The girl helped herself up with her hands. She moved heavily to one of the mattresses and sat down on it. Ruthie and Winfield came in quietly, trying by silence and by keeping close to the wall to remain obscure.
Ma looked over at them. “I got a feelin’ you little fellas is lucky they ain’t much light,” she said. She pounced at Winfield and felt his hair. “Well, you got wet, anyway, but I bet you ain’t clean.”
“They wasn’t no soap,” Winfield complained.
“No, that’s right. I couldn’ buy no soap. Not today. Maybe we can get soap tomorra.” She went back to the stove, laid out the plates, and began to serve the supper. Two patties apiece and a big potato. She placed three slices of bread on each plate. When the meat was all out of the frying pan she poured a little of the grease on each plate. The men came in again, their faces dripping and their hair shining with water.
“Leave me at her,” Tom cried.
They took the plates. They ate silently, wolfishly, and wiped up the grease with the bread. The children retired into the corner of the room, put their plates on the floor, and knelt in front of the food like little animals.
Tom swallowed the last of his bread. “Got any more, Ma?”
“No,” she said. “That’s all. You made a dollar, an’ that’s a dollar’s worth.”
“That?”
“They charge extry out here. We got to go in town when we can.”
“I ain’t full,” said Tom.
“Well, tomorra you’ll get in a full day. Tomorra night—we’ll have plenty.”
Al wiped his mouth on his sleeve. “Guess I’ll take a look around,” he said.
“Wait, I’ll go with you.” Tom followed him outside. In the darkness Tom went close to his brother. “Sure you don’ wanta come with me?”
“No. I’m gonna look aroun’ like I said.”
“O.K.,” said Tom. He turned away and strolled down the street. The smoke from the houses hung low to the ground, and the lanterns threw their pictures of doorways and windows into the street. On the doorsteps people sat and looked out into the darkness. Tom could see their heads turn as their eyes followed him down the street. At the street end the dirt road continued across a stubble field, and the black lumps of haycocks were visible in the starlight. A thin blade of moon was low in the sky toward the west, and the long cloud of the milky way trailed clearly overhead. Tom’s feet sounded softly on the dusty road, a dark patch against the yellow stubble. He put his hands in his pockets and trudged along toward the main gate. An embankment came close to the road. Tom could hear the whisper of water against the grasses in the irrigation ditch. He climbed up the bank and looked down on the dark water, and saw the stretched reflections of the stars. The State road was ahead. Car lights swooping past showed where it was. Tom set out again toward it. He could see the high wire gate in the starlight.
A figure stirred beside the road. A voice said, “Hello—who is it?”
Tom stopped and stood still. “Who are you?”
A man stood up and walked near. Tom could see the gun in his hand. Then a flashlight played on his face. “Where you think you’re going?”
“Well, I thought I’d take a walk. Any law against it?”
“You better walk some other way.”
Tom asked, “Can’t I even get out of here?”
“Not tonight you can’t. Want to walk back, or shall I whistle some help an’ take you?”
“Hell,” said Tom, “it ain’t nothin’ to me. If it’s gonna cause a mess, I don’t give a darn. Sure, I’ll go back.”
The dark figure relaxed. The flash went off. “Ya see, it’s for your own good. Them crazy pickets might get you.”
“What pickets?”
“Them goddamn reds.”
“Oh,” said Tom. “I didn’ know ’bout them.”
“You seen ’em when you come, didn’ you?”
“Well, I seen a bunch a guys, but they was so many cops I didn’ know. Thought it was a accident.”
“Well, you better git along back.”
“That’s O.K. with me, mister.” He swung about and started back. He walked quietly along the road a hundred yards, and then he stopped and listened. The twittering call of a raccoon sounded near the irrigation ditch and, very far away, the angry howl of a tied dog. Tom sat down beside the road and listened. He heard the high soft laughter of a night hawk and the stealthy movement of a creeping animal in the stubble. He inspected the skyline in both directions, dark frames both ways, nothing to show against. Now he stood up and walked slowly to the right of the road, off into the stubble field, and he walked bent down, nearly as low as the haycocks. He moved slowly and stopped occasionally to listen. At last he came to the wire fence, five strands of taut barbed wire. Beside the fence he lay on his back, moved his head under the lowest strand, held the wire up with his hands and slid himself under, pushing against the ground with his feet.