“No.”
“Ever see ’em before?”
Jackson peered at them. “Sure. Worked at Gregorio’s with ’em.”
“So they knowed your name.”
“Sure. I worked right beside ’em.”
“Awright,” Huston said. “Don’t you go near ’em. We ain’t gonna th’ow ’em out if they’re nice. Thanks, Mr. Jackson.”
“Good work,” he said to Tom. “I guess them’s the fellas.”
“Jule picked ’em out,” said Tom.
“Hell, no wonder,” said Willie. “His Injun blood smelled ’em. Well, I’ll point ’em out to the boys.”
A sixteen-year-old boy came running through the crowd. He stopped, panting, in front of Huston. “Mista Huston,” he said. “I been like you said. They’s a car with six men parked down by the euc’lyptus trees, an’ they’s one with four men up that north-side road. I ast ’em for a match. They got guns. I seen ’em.”
Huston’s eyes grew hard and cruel. “Willie,” he said, “you sure you got ever’thing ready?”
Willie grinned happily. “Sure have, Mr. Huston. Ain’t gonna be no trouble.”
“Well, don’t hurt ’em. ’Member now. If you kin, quiet an’ nice, I kinda like to see ’em. Be in my tent.”
“I’ll see what we kin do,” said Willie.
Dancing had not formally started, but now Willie climbed onto the platform. “Choose up your squares,” he called. The music stopped. Boys and girls, young men and women, ran about until eight squares were ready on the big floor, ready and waiting. The girls held their hands in front of them and squirmed their fingers. The boys tapped their feet restlessly. Around the floor the old folks sat, smiling slightly, holding the children back from the floor. And in the distance the Jesus-lovers sat with hard condemning faces and watched the sin.
Ma and Rose of Sharon sat on a bench and watched. And as each boy asked Rose of Sharon as partner, Ma said, “No, she ain’t well.” And Rose of Sharon blushed and her eyes were bright.
The caller stepped to the middle of the floor and held up his hands. “All ready? Then let her go!”
The music snarled out “Chicken Reel,” shrill and clear, fiddle skirling, harmonicas nasal and sharp, and the guitars booming on the bass strings. The caller named the turns, the squares moved. And they danced forward and back, hands ’round, swing your lady. The caller, in a frenzy, tapped his feet, strutted back and forth, went through the figures as he called them.
“Swing your ladies an’ a dol ce do. Join han’s roun’ an’ away we go.” The music rose and fell, and the moving shoes beating in time on the platform sounded like drums. “Swing to the right an’ a swing to lef’; break, now—break—back to—back,” the caller sang the high vibrant monotone. Now the girls’ hair lost the careful combing. Now perspiration stood out on the foreheads of the boys. Now the experts showed the tricky inter-steps. And the old people on the edge of the floor took up the rhythm, patted their hands softly, and tapped their feet; and they smiled gently and then caught one another’s eyes and nodded.
Ma leaned her head close to Rose of Sharon’s ear. “Maybe you wouldn’ think it, but your Pa was as nice a dancer as I ever seen, when he was young.” And Ma smiled. “Makes me think of ol’ times,” she said. And on the faces of the watchers the smiles were of old times.
“Up near Muskogee twenty years ago, they was a blin’ man with a fiddle——”
“I seen a fella oncet could slap his heels four times in one jump.”
“Swedes up in Dakota—know what they do sometimes? Put pepper on the floor. Gits up the ladies’ skirts an’ makes ’em purty lively—lively as a filly in season. Swedes do that sometimes.”
In the distance, the Jesus-lovers watched their restive children. “Look on sin,” they said. “Them folks is ridin’ to hell on a poker. It’s a shame the godly got to see it.” And their children were silent and nervous.
“One more roun’ an’ then a little res’,” the caller chanted. “Hit her hard, ’cause we’re gonna stop soon.” And the girls were damp and flushed, and they danced with open mouths and serious reverent faces, and the boys flung back their long hair and pranced, pointed their toes, and clicked their heels. In and out the squares moved, crossing, backing, whirling, and the music shrilled.
Then suddenly it stopped. The dancers stood still, panting with fatigue. And the children broke from restraint, dashed on the floor, chased one another madly, ran, slid, stole caps, and pulled hair. The dancers sat down, fanning themselves with their hands. The members of the band got up and stretched themselves and sat down again. And the guitar players worked softly over their strings.