4

THE sun was just clearing the buildings of the city when Jim and Mac came to the railroad yards, where the shining metals converged and separated and spread out into the great gridiron of storage tracks where line after line of cars stood.

Mac said, “There’s a freight train supposed to go out at seven-thirty, empties. Let’s go down the track a way.” He hurried through the yard toward the end, where the many tracks drew together into the main line.

“Do we have to get it on the move?” Jim asked.

“Oh, it won’t be going fast. I forgot, you never caught a freight, did you?”

Jim spread his stride in an attempt to walk on every other tie, and found he couldn’t quite make it. “Seems to me I never did much of anything,” he admitted. “Everything’s new to me.”

“Well, it’s easy now. The company lets guys ride. In the old days it was tough. Train crews used to throw the stiffs off a moving train when they could catch them.”

A great black water tower stood beside the track, its goose-neck spout raised up against its side. The multitude of tracks was behind them, and only one line of worn and mirror-polished rails extended ahead. “Might as well sit down and wait,” said Mac. “She’ll be along pretty soon now.”

The long, lonely howl of a train whistle and the slow crash of escaping steam sounded at the end of his words. And at the signal, men began to stand up out of the ditch beside the track and to stretch their arms lazily in the cool morning sun.

“We’re going to have company,” Mac observed.

The long freight of empties came slowly down the yard, red box-cars and yellow refrigerator cars, black iron gondolas and round tank cars. The engine went by at little more pace than a man could walk, and the engineer waved a black, shiny glove at the men in the ditch. He yelled, “Going to the picnic?” and playfully released a spurt of white steam from between the wheels.

Mac said, “We want a box-car. There, that one. The door’s open a little.” Trotting beside the car he pushed at the door. “Give a hand,” he called. Jim put his hand to the iron handle and threw his weight against it. The big sliding door screeched rustily open a few feet. Mac put his hands on the sill, vaulted, turned in the air and landed in a sitting position in the doorway. Quickly he stood up out of the way while Jim imitated him. The floor of the car was littered with lining paper, torn down from the walls. Mac kicked a pile of the paper together and forced it against the wall. “Get yourself some,” he shouted. “It makes a nice cushion.”

Before Jim had piled up his paper, a new head appeared in the doorway. A man flung himself in and two more followed him. The first man looked quickly about the car floor and then stood over Mac. “Got just about all of it, didn’t you?”

“Got what?” Mac asked innocently.

“The paper. You done a good clean job.”

Mac smiled disarmingly. “We didn’t know there was guests coming.” He stood up. “Here, take some of it.”

The man gaped at Mac for a moment, and then he leaned over and picked up the whole cushion of papers.

Mac touched him gently on the shoulder. “All right, punk,” he said in a monotone. “Put it all down. If you’re going to be a hog you don’t get none.”

The man dropped the paper. “You going to make me?” he asked.

Mac dropped daintily back, balancing on the balls of his feet. His hands hung open and loose at his sides. “Do you ever go to the Rosanna Fight Stadium?” he asked.

“Yeah, and what of it?”

“You’re a God-damn liar,” Mac said. “If you went there, you’d know who I am, and you’d take better care of yourself.”

A look of doubt came over the man’s face. He glanced uneasily at the two men who had come with him. One stood by the doorway, looking out at the moving country. The other one elaborately cleaned his nostrils with a bandana and inspected his findings. The first man looked at Mac again. “I don’t want no trouble,” he said. “I just wanted a little bit of paper to sit on.”

Mac dropped on his heels. “O.K.,” he said. “Take some. But leave some, too.” The man approached the pile and picked up a small handful. “Oh, you can have more than that.”

“We ain’t goin’ far,” said the man. He settled down beside the door and clasped his legs with his arms, and rested his chin on his knees.

The blocks were passed now, and the train gathered speed. The wooden car roared like a sounding-box. Jim stood up and pushed the door wide open to let in the morning sunlight. He sat down in the doorway and hung his legs over. For a while he looked down, until the flashing ground made him dizzy. And then he raised his eyes to the yellow stubble fields beside the track. The air was keen and pleasantly flavored with smoke from the engine.

In a moment Mac joined him. “Look you don’t fall out,” he shouted. “I knew a guy once that got dizzy looking at the ground and fell right out on his face.”

Jim pointed to a white farmhouse and a red barn, half hidden behind a row of young eucalyptus trees. “Is the country we’re going to as pretty as this?”

“Prettier,” said Mac. “It’s all apple trees, miles of ’em. They’ll be covered with apples this season, just covered with ’em. The limbs just sagging down with apples you pay a nickel apiece for in town.”

“Mac, I don’t know why I didn’t come into the country oftener. It’s funny how you want to do a thing and never do it. Once when I was a kid one of those lodges took about five hundred of us on a picnic, took us in trucks. We walked around and around. There were big trees. I remember I climbed up in the top of a tree and sat there most of the afternoon. I thought I’d go back there every time I could. But I never did.”

Mac said, “Stand up, Jim. Let’s close this door. We’re coming to Wilson. No good irritating the railroad cops.”

Together they pulled the door shut, and suddenly the car was dark and warm, and it throbbed like the body of a bass viol. The beat of wheels on the rail-ends grew less rapid as the freight slowed to go through the town. The three men stood up. “We get out here,” the leader said. He pushed open the door a foot. His two followers swung out. He turned to Mac. “I hope you don’t hold no grudge, pardner.”

“No, ’course not.”

“Well, so long.” He swung out. “You dirty son-of-a-bitch,” he yelled as he hit the ground.

Mac laughed and pulled the door nearly shut. For a few moments the train rolled slowly. And the rail-end tempo increased. Mac threw the door wide again and sat down in the sun. “There was a beauty,” he said.

Jim asked, “Are you really a prize-fighter, Mac?”

“Hell no. He was the easiest kind of a sucker. He figured I was scared of him when I offered him some of my paper. You can’t make a general rule of it, because sometimes it flops, but mostly a guy that tries to scare you is a guy that can be scared.” He turned his heavy, good-natured face to Jim. “I don’t know why it is, but every time I talk to you I either end up soap-boxing or giving a lecture.”

“Well, hell, Mac, I like to listen.”

“I guess that’s it. We’ve got to get off at Weaver and catch an east-bound freight. That’s about a hundred miles down. If we’re lucky, we ought to get to Torgas in the middle of the night.” He pulled out a sack of tobacco and rolled a cigarette, holding the paper in out of the rushing air. “Smoke, Jim?”

“No, thanks.”

“You got no vices, have you. And you’re not a Christer either. Don’t you even go out with girls?”

“No,” said Jim. “Used to be, when I got riled up I’d go to a cat-house. You wouldn’t believe it, Mac, but ever since I started to grow up I been scared of girls. I guess I was scared I’d get caught.”

“Too attractive, huh?”

“No, you see all the guys I used to run around with went through the mill. They used to try to make girls behind billboards and down in the lumber yard. Well, sooner or later some girl’d get knocked higher than a kite, and then—well, hell, Mac, I was scared I’d get caught like my mother and my old man—two room flat and a wood stove. Christ knows I don’t want luxury, but I don’t want to get batted around the way all the kids I knew got it. Lunch pail in the morning with a piece of soggy pie and a thermos bottle of stale coffee.”

Mac said, “You’ve picked a hell of a fine life if you don’t want to get batted around. Wait till we finish this job, you’ll get batted plenty.”

“That’s different,” Jim protested. “I don’t mind getting smacked on the chin. I just don’t want to get nibbled to death. There’s a difference.”

Mac yawned. “It’s not a difference that’s going to keep me awake. Cat-houses aren’t much fun.” He got up and went back to the pile of papers, and he spread them out and lay down and went to sleep.

For a long time Jim sat in the doorway, watching the farms go by. There were big market vegetable gardens with rows of round lettuces and rows of fern-like carrots, and red beet leaves, with glistening water running between the rows. The train went by fields of alfalfa, and by great white dairy barns from which the wind brought the rich, healthy smell of manure and ammonia. And then the freight entered a pass in the hills, and the sun was cut off. Ferns and green live oaks grew on the steep sides of the right-of-way. The roaring rhythm of the train beat on Jim’s senses and made him drowsy. He fought off sleep so that he might see more of the country, shook his head violently to jar himself awake; but at last he stood up, ran the door nearly closed, and retired to his own pile of papers. His sleep was a shouting, echoing black cave, and it extended into eternity.

Mac shook him several times before he could wake up. “It’s nearly time to get off,” Mac shouted.

Jim sat up. “Good God, have we gone a hundred miles?”

“Pretty near. Noise kind of drugs you, don’t it. I can’t ever stay awake in a box-car. Pull yourself together. We’re going to slow down in a couple of minutes.”

Jim held his dull head between his hands for a moment. “I do feel slugged,” he said.

Mac threw open the door. He called, “Jump the way we’re going, and land running.” He leaped out, and Jim followed him.

Jim looked at the sun, almost straight overhead. In front of him he could see the clustered houses and the shade trees of a little town. The freight pulled on and left them standing.

Mac explained, “The railroad branches here. The line we want cuts over that way toward the Torgas Valley. We won’t go through town at all. Let’s jump across the fields and catch the line over there.”

Jim followed him over a barbed-wire fence and across a stubble field, and into a dirt road. They skirted the edge of the little town, and in half a mile came upon another railroad right-of-way.

Mac sat down on the embankment and called Jim to sit beside him. “Here’s a good place. There’s lots of cars moving. I don’t know how long we’ll have to wait.” He rolled a brown cigarette. “Jim,” he said. “You ought to take up smoking. It’s a nice social habit. You’ll have to talk to a lot of strangers in your time. I don’t know any quicker way to soften a stranger down than to offer him a smoke, or even to ask him for one. And lots of guys feel insulted if they offer you a cigarette and you don’t take it. You better start.”

“I guess I will,” said Jim. “I used to smoke with the kids. I wonder if it’d make me sick now.”

“Try it. Here, I’ll roll one for you.”

Jim took the cigarette and lighted it. “It tastes pretty good,” he said. “I’d almost forgotten what it tasted like.”

“Well, even if you don’t like it, it’s a good thing to do in our work. It’s the one little social thing guys in our condition have. Listen, there’s a train coming.” He stood up. “It looks like a freight, too.”

The train came slowly down the track. “Well, for Christ’ sake!” Mac cried. “Eighty-seven! It’s our own train. They told me in town that train went on south. It must of just dropped off a few cars and then come right out.”

“Let’s get our old car back,” said Jim. “I liked that car.”

As it came abreast, they hopped aboard the box-car again. Mac settled into his pile of papers. “We might just as well have stayed asleep.”

Jim sat in the doorway again, while the train crept into the round brown hills, and through two short tunnels. He could still taste the tobacco in his mouth, and it tasted good. Suddenly he dug in the pocket of his blue denim coat. “Mac,” he cried.

“Yeah? What?”

“Here’s a couple of chocolate bars I got last night.”

Mac took one of the bars and lazily unwrapped it. “I can see you’re going to be an asset in any man’s revolution,” he said.

In about an hour the drowsiness came upon Jim again. Reluctantly he closed the door of the car and curled up in his papers. Almost instantly he was in the black, roaring cave again, and the sound made dreams of water pouring over him. Vaguely he could see debris and broken bits of wood in the water. And the water bore him down and down into the dark place below dreaming.

He awakened when Mac shook him. “I bet you’d sleep a week if I’d let you. You’ve put in over twelve hours today.”

Jim rubbed his eyes hard. “I feel slugged again.”

“Well, get yourself together. We’re coming into Torgas.”

“Good God, what time is it?”

“Somewhere about midnight, I guess. Here we come; you ready to hop?”

“Sure.”

“O.K. Come on.”

The train pulled slowly on away from them. The station of Torgas was only a little way ahead, with its red light on and glancing along the blade of the semaphore. The brakeman was swinging a lantern back and forth. Over to the right the lonely, cold street lights of the town burned and put a pale glow in the sky. The air was cold now. A sharp, soundless wind blew.

“I’m hungry,” Jim said. “Got any ideas about eating, Mac?”

“Wait till we get to a light. I think I’ve got a good prospect on my list.” He hurried away into the darkness, and Jim trotted after him. They came immediately into the edge of the town, and on a corner, under one of the lights, Mac stopped and pulled out a sheet of paper. “We got a nice town here, Jim,” he said. “Nearly fifty active sympathizers. Guys you can rely on to give you a lift. Here’s the guy I want. Alfred Anderson, Townsend, between Fourth and Fifth, Al’s Lunch Wagon. What do you think of that?”

“What’s that paper?” Jim asked.

“Why, it’s a list of all the people in town we know to be sympathizers. With this list we can get anything from knitted wristlets to a box of shotgun shells. But Al’s Lunch Wagon—lunch wagons generally stay open all night, Jim. Townsend, that’ll be one of the main streets. Come on, but let me work this.”

They turned soon into the main street, and walked down its length until, near the end, where stores were vacant and lots occurred between buildings, they found Al’s Lunch Wagon, a cozy looking little car with red stained-glass in the windows, and a sliding door. Through the window they could see that two customers sat on the stools, and that a fat young man with heavy, white, bare arms hovered behind the counter.

“Pie and coffee guys,” Mac said. “Let’s wait till they finish.”

While they loitered, a policeman approached, and eyed them. Mac said loudly, “I don’t want to go home till I get a piece of pie.”

Jim reacted quickly. “Come on home,” he said. “I’m too sleepy to eat.”

The policeman passed them. He seemed almost to sniff at them as he went by. Mac said quietly, “He thinks we’re trying to get up our nerve to stick up the wagon.” The policeman turned and walked back toward them. Mac said, “Well, go home then, if you want. I’m going to get a piece of pie.” He climbed the three steps and slid open the door of the lunch wagon.

The proprietor smiled at them. “’Evening, gents,” he said. “Turning on cold, ain’t it?”

“Sure is,” said Mac. He walked to the end of the counter farthest from the other two customers and sat down. A shadow of annoyance crossed Al’s face.

“Now listen, you guys,” he said. “If you got no money you can have a cup of coffee and a couple of sinkers. But don’t eat up a dinner on me and then tell me to call a cop. Jesus, I’m being busted by pan-handlers.”

Mac laughed shortly. “Coffee and sinkers will be just elegant, Alfred,” he said.

The proprietor glanced suspiciously at him and took off his high white cook’s hat, and scratched his head.

The customers drained their cups together. One of them asked, “Do you always feed bums, Al?”

“Well, Jesus, what can you do? If a guy wants a cup of coffee on a cold night, you can’t let him down because he hasn’t got a lousy nickel.”

The customer chuckled. “Well, twenty cups of coffee is a dollar, Al. You’ll fold up if you go about it that way. Coming, Will?” The two got up and paid their checks and walked out.

Al came around the corner and followed them to the door and slid it more tightly closed. Then he walked back down the counter and leaned over toward Mac. “Who are you guys?” he demanded. He had fat, comfortable white arms, bare to the elbows. He carried a damp cloth with which he wiped and wiped at the counter, with little circular movements. His manner of leaning close when he spoke made every speech seem secret.

Mac winked solemnly, like a conspirator. “We’re sent down from the city on business,” he said.

A red flush of excitement bloomed on Al’s fat cheeks. “Oho-o. That’s just what I thought when you come in. How’d you know to come to me?”

Mac explained. “You been good to our people, and we don’t forget things like that.”

Al beamed importantly, as though he were receiving a gift instead of being bummed for a meal. “Here, wait,” he said. “You guys probably ain’t ate today. I’ll sling on a couple of hamburg steaks.”

“That’ll be swell,” Mac agreed enthusiastically. “We’re just about starved.”

Al went to his ice-box and dug out two handfuls of ground meat. He patted them thin between his hands, painted the gas plate with a little brush and tossed down the steaks. He put chopped onions on top and around the meat. A delicious odor filled the room instantly.

“Lord,” said Mac. “I’d like to crawl right over this counter and nest in that hamburger.”

The meat hissed loudly and the onions began to turn brown. Al leaned over the counter again. “What you guys got on down here?”

“Well, you got a lot of nice apples,” said Mac.

Al pushed himself upright and leaned against the fat buttresses of his arms. His little eyes grew very wise and secret. “Oho,” he said. “O-ho-o, I get you.”

“Better turn over that meat, then,” said Mac.

Al flipped the steaks and pressed them down with his spatula. And he gathered in the vagrant onions and heaped them on top of the meat, and pressed them in. Very deliberate he was in his motions, as inwardly-thoughtful-looking as a ruminating cow. At last he came back and planted himself in front of Mac. “My old man’s got a little orchard and a piece of land,” he said. “You guys wouldn’t hurt him none, would you? I been good to you.”

“Sure you been good,” said Mac. “The little farmers don’t suffer from us. You tell your father we won’t hurt him; and if he gives us a break, we’ll see his fruit gets picked.”

“Thanks,” said Al. “I’ll tell him.” He took up the steaks, spooned mashed potatoes on the plates from the steam table, made a hollow in each potato mountain and filled the white craters with light brown gravy.

Mac and Jim ate voraciously and drank the mugs of coffee Al set for them. And they wiped their plates with bread and ate the bread while Al filled up their coffee cups again. “That was swell, Al,” Jim said. “I was starved.”

Mac added, “It sure was. You’re a good guy, Al.”

“I’d be along with you,” Al explained, “if I didn’t have a business, and if my old man didn’t own land. I guess I’d get this joint wrecked if anybody ever found out.”

“They’ll never find out from us, Al.”

“Sure, I know that.”

“Listen, Al, are there many working stiffs in yet for the harvest?”

“Yeah, big bunch of them. Good many eat here. I set up a pretty nice dinner for a quarter—soup, meat, two vegetables, bread and butter, pie and two cups of coffee for a quarter. I take a little profit and sell more.”

“Good work,” said Mac. “Listen, Al, did you hear any of the stiffs talking about a leader?”

“Leader?”

“Sure, I mean some guy that kind of tells ’em where to put their feet.”

“I see what you mean,” said Al. “No, I don’t rightly recall nothing about it.”

“Well, where are the guys hanging out?”

Al rubbed his soft chin. “Well, there’s two bunches I know of. One’s out on Palo Road, alongside the county highway, and then there’s a bunch jungled up by the river. There’s a regular old jungle down there in the willows.”

“That’s the stuff. How do we get there?”

Al pointed a thick finger. “You take that cross street and stay on it till you get to the edge of town, and there’s the river and the bridge. Then you’ll find a path through the willows, off to the left. Follow that about a quarter mile, and there you are. I don’t know how many guys is there.”

Mac stood up and put on his hat. “You’re a good guy, Al. We’ll get along now. Thanks for the feed.”

Al said, “My old man’s got a shed with a cot in it, if you’d like to stay out there.”

“Can’t do it, Al. If we’re going to work, we got to get out among them.”

“Well, if you want a bite now and then, come on in,” said Al. “Only pick it like tonight when there’s nobody here, won’t you?”

“Sure, Al. We get you. Thanks again.”

Mac let Jim precede him through the door and then slid it closed behind him. They walked down the steps and took the street Al had pointed out. At the corner the policeman stepped out of a doorway. “What’s on your mind?” he asked harshly.

Jim jumped back at the sudden appearance, but Mac stood quietly. “Couple of workin’ stiffs, mister,” he said. “We figure to pick a few apples.”

“What you doing on the street this time of night?”

“Hell, we just got off that freight that went through an hour ago!”

“Where you going now?”

“Thought we’d jungle up with the boys down by the river.”

The policeman maintained his position in front of them. “Got any money?”

“You saw us buy a meal, didn’t you? We got enough to keep out of jail on a vag charge.”

The policeman stood aside then. “Well, get going, and keep off the streets at night.”

“O.K., mister.”

They walked quickly on. Jim said, “You sure talked to him pretty, Mac.”

“Why not? That’s the first lesson. Never argue with a cop, particularly at night. It’d be swell if we got thirty days for vagrancy right now, wouldn’t it?”

They hugged their denim clothes against their chests and hurried along the street, and the lights grew more infrequent.

“How are you going to go about getting started?” Jim asked.

“I don’t know. We’ve got to use everything. Look, we start out with a general plan, but the details have to be worked out with any materials we can find. We use everything we can get hold of. That’s the only thing we can do. We’ll just look over the situation.”

Jim lengthened his stride with a drive of energy. “Well, let me do things, won’t you, Mac? I don’t want to be a stooge all my life.”

Mac laughed. “You’ll get used, all right. You’ll get used till you’ll wish you was back in town with an eight-hour job.”

“No, I don’t think I will, Mac. I never felt so good before. I’m all swelled up with a good feeling. Do you feel that way?”

“Sometimes,” said Mac. “Mostly I’m too damn busy to know how I feel.”

The buildings along the street were more dilapidated as they went. Welding works and used car lots and the great trash piles of auto-wrecking yards. The street lights shone on the blank, dead windows of old and neglected houses, and made shadows under shrubs that had gone to brush. The men walked quickly in the cool night air. “I think I see the bridge lights now,” Jim said. “See those three lights on each side?”

“I see ’em. Didn’t he say turn left?”

“Yeah, left.”

It was a two-span concrete bridge over a narrow river that was reduced at this season to a sluggish little creek in the middle of a sandy bed. Jim and Mac went to the left of the bridge ramp, and near the edge of the river bed they found the opening of a trail into the willows. Mac took the lead. In a moment they were out of range of the bridge lights, and the thick willow scrub was all about them. They could see the branches against the lighter sky, and, to the right, on the edge of the river bed, a dark wall of large cottonwoods.

“I can’t see this path,” Mac said. “I’ll just have to feel it with my feet.” He moved carefully, slowly. “Hold up your arms to protect your face, Jim.”

“I am. I got switched right across the mouth a minute ago.” For a while they felt their way along the hard, used trail. “I smell smoke,” Jim said. “It can’t be far now.”

Suddenly Mac stopped. “There’s lights ahead. Listen, Jim, the same thing goes as back there. Let me do the talking.”

“O.K.”

The trail came abruptly into a large clearing, flickeringly lighted by a little bonfire. Along the farther side were three dirty white tents; and in one of them a light burned and huge black figures moved on the canvas. In the clearing itself there were perhaps fifty men, some sleeping on the ground in sausage rolls of blankets, while a number sat around the little fire in the middle of the flat cleared place. As Jim and Mac stepped clear of the willows they heard a short, sharp cry, quickly checked, which came from the lighted tent. Immediately the great shadows moved nervously on the canvas.

“Somebody’s sick,” Mac said softly. “We didn’t hear it yet. It pays to appear to mind your own business.”

They moved toward the fire, where a ring of men sat clasping their knees. “Can a guy join this club?” Mac asked, “or does he got to be elected?”

The faces of the men were turned up at him, unshaven faces with eyes in which the firelight glowed. One of the men moved sideways to make room. “Ground’s free, mister.”

Mac chuckled. “Not where I come from.”

A lean, lighted face across the fire spoke. “You come to a good place, fella. Everything’s free here, food, liquor, automobiles, houses. Just move in and set down to a turkey dinner.”

Mac squatted and motioned Jim to sit beside him. He pulled out his sack of tobacco and made a careful, excellent cigarette; then, as an afterthought, “Would any of you capitalists like a smoke?”

Several hands thrust out. The bag went from man to man. “Just get in?” the lean face asked.

“Just. Figure to pick a few apples and retire on my income.”

Lean-face burst out angrily. “Know what they’re payin’, fella? Fifteen cents, fifteen lousy cents!"

“Well, what do you want?” Mac demanded. “Jesus Christ, man! You ain’t got the nerve to say you want to eat? You can eat an apple while you’re workin’. All them nice apples!” His tone grew hard. “S’pose we don’t pick them apples?”

Lean-face cried, “We got to pick ’em. Spent every Goddamn cent gettin’ here.”

Mac repeated softly, “All them nice apples. If we don’t pick ’em, they’ll rot.”

“If we don’t pick ’em, somebody else will.”

“S’pose we didn’t let nobody else pick?” Mac said.

The men about the fire grew tense. “You mean—strike?” Lean-face asked.

Mac laughed. “I don’t mean nothin’.”

A short man who rested his chin between his knees said, “When London found out what they was payin’ he damn near had a stroke.” He turned to the man next to him. “You seen him, Joe. Didn’t he damn near have a stroke?”

“Turned green,” said Joe. “Just stood there and turned green. Picked up a stick and bust it to splinters in his hands.”

The bag of tobacco came back to its starting place, but there was not much left in it. Mac felt it with his fingers and then put it in his pocket. “Who’s London?” he asked.

Lean-face answered him. “London’s a good guy—a big guy. We travel with him. He’s a big guy.”

“The boss, huh?”

“Well, no, he ain’t a boss, but he’s a good guy. We kind of travel with him. You ought to hear him talk to a cop. He——

The cry came from the tent again, more prolonged this time. The men turned their heads toward it, and then looked apathetically back at the fire.

“Somebody sick?” Mac asked.

“London’s daughter’n-law. She’s havin’ a kid.”

Mac said, “This ain’t no place t’have a kid. They got a doctor?”

“Hell no! Where’d they get a doctor?”

“Why’n’t they take her to the county, hospital?”

Lean-face scoffed. “They won’t have no crop tramps in the county hospital. Don’t you know that? They got no room. Always full-up.”

“I know it,” said Mac. “I just wondered if you did.”

Jim shivered and picked up a little willow stick and thrust the end into the coals until it flared into flame. Mac’s hand came stealing out of the darkness and took his arm for a moment, and gripped it.

Mac asked, “They got anybody that knows anything about it?”

“Got an old woman,” Lean-face said. His eyes turned suspicious under the questioning. “Say, what’s it to you?”

“I had some training,” Mac explained casually. “I know something about it. Thought I might help out.”

“Well, go see London.” Lean-face shucked off responsibility. “It ain’t none of our business to answer questions about him.”

Mac ignored the suspicion. “Guess I will.” He stood up. “Come on, Jim. Is London in that tent with the light?”

“Yeah, that’s him.”

A circle of lighted faces watched Jim and Mac walk away, and then the heads swung back to the fire again. The two men picked their way across the clearing, avoiding the bundles of cloth that were sleeping men.

Mac whispered, “What a break! If I can pull it off, we’re started.”

“What do you mean? Mac, I didn’t know you had medical training.”

“A whole slough of people don’t know it,” said Mac. They approached the tent, where dark figures moved about on the canvas. Mac stepped close and called, “London.”

Almost instantly the tent-flap bellied and a large man stepped out. His shoulders were immense. Stiff dark hair grew in a tonsure, leaving the top of the head perfectly bald. His face was corded with muscular wrinkles and his dark eyes were as fierce and red as those of a gorilla. A power of authority was about the man. It could be felt that he led men as naturally as he breathed. With one big hand he held the tent-flap closed behind him. “What you want?” he demanded.

“We just got in,” Mac explained. “Some guys over by the fire says there was a girl havin’ a baby.”

“Well, what of it?”

“I thought I might help out as long as you got no doctor.”

London opened the flap and let a streak of light fall on Mac’s face. “What you think you can do?”

“I worked in hospitals,” Mac said. “I done this before. It don’t pay to take no chances, London.”

The big man’s voice dropped. “Come on in,” he said. “We got an old woman here, but I think she’s nuts. Come in and take a look.” He held up the tent-flap for them to enter.

Inside it was crowded and very hot. A candle burned in a saucer. In the middle of the tent stood a stove made of a kerosene can, and beside it sat an old and wrinkled woman. A white-faced boy stood in one corner of the tent. Along the rear wall an old mattress was laid on the ground, and on this lay a young girl, her face pale and streaked with brown dirt, her hair matted. The eyes of all three turned to Mac and Jim. The old woman looked up for a moment and then dropped her eyes to the red-hot stove. She scratched the back of one hand with the nails of the other.

London walked over to the mattress and kneeled down beside it. The girl pulled her frightened eyes from Mac and looked at London. He said, “We got a doctor here now. You don’t need to be scared no more.”

Mac looked down at her and winked. Her face was stiff with fright. The boy came over from his corner and pawed Mac’s shoulder. “She gonna be all right, Doc?”

“Sure, she’s O.K.”

Mac turned to the old woman. “You a midwife?”

She scratched the backs of her wrinkled hands and looked vacantly up at him, but she didn’t answer. “I asked if you was a midwife?” he cried.

“No—but I’ve took one or two babies in my life.”

Mac reached down and picked up one of her hands and held the lighted candle close to it. The nails were long and broken and dirty, and the hands were bluish-grey. “You’ve took some dead ones, then,” he said. “What was you goin’ to use for cloths?”

The old woman pointed to a pile of newspapers. “Lisa ain’t had but two pains,” she whined. “We got papers to catch the mess.”

London leaned forward, his mouth slightly open with attention, his eyes searching Mac’s eyes. The tonsure shone in the candle-light. He corroborated the old woman. “Lisa had two pains, just finished one.”

Mac made a little gesture toward the outside with his head. He went out through the tent-flap and London and Jim followed him. “Listen,” he said to London, “you seen them hands. The kid might live if he’s grabbed with hands like that, but the girl don’t stand a hell of a chance. You better kick that old girl out.”

“You do the job then?” London demanded.

Mac was silent for a moment. “Sure I’ll do it. Jim, here’ll help me some; but I got to have more help, a whole hell of a lot more help.”

“Well, I’ll give you a hand,” London said.

“That ain’t enough. Will any of the guys out there give a hand?”

London laughed shortly. “You damn right they will if I tell ’em.”

“Well, you tell ’em, then,” Mac said. “Tell ’em now.” He led the way to the little fire, around which the circle of men still sat. They looked up as the three approached.

Lean-face said, “Hello, London.”

London spoke loudly. “I want you guys should listen to Doc, here.” A few other men strolled up and stood waiting. They were listless and apathetic, but they came to the voice of authority.

Mac cleared his throat. “London’s got a daughter’n-law, and she’s goin’ to have a baby. He tried to get her in the county hospital, but they wouldn’t take her. They’re full up, and besides we’re a bunch of lousy crop tramps. O.K. They won’t help us. We got to do it ourselves.”

The men seemed to stiffen a little, to draw together. The apathy began to drop from them. They hunched closer to the fire. Mac went on, “Now I worked in hospitals, so I can help, but I need you guys to help too. Christ, we got to stand by our own people. Nobody else will.”

Lean-face boosted himself up. “All right, fella,” he said. “What do you want us to do?”

In the firelight Mac’s face broke into a smile of pleasure and of triumph. “Swell!” he said. “You guys know how to work together. Now first we got to have water boiling. When it’s boiling, we got to get white cloth into it, and boil the cloth. I don’t care where you get the cloth, or how you get it.” He pointed out three men. “Now you, and you and you get a big fire going. And you get a couple of big kettles. There ought to be some five-gallon cans around. The rest of you gather up cloth; get anything, handkerchiefs, old shirts—anything, as long as it’s white. When you get the water boiling, put the cloth in and keep it boiling for half an hour. I want a little pot of hot water as quick as I can get it.” The men were beginning to get restive. Mac said, “Wait. One more thing. I want a lamp, a good one. Some of you guys get me one. If nobody’ll give you one, steal it. I got to have light.”

A change was in the air. The apathy was gone from the men. Sleepers were awakened and told, and added themselves to the group. A current of excitement filled the jungle, but a kind of joyful excitement. Fires were built up. Four big cans of water were put on to boil; and then cloth began to appear. Every man seemed to have something to add to the pile. One took off his undershirt and threw it into the water and then put on his shirt again. The men seemed suddenly happy. They laughed together as they broke dead cottonwood branches for the fire.

Jim stood beside Mac, watching the activity. “What do you want me to do?” he asked.

“Come in with me. You can help me in the tent.” At that moment a cry came from the tent. Mac said quickly, “Bring me a can of hot water as quick as you can, Jim. Here,” he held out a little bottle. “Put about four of these tablets in each of those big cans. Bring the bottle back to me when you bring the water.” He hurried away toward the tent.

Jim counted the tablets into the cans, and then he scooped a large bucketful of water from one of them and followed Mac into the tent. The old woman was crouched in a corner, out of the way. She scratched her hands and peered out suspiciously while Mac dropped two of the tablets into the warm water and dipped his hands into it. “We can anyway get our hands clean,” he said.

“What’s the bottle?”

“Bichloride of mercury. I always take it with me. Here, you wash your hands, Jim, and then get some fresh water.”

A voice outside the tent called, “Here’s your lamps, Doc.”

Mac went to the flap and brought them back, a round-wick Rochester lamp and a powerful gasoline lantern. “Some poor devil’s going to do his milking in the dark,” he said to Jim. He pumped up pressure in the gasoline lamp, and when he lighted it the mantles glared, a hard, white light, and the lantern’s hiss filled the tent. The crack of breaking wood and the sound of voices came in from outside.

Mac set his lantern down beside the mattress. “Going to be all right, Lisa,” he said. Gently he tried to lift the dirty quilt which covered her. London and the white-faced boy looked on. In a panic of modesty Lisa held the quilt down about her. “Come on, Lisa, I’ve got to get you ready,” Mac said persuasively. Still she clutched at the quilt.

London stepped over. “Lisa,” he said. “You do it.” Her frightened eyes swung to London, and then reluctantly she let go her hold on the quilt. Mac folded it back over her breast and unbuttoned her cotton underwear. “Jim,” he called. “Go out and fish me a piece of cloth and get me some soap.”

When Jim had brought him a steaming cloth and a thin, hard piece of soap, Mac washed the legs and thighs and stomach. He worked so gently that some of the fear left Lisa’s face.

The men brought in the boiled cloths.

The pains came quicker and quicker.

It was dawn when the birth started. Once the tent shook violently. Mac looked over his shoulder. “London, your kid’s fainted,” he said. “Better take him out in the air.” With a look of profound embarrassment London slung the frail boy over his shoulder and carried him out.

The baby’s head appeared. Mac supported it with his hands, and while Lisa squealed weakly, the birth was completed. Mac cut the cord with a sterilized pocket-knife.

The sun shone on the canvas and the lantern hissed on. Jim wrung out the warm cloths and handed them to Mac when he washed the shrunken little baby. And Jim washed and scrubbed the hands of the old woman before Mac let her take the baby. An hour later the placenta came, and Mac carefully washed Lisa again. “Now get all this mess out,” he told London. “Burn all these rags.”

London asked, “Even the cloths you didn’t use?”

“Yep. Burn it all. It’s no good.” His eyes were tired. He took a last look around the tent. The old woman held the wrapped baby in her arms. Lisa’s eyes were closed and she breathed quietly on her mattress. “Come on, Jim. Let’s get some sleep.”

In the clearing the men were sleeping again. The sun shone on the tops of the willows. Mac and Jim crawled into a little cave in the undergrowth and lay down together.

Jim said, “My eyes feel sandy. I’m tired. I never knew you worked in a hospital, Mac.”

Mac crossed his hands behind his head. “I never did.”

“Well, where did you learn about births?”

“I never learned till now. I never saw one before. The only thing I knew was that it was a good idea to be clean. God, I was lucky it came through all right. If anything’d happened, we’d’ve been sunk. That old woman knew lots more than I did. I think she knew it, too.”

“You acted sure enough,” Jim said.

“Well, Christ Almighty, I had to! We’ve got to use whatever material comes to us. That was a lucky break. We simply had to take it. ’Course it was nice to help the girl, but hell, even if it killed her—we’ve got to use anything.” He turned on his side and pillowed his head on his arm. “I’m all in, but I feel good. With one night’s work we’ve got the confidence of the men and the confidence of London. And more than that, we made the men work for themselves, in their own defense, as a group. That’s what we’re out here for anyway, to teach them to fight in a bunch. Raising wages isn’t all we’re after. You know all that.”

“Yes,” Jim said. “I knew that, but I didn’t know how you were going to go about it.”

“Well, there’s just one rule—use whatever material you’ve got. We’ve got no machine guns and troops. Tonight was good; the material was ready, and we were ready. London’s with us. He’s the natural leader. We’ll teach him where to lead. Got to go awful easy, though. Leadership has to come from the men. We can teach them method, but they’ve got to do the job themselves. Pretty soon we’ll start teaching method to London, and he can teach it to the men under him. You watch,” Mac said, “the story of last night will be all over the district by tonight. We got our oar in already, and it’s better than I hoped. We might go to the can later for practicing medicine without a license, but that would only tie the men closer to us.”

Jim asked, “How did it happen? You didn’t say much, but they started working like a clock, and they liked it. They felt fine.”

“Sure they liked it. Men always like to work together. There’s a hunger in men to work together. Do you know that ten men can lift nearly twelve times as big a load as one man can? It only takes a little spark to get them going. Most of the time they’re suspicious, because every time someone gets ’em working in a group the profit of their work is taken away from them; but wait till they get working for themselves. Tonight the work concerned them, it was their job; and see how well they did it.”

Jim said, “You didn’t need all that cloth. Why did you tell London to burn it?”

“Look, Jim. Don’t you see? Every man who gave part of his clothes felt that the work was his own. They all feel responsible for that baby. It’s theirs, because something from them went to it. To give back the cloth would cut them out. There’s no better way to make men part of a movement than to have them give something to it. I bet they all feel fine right now.”

“Are we going to work today?” Jim asked.

“No, we’ll let the story of last night go the rounds. It’ll be a hell of a big story by tomorrow. No, we’ll go to work later. We need sleep now. But Jesus, what a swell set-up it is for us so far.”

The willows stirred over their heads, and a few leaves fell down on the men. Jim said, “I don’t know when I ever was so tired, but I do feel fine.”

Mac opened his eyes for a moment. “You’re doing all right, kid. I think you’ll make a good worker. I’m glad you came down with me. You helped a lot last night. Now try to shut your God-damned eyes and mouth and get some sleep.”