the town, but cut around one end of it, crossed a wooden bridge over the river and turned into Gallinas Road. Albert slowed up to let the red-haired youth drop off. He waved his hand airily as they drove away. The road lay between the interminable apple trees. They drove three miles to the foothills before the orchards began to fall off, giving place to stubble fields. Jim watched the galvanized postboxes at the side of the road. “There’s two-eighteen,” he said. “Not very far now.”

One of the cops turned back and went toward the town, but the other hung on.

“There it is,” Jim said. “That big white gate there.”

Albert headed in, and stopped while one of the men jumped down and opened the gate. The cop cut off his motor and leaned it against its stand.

“Private property,” Mac called to him.

“I’ll stick around, buddy,” he said. “I’ll just stick around.”

A hundred yards ahead a little white house stood under a huge, spreading pepper tree, and behind it a big white barn reared. A stocky ranchman with a straw-colored mustache slouched out of the house and stood waiting for them. Albert pulled up. Mac said, “Hello, mister. The lady told us to come for some stuff.”

“Yah,” said the man. “She told me. Two old milk cow, little bully calf.”

“Well, can we slaughter ’em here, mister?”

“Yah. You do it yourself. Clean up after. Don’t make mess.”

“Where are they, mister?”

“I got them in barn. You don’t kill them there. Makes mess in the barn.”

“Sure, mister. Pull around by the barn, Albert.”

When the truck was stopped, Mac walked around it. “Any of you guys ever slaughter a cow?”

Jim broke in, “My old man was a slaughterhouse man. I can show ’em. My arm’s too sore to hit ’em myself.”

“O.K.,” said Mac.

The farmer had walked around the house toward them. Jim asked, “You got a sledge-hammer?”

He pointed a thumb at a little shed that sloped off the barn.

“And a knife?”

“Yah. I got goot knife. You give him back.” He walked away toward the house.

Jim turned toward the men. “Couple of you guys go into the barn and bring out the calf first. He’s probably the liveliest.”

The farmer hurried back carrying a short-handled, heavy-headed hammer in one hand and a knife in the other. Jim took the knife from him and looked at it. The blade was ground away until it was slender and bright, and the point was needle-like. He felt the edge with his thumb. “Sharp,” the farmer said. “He’s always sharp.” He took the knife back, wiped it on his sleeve and reflected the light from it. “Cherman steel. Goot steel.”

Four men came running out of the barn with a red yearling bull calf between them. They clung to a rope around its neck and steered it by butting it with their shoulders. They dug their heels into the ground to stop it, and held it, plunging, between them.

“Over here,” the farmer said. “Here the blood could go into the ground.”

Mac said, “We ought to save the blood. It’s good strong food. If only we had something to carry it in.”

“My old man used to drink it,” said Jim. “I can’t drink it: makes me sick. Here, Mac, you take the hammer. Now, you hit him right here on the head, good and hard.” He handed the knife to Albert Johnson. “Look. See where my hand is? Now that’s the place to stick him, just as soon as Mac hits him. There’s a big artery there. Get it open.”

“How’s a guy to know?”

“You’ll know, all right. It’ll shoot blood like a half-inch pipe. Stand back out of the way, you guys.”

Two men on the sides held the plunging calf. Mac slugged it to its knees. Albert drove in the knife and cut the artery open and jumped back from the spurting blood. The calf leaped, and then settled slowly down. Its chin rented flat on the ground, and its legs folded up. The thick, carmine blood pool spread out on the wet ground.

“It’s a damn shame we can’t save it,” Mac said. “If we only had a little keg we could.”

Jim cried, “O.K. Bring out another. Bring her over here.” The men had been curious at the first slaughter, but when the two old cows were killed, they did not press in so close to see. When all the animals were down and the blood oozed slowly from their throats, Albert wiped the sticky knife on a piece of sack and handed it back to the farmer. He backed his truck to the animals and the men lifted the limp, heavy creatures up on the bed, and let the heads hang loosely over so that they might bleed on the ground. Last, they piled the ten sacks of lima beans on the front of the truck bed and took their places on the sacks.

Mac turned to the farmer. “Thanks, mister.”

“Not my place,” he said. “Not my cow. I farm shares.”

“Well, thanks for the loan of your knife.” Mac helped Jim a little as he got into the truck and moved over against Albert Johnson. The shirt sleeve on Albert’s right arm was red to the shoulder with blood. Albert started his slow, chugging motor and moved carefully over the rough road. At the gate the traffic cop waited for them, and when they got out on the county road he followed a little way behind.

The men on the sacks started to sing.

“Soup, soup, give us some soup—

We don’t want nothing but just some soup.”

The cop grinned at them. One of the men chanted at him,

“Whoops my dear, whoops my dear,

Even the chief of police is queer.”

In the cab, Mac leaned forward and spoke across Jim. “Albert, we want to dodge the town. We got to get this stuff to the camp. See if you can sort of edge around it, will you, even if it’s longer?”

Albert nodded morosely.

The sun shone now, but it was high, and there was no warmth in it. Jim said, “This ought to make the guys feel fine.”

Albert nodded again. “Let ’em get their guts full of meat, and they’ll go to sleep.”

Mac laughed. “I’m surprised at you, Albert. Haven’t you got no idears about the nobility of labor?”

“I got nothing,” Albert said. “No idears, no money, no nothing.”

“Nothing to lose but your chains,” Jim put in softly.

“Bull,” said Albert, “nothing to lose but my hair.”

“You got this truck,” Mac said. “How’d we get this stuff back without a truck?”

“This truck’s got me,” Albert complained. “The God-damned truck’s just about two-bitted me to death.” He looked sadly ahead. His lips scarcely moved when he talked. “When I’m workin’ and I get three dollars to the good and I get set to look me up a floozy, somethin’ on this buggy busts and costs three dollars. Never fails. God damn truck’s worse’n a wife.”

Jim said earnestly, “In any good system, you’d have a good truck.”

“Yeah? In any good system I’d have a floozy. I ain’t Dakin. If Dakin’s truck could of cooked, he wouldn’t of wanted nothing else.”

Mac said to Jim, “You’re talkin’ to a man that knows what he wants, and it ain’t an automobile.”

“That’s the idear,” said Albert. “I guess it was stickin’ them cows done it. I felt all right before.”

They were back in the endless orchards now, and the leaves were dark and the earth was dark with the rain. In the ditches beside the road a little muddy storm water ran. The traffic cop rode behind them as Albert turned from road to road, making an angular circuit of the town. They could see among the trees the houses where the owners or the resident share-croppers lived.

Mac said, “If it didn’t make our guys so miserable, I wish the rain’d go on. It isn’t doin’ those apples no good.”

“It isn’t doin’ my blankets no good, neither,” Albert said sullenly.

The men on the back were singing in chorus,

“Oh, we sing, we sing, we sing

Of Lydia Pinkham

And her gift to the human race——”

Albert turned a corner and came into the road to Anderson’s place. “Nice work,” said Mac. “You didn’t go near the town. It would of been hell if we’d got held up and lost our load.”

Jim said, “Look at the smoke, Mac. They’ve got a fire going, all right.” The blue smoke rolled among the trees, hardly rising above their tops.

“Better drive along the camp, near the trees,” Mac advised. “They’re going to have to cut up these animals, and there’s nothing to hang them on but the apple trees.”

Men were standing in the road, watching for them. As the truck moved along the men on the bean sacks stood up and took off their hats and bowed. Albert dropped into low gear and crawled through the crowd of men to the end of the camp, near the apple trees.

London, with Sam behind him, came pushing through the shouting mill of hysterical men and women.

Mac cried, “String ’em up. And listen, London, tell the cooks to cut the meat thin, so it’ll cook quick. These guys are hungry.”

London’s eyes were as bright as those of the men around him. “Jesus, could I eat,” he said. “We’d about give you up.”

The cooks came through the crowd. The animals were hung to the lower branches of the trees, entrails scooped out, skins ripped off. Mac cried, “London, don’t let ’em waste anything. Save all the bones and heads and feet for soup.” A pan of hacked pieces of meat went to the pit, and the crowd followed, leaving the butchers more room to work. Mac stood on the running-board, overlooking the scene, but Jim still sat in the cab, straddling the gear-shift lever. Mac turned anxiously to him. “What’s the matter, Jim? You feel all right?”

“Sure, I’m O.K. My shoulder’s awful stiff, though. I darn near can’t move it.”

“I guess you’re cold. We’ll see if Doc can’t loosen you up a little.” He helped Jim down from the truck and supported him by the elbow as they walked across toward the meat pit. A smell of cooking meat hung over the whole camp, and the meat dripped fat on the coals so that fierce little flames leaped up and devoured each drop. The men crowded so densely about the pit that the cooks, who went about turning the meat with long pointed sticks, had to push their way through the throng. Mac guided Jim toward London’s tent. “I’m going to ask Doc to come over. You sit down in there. I’ll bring you some meat when it’s done.”

It was dusky inside the tent. What little light got through the grey canvas was grey. When Jim’s eyes grew accustomed to the light, he saw Lisa sitting on her mattress holding the baby under her shoulder blanket. She looked at him with dark, questionless eyes. Jim said, “Hello. How you getting along?”

“All right.”

“Well, can I sit down on your mattress? I feel a little weak.”

She gathered her legs under her and moved aside. Jim sat down beside her. “What’s that good smell?” she asked.

“Meat. We’re going to have lots of meat.”

“I like meat,” she said. “I could just about live on meat.” London’s dark, slender son came through the tent flaps. He stopped and stared at the two of them. “He’s hurt,” Lisa said quickly. “He ain’t doin’ nothing. He’s hurt in the shoulder.”

The boy said, “Oh,” softly. “I wasn’t thinkin’ he was.” He said to Jim, “She always thinks I’m lookin’ at her that way, and I ain’t.” He said sententiously, “I always think, if you can’t trust a girl, it don’t do no good to try to watch her. A tramp is a tramp. Lisa ain’t no tramp. I got no call to treat her like a tramp.” He stopped. “They got meat out there, lots of meat. They got limey beans, too. Not for now, though.”

Lisa said, “I like them, too.”

The boy went on, “The guys don’t want to wait till the meat’s done. They want to eat it all pink inside. It’ll make ’em sick if they ain’t careful.”

The tent-flaps whipped open, admitting Dr. Burton. In his hands he carried a pot of steaming water. “This looks like the holy family,” he said. “Mac told me you were stiffening up.”

“I’m pretty sore,” said Jim.

Doc looked down at the girl. “Do you think you could put that baby down long enough to hold some hot cloths on his shoulder?”

“Me?”

“Yes. I’m busy. Get his coat off and keep hot water on the stiff place. Don’t get it in the wound if you can help.”

“D’you think I could?”

“Well, why not? He did things for you. Come on, get his coat off and strip down his shirt. I’m busy. I’ll put on a new bandage when you finish.” He went out.

The girl said, “D’you want me to?”

“Sure. Why not? You can.”

She handed the baby to Joey, helped Jim off with his blue denim jacket and slipped his shirt down. “Don’t you wear no un’erclo’s?”

“No.”

She fell silent then, and put the hot cloths on the shoulder muscle until the sore stiffness relaxed. Her fingers pressed the cloth down and moved about, pressing and pressing, gently, while her young husband looked on. In a little while Dr. Burton returned, and Mac came with him, carrying a big piece of black meat on a stick.

“Feel better now?”

“Better. Much better. She did it fine.”

The girl backed away, her eyes dropped with self-consciousness. Burton quickly put on a new bandage and Mac handed over the big piece of meat. “I salted it out there,” he said. “Doc thinks you better not run around any more today.”

Burton nodded. “You might catch cold and go into a fever,” he said. “Then you couldn’t do anything.”

Jim filled his mouth with tough meat and chewed. “Guys like the meat?” he asked.

“Cocky’r’n hell. They think they run the world now. They’re going out and clean up on somebody. I knew it would happen.”

“Are they going out to picket today?”

Mac thought a moment. “You’re not, anyhow. You’re going to sit here and keep warm.”

Joey handed the baby to his wife. “Is they plenty meat, mister?”

“Sure.”

“Well, I’m goin’ to get some for Lisa and I.”

“Well, go ahead. Listen, Jim. Don’t go moaning around. There’s not going to be much going on. It’s along in the afternoon now. London’s going to send out some guys in cars to see how many scabs are working. They’ll see how many and where, an’ then, tomorrow morning, we’ll start doing something about it. We can feed the guys for a coupla days now. Clouds are going. We’ll have clear, cold weather for a change.”

Jim asked, “Did you hear anything about scabs?”

“No, not much. Some of the guys say that scabs are coming in in trucks with guards on them, but you can’t believe anything in a camp like this. Damnedest place in the world for rumors.”

“The guys are awful quiet now.”

“Sure. Why not? They’ve got their mouths full. Tomorrow we’ve got to start raising hell. I guess we can’t strike long, so we’ve got to strike hard.”

The sound of a motor came up the road and stopped. Outside the tent there was a sudden swell of voices, and then quiet again. Sam stuck his head into the tent. “London here?” he demanded.

“No. What’s the matter?”

“There’s a dressed-up son-of-a-bitch in a shiny car wants to see the boss.”

“What about?”

“I don’t know. Says he wants to see the chief of the strikers.”

Mac said, “London’s over by the pit. Tell him to come over. The guy probably wants to talk things over.”

“O.K. I’ll tell him.”

In a moment London came into the tent, and the stranger followed him, a chunky, comfortable-looking man dressed in a grey business suit. His cheeks were pink and shaven, his hair nearly white. Wrinkles of good nature radiated from the corners of his eyes. On his mouth an open, friendly smile appeared every time he spoke. To London he said, “Are you the chairman of the camp?”

“Yeah,” said London suspiciously. “I’m the elected boss.”

Sam came in and took his place just behind London, his face dark and sullen. Mac squatted down on his haunches and balanced himself with his fingers. The newcomer smiled. His teeth were white and even. “My name’s Bolter,” he said simply. “I own a big orchard. I’m the new president of the Fruit Growers’ Association of this valley.”

“So what?” said London. “Got a good job for me if I’ll sell out?”

The smile did not leave Bolter’s face, but his clean, pink hands closed gently at his sides. “Let’s try to get a better start than that,” he begged. “I told you I was the new president. That means there’s a change in policy. I don’t believe in doing things the way they were being done.” While he spoke Mac looked not at Bolter, but at London.

Some of the anger left London’s face. “What you got to say?” he asked. “Spill it out.”

Bolter looked around for something to sit on, and saw nothing. He said, “I never could see how two men could get anything done by growling at each other. I’ve always had an idea that no matter how mad men were, if they could only get together with a table between them, something good would come out of it.”

London snickered. “We ain’t got a table.”

“You know what I mean,” Bolter continued. “Everybody in the Association said you men wouldn’t listen to reason, but I told them I know American working men. Give American working men something reasonable to listen to, and they’ll listen.”

Sam spat out, “Well, we’re listenin’, ain’t we? Go on an’ give us somethin’ reasonable.”

Bolter’s white teeth flashed. He looked around appreciatively. “There, you see? That’s what I told them. I said, ’Let me lay our cards down on the table,’ and then let them lay theirs down, and see if we can’t make a hand. American working men aren’t animals.”

Mac muttered, “You ought to run for Congress.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“I was talkin’ to this here guy,” said Mac. London’s face had grown hard again.

Bolter went on, “That’s what I’m here for, to lay our cards on the table. I told you I own an orchard, but don’t think because of that I haven’t your interests at heart. All of us know we can’t make money unless the working man is happy.” He paused, waiting for some kind of answer. None came. “Well, here’s the way I figure it; you’re losing money and we’re losing money because we’re sitting growling at each other. We want you to come back to work. Then you’ll get your wages, and we’ll get our apples picked. That way we’ll both be happy. Will you come back to work? No questions, no grudges, just two people who figured things out over the table?”

London said, “Sure we’ll go back to work, mister. Ain’t we American working men? Just give us the raise we want and kick out the scabs and we’ll be up in those old trees tomorrow morning.”

Bolter smiled around at them, one at a time, until his smile had rested on each face. “Well, I think you ought to have a raise,” he said. “And I told everybody I thought so. Well, I’m not a very good business man. The rest of the Association explained it all to me. With the price of apples what it is, we’re paying the top price we can. If we pay any more, we lose money.”

Mac grinned. “I guess we ain’t American workin’ men after all,” he said. “None of this sounds reasonable to me. So far it’s sounded like a sock full of crap.”

Jim said, “The reason they can’t pay the raise is because that’d mean we win the strike; and if we did that, a lot of other poor devils’d go on strike. Isn’t that it, mister?”

Bolter’s smile remained. “I thought from the first you deserved a raise, but I didn’t have any power. I still believe it, and I’m the president of the Association. Now I’ve told the Association what I’m going to do. Some of ’em don’t like it, but I insisted you men have to have a raise. I’m going to offer you twenty cents, and no questions and no grudges. And we’ll expect you back at work tomorrow morning.”

London looked around at Sam. He laughed at Sam’s scowling face, and slapped the lean man on the shoulder. “Mr. Bolter,” he said, “like Mac says, I guess we ain’t American workin’ men. You wanted cards laid down, and then you laid yours down backs up. Here’s ours, and by Christ, she’s a full house. Your God damn apples got to be picked and we ain’t picking ’em without our raise. Nor neither is nobody else pickin’ ’em. What do you think of that, Mister Bolter?”

At last the smile had faded from Bolter’s face. He said gravely, “The American nation has become great because everybody pitched in and helped. American labor is the best labor in the world, and the highest paid.”

London broke in angrily, “S’pose a Chink does get half a cent a day, if he can eat on it? What the hell do we care how much we get, if we got to go hungry?”

Bolter put on his smile again. “I have a home and children,” he said. “I’ve worked hard. You think I’m different from you. I want you to look on me as a working man, too. I’ve worked for everything I’ve got. Now we’ve heard that radicals are working among you. I don’t believe it. I don’t believe American men, with American ideals, will listen to radicals. All of us are in the same boat. Times are hard. We’re all trying to get along, and we’ve got to help each other.”

Suddenly Sam yelled, “Oh, for Christ’s sake, lay off. If you got somethin’ to say, say it; only cut out this Goddamn speech.”

Bolter looked very sad. “Will you accept half?”

“No,” said London. “You wouldn’t offer no half unless you was pressed.”

“How do you know the men wouldn’t accept, if you put it to a vote?”

“Listen, mister,” London said, “them guys is so full of piss and vinegar they’ll skin you if you show that slick suit outside. We’re strikin’ for our raise. We’re picketin’ your God damn orchards, and we’re kickin’ hell out of any scabs you run in. Now come on through with your ‘or else.’ Turn your damn cards over. What you think you’re goin’ to do if we don’t go back?”

“Turn the vigilantes loose,” said Mac.

Bolter said hurriedly, “We don’t know anything about any vigilantes. But if the outraged citizens band together to keep the peace, that’s their affair. The Association knows nothing about that.” He smiled again. “Can’t you men see that if you attack our homes and our children we have to protect them? Wouldn’t you protect your own children?”

“What the hell do you think we’re doin’?” London cried. “We’re trying to protect ’em from starving. We’re usin’ the only way a workin’ stiff’s got. Don’t you go talkin’ about no children, or we’ll show you something.”

“We only want to settle this thing peacefully,” said Bolter. “American citizens demand order, and I assure you men we’re going to have order if we have to petition the governor for troops.”

Sam’s mouth was wet. He shouted, “And you get order by shootin’ our men from windows, you yellow bastard. And in ’Frisco you got order by ridin’ down women. An’ the newspapers says, ‘This mornin’ a striker was killed when he threw himself on a bayonet.’ Threw himself!"

London wrapped his arm about the furious man and forced him slowly away from Bolter. “Lay off, Sam. Stop it, now. Just quiet yourself.”

“Th’ hell with you,” Sam cried. “Stand there and take the lousy crap that big baloney hands you!”

London stiffened suddenly. His big fist lashed out and cracked into Sam’s face, and Sam went down. London stood looking at him. Mac laughed hysterically. “A striker just threw himself into a fist,” he said.

Sam sat up on the ground. “O.K., London. You win. I won’t make no more fuss, but you wasn’t in ’Frisco on Bloody Thursday.”

Bolter stood where he was. “I hoped you would listen to reason,” he said. “We have information that you’re being influenced by radicals, sent here by red organizations. They are misleading you, telling you lies. They only want to stir up trouble. They’re professional trouble-makers, paid to cause strikes.”

Mac stood up from his haunches. “Well, the dirty rats,” he said. “Misleadin’ American workin’ men, are they? Prob’ly gettin’ paid by Russia, don’t you think, Mr. Bolter?”

The man looked back at him for a long time, and the healthy red was gone from his cheeks. “You’re going to make us fight, I guess,” he said. “I’m sorry. I wanted peace. We know who the radicals are, and we’ll have to take action against them.” He turned imploringly to London. “Don’t let them mislead you. Come back to work. We only want peace.”

London was scowling. “I had enough o’ this,” he said. “You want peace. Well, what we done? Marched in two parades. An’ what you done? Shot three of our men, burned a truck and a lunch wagon and shut off our food supply. I’m sick o’ your God damned lies, mister. I’ll see you get out without Sam gets his hands on you, but don’t send nobody else again till you’re ready to talk straight.”

Bolter shook his head sadly. “We don’t want to fight you men,” he said. “We want you to come back to work. But if we do have to fight, we have weapons. The health authorities are pretty upset about this camp. And the government doesn’t like uninspected meat moving in this county. The citizens are pretty tired of all this riot. And of course we may have to call troops, if we need them.”

Mac got up and went to the tent-flaps and looked out. Already the evening was coming. The camp was quiet, for the men stood watching London’s tent. All the faces, white in the gathering evening, were turned in toward the tent. Mac yelled, “All right, boys. We ain’t goin’ to sell you out.” He turned back into the tent. “Light the lamp, London. I want to tell this friend of man a few things.”

London set a match to the tin lantern and hung it on the tent pole, where it cast a pale, steady light. Mac took up a position in front of Bolter, and his muscled face broke into a derisive grin. “All right, Sonny Boy,” he said. “You been talkin’ big, but I know you been wettin’ your pants the whole time. I admit you can do all the things you say you can, but look what happens after. Your health service burned the tents in Washington. And that was one of the reasons that Hoover lost the labor vote. You called out guardsmen in ’Frisco, and damn near the whole city went over to the strikers. Y’ had to have the cops stop food from comin’ in to turn public opinion against the strike. I’m not talkin’ right an’ wrong now, mister. I’m tellin’ you what happens.” Mac stepped back a pace. “Where do you think we’re gettin’ food and blankets an’ medicine an’ money? You know damn well where we’re gettin’ ’em. Your valley’s lousy with sympathizers. Your ‘outraged citizens’ are a little bit outraged at you babies, and you know it. And you know, if you get too tough, the unions ’ll go out. Truck drivers and restaurant men and field hands, everybody. And just because you do know it, you try to throw a bluff. Well, it don’t work. This camp’s cleaner’n the lousy bunk houses you keep for us on your ranches. You come here to try to scare us, an’ it don’t work.”

Bolter was very pale. He turned away from Mac and faced London. “I’ve tried to make peace,” he said. “Do you know that this man was sent out by red headquarters to start this strike? Watch out that when he goes to jail you don’t go too. We have a right to protect our property, and we’ll do it. I’ve tried to deal man to man with you, and you won’t deal. From now on the roads are closed. An ordinance will go through tonight forbidding any parading on the county roads, or any gathering. The sheriff will deputize a thousand men, if he needs them.”

London glanced quickly at Mac, and Mac winked at him. London said, “Jesus, mister, I hope we can get you out of here safe. When the guys out there hear what you just said, why they’ll want to take you to pieces.”

Bolter’s jaw tightened and his eyelids drooped. He straightened his shoulders. “Don’t get the idea you can scare me,” he said. “I’ll protect my home and my children with my life if I have to. And if you lay a hand on me we’ll wipe out your strike before morning.”

London’s arms doubled, and he stepped forward, but Mac jumped in his way. “The guy’s right, London. He don’t scare. Plenty do, but he don’t.” He turned around. “Mister Bolter, we’ll see you get out of the camp. We understand each other now. We know what to expect from you. And we know how careful you have to be when you use force. Don’t forget the thousands of people that are sending us food and money. They’ll do other things, if they have to. We been good, Mr. Bolter, but if you start any funny business, we’ll show you a riot you’ll remember.”

Bolter said coldly, “That seems to be all. I’m sorry, but I’ll have to report that you won’t meet us halfway.”

“Halfway?” Mac cried. “There ain’t any halfway to nowhere.” His voice dropped to softness. “London you get on one side of him, and Sam on the other, and see that he gets away all right. Then I guess you’d better tell the guys what he said. But don’t let ’em get out of hand. Tell ’em to tighten up the squads for trouble.”

They surrounded Bolter and took him through the press of silent men, saw him into his coupe and watched him drive away down the road. When he was gone London raised his voice. “If you guys want to come over to the stand, I’ll get up on it and tell you what the son-of-a-bitch said, and what we answered him back.” He flailed his way through, and the men followed, excitedly. The cooks left the stoves where they were boiling beans and chunks of beef. The women crawled like rodents from the tents and followed. When London climbed up on the stand it was ringed closely with men, standing in the dusk looking up at him.

During the talk with Bolter Doc Burton had effaced himself, had been so quiet that he seemed to have disappeared, but when the group went out, leaving only Jim and Lisa sitting on the mattress, he came out of his corner and sat down on the edge of the mattress beside them. His face was worried. “It’s going to be a mean one,” he said.

“That’s what we want, Doc,” Jim told him. “The worse it is, the more effect it’ll have.”

Burton looked at him with sad eyes. “You see a way through,” he said. “I wish I did. It all seems meaningless to me, brutal and meaningless.”

“It has to go on,” Jim insisted. “It can only stop when the men rule themselves and get the profits of their labor.”

“Seems simple enough,” Burton sighed. “I wish I thought it were so simple.” He turned smiling to the girl. “What’s your solution, Lisa?”

She started. “Huh?”

“I mean, what would you like to have to make you happy.”

She looked self-consciously down at the baby. “I like to have a cow,” she said. “I like to have butter an’ cheese like you can make.”

“Want to exploit a cow?”

“Huh?”

“I’m being silly. Did you ever have a cow, Lisa?”

“When I was a little kid we had one,” she said. “Went out an’ drunk it warm. Old man used to milk it into a cup-like, to drink. Tasted warm. That’s what I like. Bet it would be good for the baby.” Burton turned slowly away from her. She insisted, “Cow used to eat grass, an’ sometimes hay. Not ever’body can milk ’em, neither. They kick.”

Burton asked, “Did you ever have a cow, Jim?”

“No.”

Burton said, “I never thought of cows as counter-revolutionary animals.”

Jim asked, “What are you talking about, Doc, anyway?”

“Nothing. I’m kind of unhappy, I guess. I was in the army in the war. Just out of school. They’d bring in one of our men with his chest shot away, and they’d bring in a big-eyed German with his legs splintered off. I worked on ’em just as though they were wood. But sometimes, after it was all over, when I wasn’t working, it made me unhappy, like this. It made me lonely.”

Jim said, “Y’ought to think only of the end, Doc. Out of all this struggle a good thing is going to grow. That makes it worthwhile.”

“Jim, I wish I knew it. But in my little experience the end is never very different in its nature from the means. Damn it, Jim, you can only build a violent thing with violence.”

“I don’t believe that,” Jim said. “All great things have violent beginnings.”

“There aren’t any beginnings,” Burton said. “Nor any ends. It seems to me that man has engaged in a blind and fearful struggle out of a past he can’t remember, into a future he can’t forsee nor understand. And man has met and defeated every obstacle, every enemy except one. He cannot win over himself. How mankind hates itself.”

Jim said, “We don’t hate ourselves, we hate the invested capital that keeps us down.”

“The other side is made of men, Jim, men like you. Man hates himself. Psychologists say a man’s self-love is balanced neatly with self-hate. Mankind must be the same. We fight ourselves and we can only win by killing every man. I’m lonely, Jim. I have nothing to hate. What are you going to get out of it, Jim?”

Jim looked startled. “You mean me?” He pointed a finger at his breast.

“Yes, you. What will you get out of all the mess?”

“I don’t know; I don’t care.”

“Well, suppose blood-poisoning sets in in that shoulder, or you die of lockjaw and the strike gets broken? What then?”

“It doesn’t matter,” Jim insisted. “I used to think like you, Doc, but it doesn’t matter at all.”

“How do you get that way?” Burton asked. “What’s the process?”

“I don’t know. I used to be lonely, and I’m not any more. If I go out now it won’t matter. The thing won’t stop. I’m just a little part of it. It will grow and grow. This pain in the shoulder is kind of pleasant to me; and I bet before he died Joy was glad for a moment. Just in that moment I bet he was glad.”

They heard a rough, monotonous voice outside, and then a few shouts, and then the angry crowd-roar, a bellow like an animal in fury. “London’s telling them,” said Jim. “They’re mad. Jesus, how a mad crowd can fill the air with madness. You don’t understand it, Doc. My old man used to fight alone. When he got licked, he was licked. I remember how lonely it was. But I’m not lonely any more, and I can’t be licked, because I’m more than myself.”

“Pure religious ecstasy. I can understand that. Partakers of the blood of the Lamb.”

“Religion, hell!” Jim cried. “This is men, not God. This is something you know.”

“Well, can’t a group of men be God, Jim?”

Jim wrenched himself around. “You make too damn many words, Doc. You build a trap of words and then you fall into it. You can’t catch me. Your words don’t mean anything to me. I know what I’m doing. Argument doesn’t have any effect on me.”

“Steady down,” Burton said soothingly. “Don’t get so excited. I wasn’t arguing, I was asking for information. All of you people get angry when you’re asked a question.”

As the dusk turned into night the lantern seemed to grow brighter, to find deeper corners of the tent with its yellow light. Mac came in quietly, as though he crept away from the noise and shouting outside. “They’re wild,” he said. “They’re hungry again. Boiled meat and beans tonight. I knew they’d get cocky on that meat. They’d like to go out and burn houses right now.”

“How does the sky look?” Burton asked. “Any more rain in it?”

“Clear and stars. It’ll be good weather.”

“Well, I want to talk to you, Mac. I’m low in supplies. I need disinfectant. Yes, and I could use some salvarsan. If any kind of epidemic should break out, we’d be out of luck.”

“I know,” Mac said. “I sent word to town how it was. Some of the boys are out trying to get money. They’re trying to get money to bail Dakin out now. I’d just as soon he stayed in jail.”

Burton stood up from his seat on the mattress. “You can tell London what to do, can’t you. Dakin wouldn’t take everything.”

Mac studied him. “What’s the matter, Doc. Don’t you feel well?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean your temper’s going. You’re tired. What is it, Doc?”

Burton put his hands in his pockets. “I don’t know; I’m lonely, I guess. I’m awfully lonely. I’m working all alone, towards nothing. There’s some compensation for you people. I only hear heartbeats through a stethoscope. You hear them in the air.” Suddenly he leaned over and put his hand under Lisa’s chin and raised her head up and looked into her shrinking eyes. Her hand came slowly up and pulled gently at his wrist. He let go and put his hand back in his pocket.

Mac said, “I wish I knew some woman you could go to, Doc, but I don’t. I’m new around here. Dick could steer you, in town. He prob’ly has twenty lined up by now. But you might get caught and jailed, Doc; and if you weren’t taking care of us, they’d bounce us off this land in a minute.”

Burton said, “Sometimes you understand too much, Mac. Sometimes—nothing. I guess I’ll go along and see Al Anderson. I haven’t been there all day.”

“O.K., Doc, if it’ll make you feel any better. I’ll keep Jim under cover tonight.”

Doc looked down at Lisa once more, and then he went out.

The shouting had settled to talk by now, low talk. It made the night alive outside the tent.

“Doc doesn’t eat,” Mac complained. “Nobody’s seen him sleep. I suppose he’ll break, sooner or later, but he never has before. He needs a woman bad; someone that would like him for a night; you know, really like him. He needs to feel someone—with his skin. So do I. Lisa, you’re a lucky little twirp, you just had a kid. You’d have me in your hair.”

“Huh?”

“I say: How’s the baby?”

“All right.”

Mac nodded gravely at Jim. “I like a girl who doesn’t talk too much.”

Jim asked, “What went on out there? I’m sick of staying in already.”

“Why, London told what Sonny Boy said, and asked for a vote of confidence. He sure as hell got it, too. He’s out there now, talking to the squad leaders about tomorrow.”

“What about tomorrow?”

“Well, Sonny Boy was telling the truth about that ordinance. By tomorrow it’ll be against the law for the boys to march along the county road. I don’t think they’ll remember about trucks. So, instead of standing around orchards, we’re going to send out flying squads in the cars. We can raid one bunch of scabs and get out, and raid another. It ought to work.”

“Where we going to get gasoline?”

“Well, we’ll take it out of all the cars and put it in the ones we use. That should last tomorrow. The next day we may have to try something else. Maybe we can hit hard enough tomorrow so we can rest up the next day, until they get in a new load of scabs.”

Jim asked, “I can go tomorrow, can’t I?”

Mac cried, “What good would you be? The guys that go have to be fighters. You just take up room with that bum arm. Use your head.”

London pushed open the flaps and came in. His face was flushed with pleasure. “Them guys is sure steamed up,” he said. “Jesus, they’re belly-for-back to kick Torgas for a growler.”

“Don’t give ’em no headway,” Mac advised. “They got their guts full of chow. If they go loose, we ain’t never goin’ to catch up with them.”

London pulled up a box and sat down on it. “The chow’s about ready, the guy says. I want to ast you, Mac, ever’body says you’re a red. Them two guys that come to talk both said it. Seemed to know all about you.”

“Yeah?”

“Tell me straight, Mac. Is you an’ Jim reds?”

“What do you think?”

London’s eyes flashed angrily, but he controlled himself. “Don’t get mean, Mac. I don’t take it nice if the guys on the other side know more about you’n I do. What the hell do I know? You come into my camp and done us a good turn. I never ast you no questions—never did. I wouldn’t ast you any now, on’y I got to know what to expect.”

Mac looked puzzled. He glanced at Jim. “O.K.?”

“O.K. by me.”

“Listen, London,” Mac began. “A guy can get to like you awful well. Sam’ll kick the ass off any guy that looks crooked at you.”

“I got good friends,” said London.

“Well, that’s why. I feel the same way. S’pose I was a red, what then?”

London said, “You’re a friend of mine.”

“O.K., then, I’m a red. There ain’t a hell of a secret about it. They say I started this strike. Now get me straight. I would of started it if I could, but I didn’t have to. It started itself.”

London eyed him cautiously, as though his mind slowly circled Mac’s mind. “What do you get out of it?” he asked.

“Money, you mean? Not a damn thing.”

“Then what do you do it for?”

“Well, it’s hard to say—you know how you feel about Sam an’ all the guys that travel with you? Well, I feel that way about all the workin’ stiffs in the country.”

“Guys you don’t even know?”

“Yes, guys I don’t even know. Jim here’s just the same, just the same.”

“Sounds crazy as hell,” said London. “Sounds like a gag. An’ you don’t get no money?”

“You don’t see no Rolls-Royces around, do you?”

“But how about after?”

“After what?”

“Maybe after this is over you’ll collect.”

“There ain’t no after,” Mac said. “When this one’s done, we’ll be in another one.”

London squinted at him, as though he tried to read his thoughts. “I believe it,” he said slowly. “You ain’t give me no bum steers yet.”

Mac reached over and struck him sharply on the shoulders. “I’d of told you before, if you asked me.”

London said, “I got nothing against reds. Y’always hear how they’re sons-of-bitches. Sam’s kind of rattlesnake and whip tempered, but he ain’t no son-of-a-bitch. Let’s go over an’ get some food.”

Mac stood up. “I’ll bring you and Lisa some, Jim.”

London said, from the doorway, “Moon’s comin’ up nice. I didn’t know it was full moon.”

“It isn’t. Where do you see it?”

“Look, see over there? Looks like moon-rise.”

Mac said, “That ain’t east—Oh, Jesus! It’s Anderson’s. London” he shouted. “They’ve set fire to Anderson’s! Get the guys. Come on, God damn it! Where are those guards? Get the guys quick!” He ran away toward the red, gathering light behind the trees.

Jim jumped up from the mattress. He didn’t feel his wounded arm as he ran along, fifty yards behind Mac. He heard London’s voice roaring, and then the drumming of many feet on the wet ground. He reached the trees and speeded up. The red light mushroomed out behind the trees. It was more than a glow now. A lance of flame cleared the tree-tops. Above the sound of steps there was a vicious crackling. From ahead came shrill cries and a muffled howling. The trees threw shadows away from the light. The end of the orchard row was blocked with fire, and in front of it black figures moved about. Jim could see Mac pounding ahead of him, and he could hear the increasing, breathy roar of the flames. He sprinted, caught up with Mac, and ran beside him. “It’s the barn,” he gasped. “Were the apples out yet?”

“Jim! Damn it, you shouldn’t come. No, the apples are in the barn. Where the hell were the guards? Can’t trust anybody.” They neared the end of the row, and the hot air struck their faces. All the barn walls were sheathed in fire, and the strong flames leaped from the roof. The guards stood by Anderson’s little house, quiet, watching the light, while Anderson danced jerkily in front of them.

Mac stopped running. “No go. We can’t do a thing. They must of used gasoline.”

London plunged past them, and his face was murderous. He drew up in front of the guards and shouted, “You God-damn rats! Where in hell were you?”

One of the men raised his voice above the fire. “You sent a guy to tell us you wanted us. We was halfway to the camp when we seen it start.”

London’s fury drained out of him. His big fists undoubted. He turned helplessly to where Mac and Jim stood, their eyes glaring in the light. Anderson capered close to them in his jerky, wild dance. He came close to Mac and stood in front of him and pushed his chin up into Mac’s face. “You dirty son-of-a-bitch!” His voice broke, and he turned, crying, back toward the tower of flame. Mac put his arm around Anderson’s waist, but the old man flung it off. Out of the fire came the sharp, sweet odor of burning apples.

Mac looked weak and sad. To London he said, “God, I wish it hadn’t happened. Poor old man, it’s all his crop.” A thought stopped him. “Christ Almighty! Did you leave anybody to look after the camp?”

“No. I never thought.”

Mac whirled. “Come on, a flock of you. Maybe they’re drawin’ us. Some of you stay here so the house won’t burn too.” He sprinted back, the way he had come. His long black shadow leaped ahead of him. Jim tried to keep up with him, but a sick weakness set in. Mac drew away from him, and the men passed him, until he was alone, behind them, stumbling along giddily over the uneven earth. No flames broke from the camp ahead. Jim settled down to walk along the vague aisle between the rows. He heard the crash of the falling barn, and did not even turn to look. When he was halfway back, his legs buckled with weakness, and he sat down heavily on the ground. The sky was bright with fire over his head, and behind the low, rosy light the icy stars hung.

Mac, retracing his steps, found him there. “What’s the matter, Jim?”

“Nothing. My legs got weak. I’m just resting. Is the camp all right?”

“Sure. They didn’t get to it. There’s a man hurt. Fell down, I think he busted his ankle. We’ve got to find Doc. What a damn fool easy trick that was! One of their guys tells the guards to get out while the rest splash gasoline around and throw in a match. Jesus, it was quick! Now we’ll get hell from Anderson. Get kicked off the place tomorrow, I guess.”

“Where’ll we go then, Mac?”

“Say! You’re all in. Here, give me your arm. I’ll help you back. Did you see Doc at the fire?”

“No.”

“Well, he said he was going over to see Al. I didn’t see him come back. Come on, climb to your feet. I’ve got to get you bedded down.”

Already the light was dying. At the end of the row lay a pile of fire, but the flames no longer leaped up in long streamers. “Hold on to me, now. Anderson was nearly crazy, wasn’t he? Thank God they didn’t get his house.”

London, with Sam behind him, caught up. “How’s the camp?”

“O.K. They didn’t get it.”

“Well what’s the matter with the kid?”

“Just weak from his wound. Give ’im a lift on that side.” Together they half-carried Jim down the row and across the open space to London’s tent. They set him down on the mattress. Mac asked, “Did you see the Doc over there? A guy’s bust his ankle.”

“No. I never seen him.”

“Well, I wonder where he is?”

Sam entered the tent silently. His lean face was ridged with tight muscles. He walked stiffly over and stood in front of Mac, “That afternoon, when that guy says what he’d do——”

“What guy?”

“That first guy that come, an’ you told him.”

“I told him what?”

“Told ’im what we’d do.”

Mac started and looked at London. “I don’t know, Sam. It might switch public sympathy. We should be getting it now. We don’t want to lose it.”

Sam’s voice was thick with hatred. “You can’t let ’em get away with it. You can’t let the yellow bastards burn us out.”

London said, “Come out of it, Sam. What do you want?”

“I want to take a couple guys—an’ play with matches.” Mac and London watched him carefully. “I’m goin’,” Sam said. “I don’ give a damn. I’m goin’. There’s a guy name Hunter. He’s got a big white house. I’m takin’ a can of gasoline.”

Mac grinned. “Take a look at this guy, London. Ever see him before? Know who he is?”

London caught it. “No, can’t say I do. Who is he?”

“Search me. Was he ever in camp?”

“No, by God! Maybe he’s just a guy with a grudge. We get all kind of things pinned on us.”

Mac swung back on Sam. “If you get caught, you got to take it.”

“I’ll take it,” Sam said sullenly. “I ain’t sharin’ no time. I ain’t takin’ nobody with me, neither. I changed my mind.”

“We don’t know you. You just got a grudge.”

“I hate the guy ’cause he robbed me,” said Sam.

Mac stepped close to him and gripped his arm. “Burn the bastard into the ground,” he said viciously. “Burn every stick in the house. I’d like to go with you. Jesus, I would!”

“Stick here,” said Sam. “This ain’t your fight. This guy robbed me—an’ I’m a fireburg. I always like to play with matches.”

London said, “So long, Sam. Drop in some time.”

Sam slipped quietly out of the tent and disappeared. London and Mac looked for a moment at the gently swaying tent-flap. London said, “I got a feelin’ he ain’t comin’ back. Funny how you can get to like a mean man like that. Always got his chin stuck out, lookin’ for trouble.”

Jim had sat quietly on the mattress. His face was troubled. Through the tent walls the glow of the fire was still faintly visible, and now the shriek of sirens sounded, coming nearer and nearer, lonely and fierce in the night.

Mac said bitterly, “They gave it a good long time to get started before the trucks came out. Hell, we never did get anything to eat. Come on, London. I’ll get some for you, Jim.”

Jim sat waiting for them to come back. Lisa, beside him, was secretly nursing the baby under the blanket again. “Don’t you ever move around?” Jim asked.

“Huh?”

“You just sit still. All these things go on around you, and you pay no attention. You don’t even hear.”

“I wisht it was over,” she replied. “I wisht we lived in a house with a floor, an’ a toilet close by. I don’t like this fightin’.”

“It’s got to be done,” Jim said. “It will be over sometime, but maybe not in our lives.”

Mac came in carrying two steaming food cans. “Well, the fire trucks got there before it was all out, anyway. Here, Jim, I put the beef in with the beans. You take this one, Lisa.”

Jim said, “Mac, you shouldn’t’ve let Sam go.”

“Why the hell shouldn’t I?”

“Because you didn’t feel right about it, Mac. You let your own personal hatred get in.”

“Well, Jesus! Think of poor old Anderson, losing his barn and all his crop.”

“Sure, I know. Maybe it’s a good idea to burn Hunter’s house. You got hot about it, though.”

“Yeah? An’ I guess you’re goin’ to be reportin’ me, maybe. I bring you out to let you get some experience, an’ you turn into a God damn school teacher. Who th’ hell do you think you are, anyway? I was doin’ this job when you were slobberin’ your bib.”

“Now wait a minute, Mac. I can’t do anything to help but use my head. Everything’s going on, and I sit here with a sore shoulder. I just don’t want you to get mad, Mac. You can’t think if you get mad.”

Mac glared sullenly at him. “You’re lucky I don’t knock your can off, not because you’re wrong, but because you’re right. You get sick of a guy that’s always right.” Suddenly he grinned. “It’s done, Jim. Let’s forget it. You’re turning into a proper son-of-a-bitch. Everybody’s going to hate you, but you’ll be a good Party man. I know I get mad; I can’t help it. I’m worried as hell, Jim. Everything’s going wrong. Where you s’pose Doc is?”

“No sign of him yet? Remember what he said when he went out?”

“Said he was going to see Al.”

“Yes, but before that, how lonely he was. He sounded screwy, like a guy that’s worked too hard. Maybe he went off his nut. He never did believe in the cause, maybe he’s scrammed.”

Mac shook his head. “I’ve been around with Doc plenty. That’s one thing he didn’t do. Doc never ran out on anybody. I’m worried, Jim. Doc was headed for Anderson’s. S’pose he took those raiders for our guards, an’ they caught him? They’d sure as hell catch him if they could.”

“Maybe he’ll be back later.”

“Well, I’ll tell you. If the health office gets out an order against us tomorrow, we can be damn sure that Doc was snatched. Poor devil! I don’t know what to do about the man with the busted ankle. One of the guys set it, but he probably set it wrong. Oh, well, maybe Doc’s just wanderin’ around in the orchard. It’s my fault for letting him start over there alone, all my fault. London’s doing everything he can. I forget things. I’m getting a weight on me, Jim. Anderson’s barn’s right on top of me.”

“You’re forgetting the whole picture,” Jim said.

Mac sighed. “I thought I was a tough baby, but you’re a hell of a lot tougher. I hope I don’t get to hate you. You better sleep in the hospital tent, Jim. There’s an extra cot, and I don’t want you sleeping on the ground until you feel better. Why don’t you eat?”

Jim looked down at the can. “Forgot it, and I’m hungry, too.” He picked up a piece of boiled beef out of the beans and gnawed it. “You better get some yourself,” he said.

“Yeah, I’m going now.”

After he had gone, Jim quickly ate the beans, the big oval, golden beans. He speared three of them at a time on a sharpened stick, and when they were gone tilted the can and drank the juice. “Tastes good, doesn’t it,” he said to Lisa.

“Yeah. I always like limey beans. Don’t need nothing but salt. Salt pork’s better.”

“The men are quiet, awfully quiet.”

“They got their mouths full,” said the girl. “Always talkin’, except their mouths’ full. Always talkin’. If they got to fight, why don’ they fight an’ get it over, ’stead o’ talkin’?”

“This is a strike,” Jim said defensively.

“Even you talk all the time,” she said. “Talk don’t turn no wheel.”

“Sometimes it gets steam up to turn ’em, Lisa.”

London came in, and stood picking his teeth with a sharpened match. The bald spot in his tonsure shone dully in the lamplight. “I been watchin’ all over the country,” he said. “Ain’t seen no fire yet. Mebbe they caught Sam.”

“He was a clever guy,” said Jim. “The other day he knocked over a checker, and the checker had a gun, too.”

“Oh, he’s smart all right. Smart like a snake. Sam’s a rattlesnake, only he don’t never rattle. He went out alone, didn’t take nobody with him.”

“All the better. If he gets caught, he’s just a nut. If three guys got caught, it’d be a plot, see?”

“I hope he don’t get caught, Jim. He’s a nice guy, I like him.”

“Yeah, I know.”

Mac came back in with his can of food. “Jesus I’m hungry. I didn’t know it till I got the first bite. Have enough to eat, Jim?”

“Sure. Why don’t the men build fires to sit by? They did last night.”

“They got no wood,” said London. “I made ’em put all the wood over by the stoves.”

“Well, what makes ’em so quiet? You can hardly hear a thing,” Jim said. “It’s all quiet.”

Mac mused, “It’s damn funny about a bunch of men, how they act. You can’t tell. I always thought if a guy watched close enough he might get to know what they’re goin’ to do. They get steamed up, an’ then, all of a sudden, they’re scared as hell. I think this whole damn camp is scared. Word’s got out that Doc’s been snatched. An’ they’re scared to be without ’im. They go an’ take a look at the guy with the busted ankle, an’ then they walk away. An’ then, pretty soon, they go an’ take a look at ’im again. He’s all covered with sweat, he hurts so bad.” Mac gnawed at a beef bone, tearing the white gristle with his teeth.

Jim asked, “D’you suppose anybody knows?”

“Knows what?”

“How a bunch o’ guys’ll act.”

“Maybe London knows. He’s been bossin’ men all his life. How about it, London?”

London shook his head. “No,” he said. “I’ve saw a bunch of guys run like rabbits when a truck back-fired. Other times, seems like nothin’ can scare ’em. Y’can kind of feel what’s goin’ to happen before it starts, though.”

“I know,” said Mac. “The air gets full of it. I saw a nigger lynched one time. They took him about a quarter of a mile to a railroad over-pass. On th’ way out that crowd killed a little dog, stoned it to death. Ever’body just picked up rocks. The air was just full of killin’. Then they wasn’t satisfied to hang the nigger. They had to burn ’im an’ shoot ’im, too.”

“Well I ain’t lettin’ nothin’ like that get started in this camp,” London said.

Mac advised, “Well, if it does start, you better stand out of the way. Listen, there’s a sound.”

There was a tramp of feet outside the tent, almost a military rhythm. “London in there?”

“Yeah. What do you want?”

“We got a guy out here.”

“What kind of a guy?” A man came in, carrying a Winchester carbine. London said, “Ain’t you one of the guys I left to guard that house?”

“Yes. Only three of us came over. We saw this fellow moving around, and we kind of got around him and caught him.”

“Well, who is it?”

“I don’t know. He had this gun. The guys wanted to beat hell out of him, but I says we better bring him here, so we done it. We got him outside, tied up.”

London looked at Mac, and Mac nodded toward Lisa. London said, “You better get out, Lisa.”

She got slowly to her feet. “Where I’m goin’ to go?”

“I don’t know. Where’s Joey?”

“Talkin’ to a guy,” said Lisa. “This guy wrote to a school that’s goin’ to get him to be a postman. Joey, he wants to be a postman too, so he’s talkin’ to this guy about it.”

“Well, you go an’ find some woman an’ set with her.”

Lisa shrugged up the baby on her hip and went out of the tent. London took the rifle from the man and threw down the lever. A loaded shell flipped out. “Thirty-thirty,” said London. “Bring the guy in.”

“O.K. Bring him in.” Two guards pushed the prisoner through the flaps. He stumbled and recovered his balance. His elbows were bound together behind him with a belt, and his wrists were wrapped together with baling wire. He was very young. His body was thin and his shoulders narrow. He was dressed in corduroy trousers, a blue shirt and a short leather jacket. His light blue eyes were fixed with terror.

“Hell,” said London. “It’s a kid.”

“Kid with a thirty-thirty,” Mac added. “Can I talk to him, London?”

“Sure. Go ahead.”

Mac stepped in front of the captive. “What are you doin’ out there?”

The boy swallowed painfully. “I wasn’t doing a thing.” His voice was a whisper.

“Who sent you?”

“Nobody.”

Mac struck him in the face with his open hand. The head jerked sideways, and an angry red spot formed on the white, beardless cheek. “Who sent you?”

“Nobody.” The open hand struck again, harder. The boy lurched, tried to recover and fell on his shoulder.

Mac reached down and pulled him to his feet again. “Who sent you?”

The boy was crying. Tears rolled down his nose, into his bleeding mouth. “The fellows at school said we ought to.”

“High school?”

“Yes. An’ the men in the street said somebody ought to.”

“How many of you came out?”

“Six of us.”

“Where did the rest go?”

“I don’t know, mister. Honest, I lost ’em.”

Mac’s voice was monotonous. “Who burned the barn?”

“I don’t know.” This time Mac struck with a closed fist. The blow flung the slight body against the tent-pole. Mac jerked him up again. The boy’s eye was closed and cut.

“Be careful about that ’don’t know? business. Who burned the barn?”

The boy could not speak; his sobs choked him. “Don’t hit me, mister. Some fellows at the pool room said it would be a good thing. They said Anderson was a radical.”

“All right, now. Did you kids see anything of our doctor?”

The boy looked at him helplessly. “Don’t hit me, mister. I don’t know. We didn’t see anybody.”

“What were you going to do with the gun?”

“Sh—sh-shoot through the tents an’ try to scare you.”

Mac smiled coldly. He turned to London. “Got any ideas what to do with him?”

“Oh hell,” said London. “He’s just a kid.”

“Yes, a kid with a thirty-thirty. Can I still have him, London?”

“What you want to do with him?”

“I want to send him back to high school so no more kids with rifles will come out.”

Jim sat on the mattress and watched. Mac said, “Jim, you gave me hell about losing my head a little while ago. I’m not losing it now.”

“It’s O.K. if you’re cold,” said Jim.

“I’m a sharpshooter,” Mac said. “You feeling sorry for the kid, Jim?”

“No, he’s not a kid, he’s an example.”

“That’s what I thought. Now listen, kid. We can throw you out to the guys there, but they’ll probably kill you. Or we can work you over in here.”

The one open eye glared with fear.

“O.K. with you, London?”

“Don’t hurt him too much.”

“I want a billboard,” said Mac, “Not a corpse. All right, kid. I guess you’re for it.” The boy tried to retreat. He bent down, trying to cower. Mac took him firmly by the shoulder. His right fist worked in quick, short hammer blows, one after another. The nose cracked flat, the other eye closed, and the dark bruises formed on the cheeks. The boy jerked about wildly to escape the short, precise strokes. Suddenly the torture stopped. “Untie him,” Mac said. He wiped his bloody fist on the boy’s leather jacket. “It didn’t hurt much,” he said. “You’ll show up pretty in high school. Now shut up your bawling. Tell the kids in town what’s waitin’ for ’em.”

“Shall I wash his face?” London asked.

“Hell, no! I do a surgeon’s job, and you want to spoil it. You think I liked it?”

“I don’t know,” said London.

The prisoner’s hands were free now. He sobbed softly. Mac said, “Listen to me, kid. You aren’t hurt bad. Your nose is busted, but that’s all. If anybody here but me did it, you’d of been hurt bad. Now you tell your little playmates that the next one gets his leg broke, and the next one after that gets both his legs broke. Get me——? I said, did you get me?”

“Yes.”

“O.K. Take him down the road and turn him loose.” The guards took the boy under the arms and helped him out of the tent. Mac said, “London, maybe you better put out patrols to see if there’s any more kiddies with cannons.”

“I’ll do it,” said London. He had kept his eyes on Mac the whole time, watching him with horror. “Jesus, you’re a cruel bastard, Mac. I can unda’stand a guy gettin’ mad an’ doin’ it, but you wasn’t mad.”

“I know,” Mac said wearily. “That’s the hardest part.” He stood still, smiling his cold smile, until London went out of the tent; and then he walked to the mattress and sat down and clutched his knees. All over his body the muscles shuddered. His face was pale and grey. Jim put his good hand over and took him by the wrist. Mac said wearily, “I couldn’t of done it if you weren’t here, Jim. Oh, Jesus, you’re hard-boiled. You just looked. You didn’t give a damn.”

Jim tightened his grip on Mac’s wrist. “Don’t worry about it,” he said quietly. “It wasn’t a scared kid, it was a danger to the cause. It had to be done, and you did it right. No hate, no feeling, just a job. Don’t worry.”

“If I could only of let his hands go, so he could take a pop at me once in a while, or cover up a little.”

“Don’t think of it,” Jim said. “It’s just a little part of the whole thing. Sympathy is as bad as fear. That was like a doctor’s work. It was an operation, that’s all. I’d done it for you if I wasn’t bunged up. S’pose the guys outside had him?”

“I know,” Mac agreed. “They’d butchered him. I hope they don’t catch anybody else; I couldn’t do it again.”

“You’d have to do it again,” said Jim.

Mac looked at him with something of fear in his eyes. “You’re getting beyond me, Jim. I’m getting scared of you. I’ve seen men like you before. I’m scared of ’em. Jesus, Jim, I can see you changing every day. I know you’re right. Cold thought to fight madness, I know all that. God Almighty, Jim, it’s not human. I’m scared of you.”

Jim said softly, “I wanted you to use me. You wouldn’t because you got to like me too well.” He stood up and walked to a box and sat down on it. “That was wrong. Then I got hurt. And sitting here waiting, I got to know my power. I’m stronger than you, Mac. I’m stronger than anything in the world, because I’m going in a straight line. You and all the rest have to think of women and tobacco and liquor and keeping warm and fed.” His eyes were as cold as wet river stones. “I wanted to be used. Now I’ll use you, Mac. I’ll use myself and you. I tell you, I feel there’s strength in me.”

“You’re nuts,” said Mac. “How’s your arm feel? Any swelling? Maybe the poison got into your system.”

“Don’t think it, Mac,” Jim said quietly. “I’m not crazy. This is real. It has been growing and growing. Now it’s all here. Go out and tell London I want to see him. Tell him to come in here. I’ll try not to make him mad, but he’s got to take orders.”

Mac said, “Jim, maybe you’re not crazy. I don’t know. But you’ve got to remember London is the chairman of this strike, elected. He’s bossed men all his life. You start telling him what to do, and he’ll throw you to the lions.” He looked uneasily at Jim.

“Better go and tell him,” said Jim.

“Now listen——’

“Mac, you want to obey. You better do it.”

They heard a low wail, and then the rising scream of a siren, and then another and another, rising and falling, far away. “It’s Sam,” Mac cried. “He’s set his fire.”

Jim scrambled up. Mac said, “You better stay there. You’re too weak, Jim.”

Jim laughed mirthlessly. “You’re going to find out how weak I am.” He walked to the entrance and went out, and Mac followed him.

To the north the starred sky was black over the trees. In the direction of Torgas the city lights threw a pale glow into the sky. To the left of the town, over the high rampart of trees, the new fire put a dome of red light over itself. Now the sirens screamed together, and now one was up while another sunk its voice to a growl. “They don’t waste any time now,” Mac said.

The men came tumbling out of the tents and stood looking at the rising fire. The flames broke over the trees, and the dome of light spread and climbed. “A good start,” Mac said. “If they put it out now, the house’ll be ruined anyway. They can’t use anything but chemicals out that far.”

London hurried over to them. “He done it!” London cried. “Christ, he’s a mean guy. I knew he’d do it. He wasn’t scared of nothing.”

Jim said calmly, “We can use him, if he comes back.”

“Use him?” London asked.

“Yes, a man who could give a fire that good a start could do other things. It’s burning fine. London, come into the tent. We’ve got to figure some things out.”

Mac broke in, “What he means, London——”

“I’ll tell him what I mean. Come into the tent, London.” Jim led the way inside and seated himself on a box.

“What’s the idear?” London demanded. “What’s this you’re talkin’ about.”

Jim said, “This thing is being lost because there’s no authority. Anderson’s barn was burned because we couldn’t trust the guards to obey orders. Doc got snatched because his bodyguard wouldn’t stick with him.”

“Sure. An’ what we goin’ to do about it?”

“We’re going to create authority,” said Jim. “We’re going to give orders that stick. The men elected you, didn’t they? Now they’ve got to take it whether they like it or not.”

Mac cried, “For Christ’s sake, Jim! It won’t work. They’ll just fade out. They’ll be in the next county in no time.”

“We’ll police ’em, Mac. Where’s that rifle?”

“Over there. What do you want with it?”

“That’s authority,” said Jim. “I’m damn sick of this circle-running. I’m going to straighten it out.”

London stepped up to him. “Say, what the hell is this ’I’m goin’ to straighten things out’? You’re goin’ to jump in the lake.”

Jim sat still. His young face was carven, his eyes motionless; his mouth smiled a little at the corners. He looked steadily and confidently at London. “Sit down, London, and put on your shirt,” he said gently.

London looked uneasily at Mac. “Is this guy gone screwy?”

Mac missed his eyes. “I don’t know.”

“Might as well sit down,” said Jim. “You will sooner or later.”

“Sure, I’ll sit down.”

“O.K. Now you can kick me out of the camp if you want to. They’ll make room for me in jail. Or you can let me stay. But if I stay, I’m going to put this over, and I can do it.”

London sighed. “I’m sick of it. Nothin’ but trouble. I’d give you the job in a minute, even if you ain’t nothing but a kid. I’m the boss.”

“That’s why,” Jim broke in. “I’ll put out the orders through you. Don’t get me wrong, London; it isn’t authority I want, it’s action. All I want is to put over the strike.”

London asked helplessly, “What d’you think, Mac? What’s this kid puttin’ over?”

“I don’t know. I thought it might be poison from that shot, but he seems to talk sense,” Mac laughed, and his laugh dropped heavily into silence.

“The whole thing sounds kind of Bolshevik,” London said.

“What do you care what it sounds like, if it works?” Jim replied. “You ready to listen?”

“I don’t know. Oh, sure, shoot.”

“All right, tomorrow morning we’re going to smack those scabs. I want you to pick the best fighters. Give the men clubs. I want two cars to go together, always in pairs. The cops’ll probably patrol the roads, and put up barricades. Now we can’t let ’em stop us. If they put up barricades, let the first car knock ’em off the road, and the second pick up the men from the wreck and go on through. Understand? Anything we start goes through. If we don’t succeed; we’re farther back than when we started.”

“I’m goin’ to have a hell of a time with the guys if you give orders,” London said.

“I don’t want to give orders. I don’t want to show off. The guys won’t know. I’ll tell you, and you tell them. Now the first thing is to send out some men to see how that fire’s getting on. We’re going to get a dose of trouble tomorrow. I wish Sam hadn’t set it; but it’s done now. We’ve got to have this camp plenty guarded tonight, too. There’s going to be reprisals, and don’t forget it. Put out two lines of guards and have them keep in touch. Then I want a police committee of five to beat hell out of any guy that goes to sleep or sneaks away. Get me five tough ones.”

London shook his head. “I don’t know if I ought to smack you down or let you go ahead. The whole thing’s so damn much trouble.”

“Well, put out guards while you think it over. I’m afraid we’re going to have plenty of trouble before morning.”

“O.K., kid. I’ll give it a try.”

After he had gone out, Mac still stood beside the box where Jim sat. “How’s your arm feel, Jim?” he asked.

“I can’t feel it at all. Must be about well.”

“I don’t know what’s happened to you,” Mac went on. “I could feel it happen.”

Jim said, “It’s something that grows out of a fight like this. Suddenly you feel the great forces at work that create little troubles like this strike of ours. And the sight of those forces does something to you, picks you up and makes you act. I guess that’s where authority comes from.” He raised his eyes.

Mac cried, “What makes your eyes jump like that?”

“A little dizzy,” Jim said, and he fainted and fell off the box.

Mac dragged him to the mattress and brought a box for his feet. In the camp there was a low murmur of voices, constant and varying and changing tone like the voice of a little stream. Men passed back and forth in front of the tent. The sirens raised their voices again, but this time there was no excitement in them, for the trucks were going home. Mac unbuttoned Jim’s shirt. He brought a bucket of water that stood in a corner of the tent, and splashed water on Jim’s head and throat.

Jim opened his eyes and looked up into Mac’s face. “I’m dizzy,” he said plaintively. “I wish Doc would come back and give me something. Do you think he’ll come back, Mac?”

“I don’t know. How do you feel now?”

“Just dizzy. I guess I’ve shot my wad until I rest.”

“Sure. You ought to go to sleep. I’m going out and try to rustle some of the soup that meat was cooked in. That’ll be good for you. You just lie still until I bring it.”

When he was gone, Jim looked, frowning, at the top of the tent. He said aloud, “I wonder if it passed off. I don’t think it did, but maybe.” And then his eyes closed, and he went to sleep.

When Mac came in with the soup, he set it on the ground. He took the box from under Jim’s legs and then sat down on the edge of the mattress and watched the drawn, sleeping face.

The face was never still. The lips crept back until the teeth were exposed, until the teeth were dry; and then the lips drew down and covered them. The cheeks around the eyes twitched nervously. Once, as though striving against weight, Jim’s lips opened to speak and worked on a word, but only a growling mumble was said. Mac pulled the old coverlets over Jim’s body.

Suddenly the lamp flame was sucked down, the wick and darkness crept in toward the center of the tent. Mac jumped up and found a spout-can of kerosene. He unscrewed the lantern cap and filled the reservoir. Slowly the flame grew up again, and its edges spread out like a butterfly’s wings.

Outside, the slow footsteps of patrolling men went by. In the distance there could be heard the grumble of the great night cargo trucks on the highway. Mac took down the lantern from the tent-pole and carried it to the mattress and set it on the ground. From his hip pocket he brought out a packet of folded papers and a mussy stamped envelope and a broken piece of pencil. With the paper on his knee he wrote slowly, in large, round letters:

Dear Harry:

Christ sake get some help down here. Doc Burton was snatched last night. I think he was. Doc was not a man to run out on us, but he is gone. This valley is organized like Italy. The vigilantes are raising hell. We need food and medicine and money. Dick is doing fine, only if we don’t get some outside help I am afraid we are sunk. I never ran into a place that was so God damn organized. About three men control the situation. For all I know Dick may be in the can now.

Jim is sure coming through. He makes me look like a pin. Tomorrow I expect that we will get kicked out of this place. The V’s. burned the owner’s barn, and he is awfully sore. With Doc Burton gone, the county health officers will bounce us. So try to think of something. They are after Jim’s and my scalp all the time. There ought to be somebody down here in case they get us.

I am howling for help, Harry. The sympathizers are scared, but that’s not the worst.

He picked up a new piece of paper.

The men are touchy. You know how they get. Tomorrow morning they might go down and burn the city hall, or they might bolt for the mountains and hide for six months. So for Christ’s sake, Harry, tell everybody we have to have help. If they run us out of here, we’ll have trouble finding a spot. We are going to picket in trucks. We can’t find out much that’s going on.

Well, so long. Jack will hand this to you. And for the love of God try to get some help here.

Mac

He read the letter over, crossed a neglected t, folded the paper and put it in the dirty envelope. This he addressed to John H. Weaver, esq.

Outside he heard a challenge. “Who is it?”

“London.”

“O.K.”

London came into the tent. He looked at Mac, and at the sleeping Jim. “Well, I got the guards out like he said.”

“That’s good. He’s all in. I wish Doc was here. I’m scared of that shoulder. He says it don’t hurt, but he’s a fool for punishment.” Mac turned the lantern back to the tent-pole and hung it on its nail.

London sat down on a box. “What got into him?” he asked softly. “One minute he’s a blabber-mouth kid, and the next minute, by Christ, he just boots me out and takes over.”

Mac’s eyes were proud. “I don’t know. I’ve saw guys get out of theirself before, but not like that. Jesus, you had to do what he said. At first I thought he was off his nut. I still don’t know if he was. Where’s the girl, London?”

“I bedded her and my kid down in an empty tent.”

Mac looked up sharply. “Where did you get an empty tent?”

“Some of the guys scrammed, I guess, in the dark.”

“Maybe it’s only the guards.”

“No,” London said. “I figured on them. I guess some of the guys run off.”

Mac rubbed his eyes hard with his knuckles. “I thought it was about time. Some of ’em just can’t take it. Listen, London, I got to sneak in an’ try to get a letter in the mailbox. I want to take a look around, too.”

“Whyn’t you let me send one of the guys?”

“Well, this letter’s got to get there. I better go myself. I been watched before. They won’t catch me.”

London regarded his thick hands. “Is—is it a red letter?” he asked.

“Well, I guess so. I’m trying to get some help, so this strike won’t flop.”

London spoke constrainedly. “Mac—like I said, you always hear about reds is a bunch of son-of-bitches. I guess that ain’t true, is it, Mac?”

Mac chuckled softly. “Depends on how you look at it. If you was to own thirty thousand acres of land and a million dollars, they’d be a bunch of sons-of-bitches. But if you’re just London, a workin’ stiff, why they’re a bunch of guys that want to help you live like a man, and not like a pig, see? ’Course you get your news from the papers, an’ the papers is owned by the guys with land and money, so we’re sons-of-bitches, see? Then you come acrost us, an’ we ain’t. You got to make up your own mind which it is.”

“Well, could a guy like I work in with you guys? I been doin’ kind o’ like that, lookin’ out for the guys that travel with me.”

“Damn right,” said Mac eagerly. “You’re damn right. You got leadership, London. You’re a workin’ stiff, but you’re a leader, too.”

London said simply, “Guys always done what I told ’em. All my life they done it.”

Mac lowered his voice. He moved close and put his hand on London’s knee. “Listen,” he said. “I guess we’re goin’ to lose this strike. But we raised enough hell so maybe there won’t be a strike in the cotton. Now the papers say we’re just causing trouble. But we’re getting the stiffs used to working together; getting bigger and bigger bunches working together all the time, see? It doesn’t make any difference if we lose. Here’s nearly a thousand men who’ve learned how to strike. When we get a whole slough of men working together, maybe—maybe Torgas Valley, most of it, won’t be owned by three men. Maybe a guy can get an apple for himself without going to jail for it, see? Maybe they won’t dump apples in the river to keep up the price. When guys like you and me need a apple to keep our God damn bowels open, see? You’ve got to look at the whole thing, London, not just this little strike.”

London was staring painfully at Mac’s mouth, as though he tried to see the words as they came out. “That’s kind of reva—revolution, ain’t it?”

“Sure it is. It’s a revolution against hunger and cold. The three guys that own this valley are going to raise hell to keep that land, and to keep dumping the apples to raise the price. A guy that thinks food ought to be eaten is a God damned red. D’you see that?”

London’s eyes were wide and dreaming. “I heard a lot of radical guys talkin’,” he said. “Never paid much attention. They always got mad. I ain’t got no faith in a mad guy. I never seen it the way you say it before, never.”

“Well, keep on seeing it, London. It’ll make you feel different. They say we play dirty, work underground. Did you ever think, London? We’ve got no guns. If anything happens to us, it don’t get in the newspapers. But if anything happens to the other side, Jesus, they smear it in ink. We’ve got no money, and no weapons, so we’ve got to use our heads, London. See that? It’s like a man with a club fighting a squad with machine guns. The only way he can do it is to sneak up and smack the gunners from behind. Maybe that isn’t fair, but hell, London, this isn’t any athletic contest. There aren’t any rules a hungry man has to follow.”

“I never seen it,” London said slowly. “Nobody never took time out to tell me. I like to see some of the guys that talk nice an’ quiet. Always, when I hear them, they’re mad. ‘God damn the cops,’ they say. ‘T’hell with the government.’ They’re goin’ to burn down the government buildings. I don’t like that, all them nice buildings. Nobody never told me about that other.”

“They didn’t use their heads, then,” said Mac.

“Mac, you said you guessed we’d lose this strike. What makes you think like that?”

Mac considered. “No—” he said, as though to himself, “You wouldn’t pull out now. I’ll tell you why, London. Power in this valley is in very few hands. The guy that came out yesterday was trying to get us to quit. But now they know we won’t quit. The only thing left is to drive us out or to kill us off. We could stand ’em off a while if we had food and a doctor, and if Anderson would back us up. But Anderson’s sore. They’ll kick us out if they have to use cannons. Once they get a court order, they’ll kick us right out. Then where are we going to go? Can’t jungle up, because there’ll be ordinances. They’ll split us up, an’ beat us that way. Our guys aren’t any too strong as it is. I’m afraid we can’t get any more stuff to eat.”

London said, “Whyn’t we just tell the guys to beat it, an’ the whole bunch of us get out?”

“Don’t talk so loud. You’ll wake up the kid. Here’s why. They can scare our guys, but we can throw a scare into them, too. We’ll take one last shot at them. We’ll hang on as long as we can. If they kill some of us the news’ll get around even if the papers don’t print it. Other guys’ll get sore. And we’ve got an enemy, see? Guys work together nice when they’ve got an enemy. That barn was burned down by our own kind of men, but they’ve been reading the papers, see? We’ve got to get ’em over on our side as quick as we can.” He took out a slim, limp bag of tobacco. “I’ve been saving this. I want a smoke. You smoke, London?”

“No. I chew when I can get it.”

Mac rolled himself a slender cigarette in the brown paper. He raised the lantern chimney to light the cigarette. “You ought to get in a nap, London. Christ knows what’s going to happen tonight. I’ve got to go in town and find a mailbox.”

“You might get caught.”

“No, I won’t. I’ll go in through the orchards. I won’t even get seen.” He stared past London, at the back of the tent. London swung around. The tent wall bellied up from the bottom, and Sam wriggled in, and stood up. He was muddy, and his clothes were torn. A long cut extended down his lean cheek. His lips were drawn back with fatigue, and his eyes were sunken.

“I on’y got a minute,” he said softly. “Jesus, what a job! You got a lot of guards out. I didn’t want nobody to see me. Somebody’d double-cross us sure.”

“You done it nice,” Mac said. “We seen the fire.”

“Sure. Damn near the whole house gone. But that ain’t it.” He looked nervously at Jim, sleeping on the mattress. “I—got caught.”

“Th’ hell!”

“Yeah, they grabbed me and got a look at me.”

“You oughtn’t to be here,” London said severely.

“I know. I wanted to tell you, though. You ain’t never seen me or heard of me. I had to—I kicked his brains out. I got to go now. If they get me again, I don’t want nothing, see? I’m nuts, see. I’m screwy. I talk about God told me to do it, see? I wanted to tell you. Don’t take no risk for me. I don’t want it.”

London went over to him and took his hand. “You’re a good guy, Sam. They don’t make ’em no better. I’ll see you sometime.”

Mac had his eye on the tent-flap. He said very quietly, over his shoulder, “If you get to town, forty-two Center Avenue. Say Mabel sent you. It’s only a meal. Don’t go more than once.”

“O.K., Mac. G’bye.” He was on his knees, with his head out, looking into the dark. In a second he squirmed out, and canvas dropped back into place.

London sighed. “I hope he makes it, Mac. He’s a good guy. They don’t make ’em no better.”

Mac said, “Don’t give it a thought. Somebody’ll kill him sometime, like that little guy Joy. He was sure to get popped off. Me an’ Jim’ll go that way, sooner or later. It’s almost sure, but it doesn’t make any difference.”

London’s mouth was open. “Jesus, what a hell of a way to look at it. Don’t you guys get no pleasure?”

“Damn right,” said Mac. “More than most people do. It’s an important job. You get a hell of a drive out of something that has some meaning to it, and don’t you forget it. The thing that takes the heart out of a man is work that doesn’t lead any place. Ours is slow, but it’s all going in one direction. Christ, I stand here shooting off my face. I’ve got to go.”

“Don’t let ’em get you, Mac.”

“I won’t, but listen, London, there’s nothing those guys would like better than to rub me and Jim out. I can take care of myself. Will you stay right here and not let anything happen to Jim? Will you?”

“Sure I will. I’ll set right here.”

“No, lie down on part of the mattress and get some sleep. But don’t let ’em get the kid. We need him, he’s valuable.”

“O.K.”

“So long,” said Mac. “I’ll get back as soon as I can. I’d like to find out what’s going on. Maybe I can get a paper.”

“So long.”

Mac went silently out of the doorway. London heard him speak to a guard, and then, farther off, to another. Even after he was gone, London listened to the sounds of the night. It was quiet outside, but there was no feeling of sleep. The footsteps of the prowling guards came and went, and their voices sounded in short greetings when they met. The roosters crowed, one near, and far away the deep voice of an old, wise cock—train bell and spurt of steam and pounding of a starting engine. London sat down on the mattress, beside Jim, one folded leg flat, and the other standing up and clasped between his hands. He bowed his head over his knee and rested his chin, and his eyes questioned Jim and probed him.

Jim moved restlessly. One arm flung out and dropped again. He said, “Oh—and—water.” He breathed heavily. “Tar over everything.” His eyes opened and blinked quickly, sightlessly. London unclasped his hands as though to touch Jim, but he didn’t touch him. The eyes closed and were quiet. A great transport truck rumbled into hearing. London heard a muffled cry outside the tent, some distance away. “Hey,” he cried softly.

One of the patrol came up. “What’s the matter, Boss?”

“Well who’s doin’ the yellin’?”

“That? Didn’t you hear that before? That’s the old guy with the busted hip. He’s crazy. They’re holdin’ him down. Fightin’ like a cat, an’ bitin’. They got a rag in his mouth.”

“Ain’t you Jake Pedroni? Sure you are. Look, Jake, I heard Doc say if the old guy didn’t get soap and water up him to keep him cleared out, he’d get like that. I got to stay here. You go over and get it done, will you, Jake?”

“Sure, boss.”

“O.K. Get along. It ain’t doin’ his hip no good to fight. How’s the guy with the busted ankle?”

“Oh, him. Somebody give ’im a slug of whiskey. He’s O.K.”

“Call me if anything happens, Jake.”

“All right, I will.”

London went back to the mattress and lay down beside Jim. Far away, the engine pounded, faster and faster in the night. The old tough rooster crowed first, and the young one answered. London felt heavy sleep creeping into his brain, but he rose up on his elbow and looked at Jim once more before he let the sleep wash over him.