Tom said, “Yeah! But how about the other?”
Pa was silent for a while. “Tom,” he said, “looks like you done it.”
“I kinda thought so. Couldn’ see. Felt like it.”
“Seems like the people ain’t talkin’ ’bout much else,” said Uncle John. “They got posses out, an’ they’s fellas talkin’ up a lynchin’—’course when they catch the fella.”
Tom looked over at the wide-eyed children. They seldom blinked their eyes. It was as though they were afraid something might happen in the split second of darkness. Tom said, “Well—this fella that done it, he on’y done it after they killed Casy.”
Pa interrupted, “That ain’t the way they’re tellin’ it now. They’re sayin’ he done it fust.”
Tom’s breath sighed out, “Ah-h!”
“They’re workin’ up a feelin’ against us folks. That’s what I heard. All them drum-corpse fellas an’ lodges an’ all that. Say they’re gonna get this here fella.”
“They know what he looks like?” Tom asked.
“Well—not exactly—but the way I heard it, they think he got hit. They think—he’ll have——”
Tom put his hand up slowly and touched his bruised cheek.
Ma cried, “It ain’t so, what they say!”
“Easy, Ma,” Tom said. “They got it cold. Anything them drum-corpse fellas say is right if it’s against us.”
Ma peered through the ill light, and she watched Tom’s face, and particularly his lips. “You promised,” she said.
“Ma, I—maybe this fella oughta go away. If—this fella done somepin wrong, maybe he’d think, ‘O.K. Le’s get the hangin’ over. I done wrong an’ I got to take it.’ But this fella didn’ do nothin’ wrong. He don’ feel no worse’n if he killed a skunk.”
Ruthie broke in, “Ma, me an’ Winfiel’ knows. He don’ have to go this-fella’in’ for us.”
Tom chuckled. “Well, this fella don’ want no hangin’, ’cause he’d do it again. An’ same time, he don’t aim to bring trouble down on his folks. Ma—I got to go.”
Ma covered her mouth with her fingers and coughed to clear her throat. “You can’t,” she said. “They wouldn’ be no way to hide out. You couldn’ trus’ nobody. But you can trus’ us. We can hide you, an’ we can see you get to eat while your face gets well.”
“But, Ma——”
She got to her feet. “You ain’t goin’. We’re a-takin’ you. Al, you back the truck against the door. Now, I got it figgered out. We’ll put one mattress on the bottom, an’ then Tom gets quick there, an’ we take another mattress an’ sort of fold it so it makes a cave, an’ he’s in the cave; and then we sort of wall it in. He can breathe out the end, ya see. Don’t argue. That’s what we’ll do.”
Pa complained, “Seems like the man ain’t got no say no more. She’s jus’ a heller. Come time we get settled down, I’m a-gonna smack her.”
“Come that time, you can,” said Ma. “Roust up, Al. It’s dark enough.”
Al went outside to the truck. He studied the matter and backed up near the steps.
Ma said, “Quick now. Git that mattress in!”
Pa and Uncle John flung it over the end gate. “Now that one.” They tossed the second mattress up. “Now—Tom, you jump up there an’ git under. Hurry up.”
Tom climbed quickly, and dropped. He straightened one mattress and pulled the second on top of him. Pa bent it upwards, stood it sides up, so that the arch covered Tom. He could see out between the side-boards of the truck. Pa and Al and Uncle John loaded quickly, piled the blankets on top of Tom’s cave, stood the buckets against the sides, spread the last mattress behind. Pots and pans, extra clothes, went in loose, for their boxes had been burned. They were nearly finished loading when a guard moved near, carrying his shotgun across his crooked arm.
“What’s goin’ on here?” he asked.
“We’re goin’ out,” said Pa.
“What for?”
“Well—we got a job offered—good job.”
“Yeah? Where’s it at?”
“Why—down by Weedpatch.”
“Let’s have a look at you.” He turned a flashlight in Pa’s face, in Uncle John’s, and in Al’s. “Wasn’t there another fella with you?”
Al said, “You mean that hitch-hiker? Little short fella with a pale face?”