“Yeah. I guess that’s what he looked like.”
“We jus’ picked him up on the way in. He went away this mornin’ when the rate dropped.”
“What did he look like again?”
“Short fella. Pale face.”
“Was he bruised up this mornin’?”
“I didn’ see nothin’,” said Al. “Is the gas pump open?”
“Yeah, till eight.”
“Git in,” Al cried. “If we’re gonna get to Weedpatch ’fore mornin’ we gotta ram on. Gettin’ in front, Ma?”
“No, I’ll set in back,” she said. “Pa, you set back here too. Let Rosasharn set in front with Al an’ Uncle John.”
“Give me the work slip, Pa,” said Al. “I’ll get gas an’ change if I can.”
The guard watched them pull along the street and turn left to the gasoline pumps.
“Put in two,” said Al.
“You ain’t goin’ far.”
“No, not far. Can I get change on this here work slip?”
“Well—I ain’t supposed to.”
“Look, mister,” Al said. “We got a good job offered if we get there tonight. If we don’t, we miss out. Be a good fella.”
“Well, O.K. You sign her over to me.”
Al got out and walked around the nose of the Hudson. “Sure I will,” he said. He unscrewed the water cap and filled the radiator.
“Two, you say?”
“Yeah, two.”
“Which way you goin’?”
“South. We got a job.”
“Yeah? Jobs is scarce—reg’lar jobs.”
“We got a frien’,” Al said. “Job’s all waitin’ for us. Well, so long.” The truck swung around and bumped over the dirt street into the road. The feeble headlight jiggled over the way, and the right headlight blinked on and off from a bad connection. At every jolt the loose pots and pans in the truck-bed jangled and crashed.
Rose of Sharon moaned softly.
“Feel bad?” Uncle John asked.
“Yeah! Feel bad all a time. Wisht I could set still in a nice place. Wisht we was home an’ never come. Connie wouldn’ a went away if we was home. He would a studied up an’ got someplace.” Neither Al nor Uncle John answered her. They were embarrassed about Connie.
At the white painted gate to the ranch a guard came to the side of the truck. “Goin’ out for good?”
“Yeah,” said Al. “Goin’ north. Got a job.”
The guard turned his flashlight on the truck, turned it up into the tent. Ma and Pa looked stonily down into the glare. “O.K.” The guard swung the gate open. The truck turned left and moved toward 101, the great north-south highway.
“Know where we’re a-goin’?” Uncle John asked.
“No,” said Al. “Jus’ goin’, an’ gettin’ goddamn sick of it.”
“I ain’t so tur’ble far from my time,” Rose of Sharon said threateningly. “They better be a nice place for me.”
The night air was cold with the first sting of frost. Beside the road the leaves were beginning to drop from the fruit trees. On the load, Ma sat with her back against the truck side, and Pa sat opposite, facing her.
Ma called, “You all right, Tom?”
His muffled voice came back, “Kinda tight in here. We all through the ranch?”
“You be careful,” said Ma. “Might git stopped.”
Tom lifted up one side of his cave. In the dimness of the truck the pots jangled. “I can pull her down quick,” he said. “’Sides, I don’ like gettin’ trapped in here.” He rested up on his elbow. “By God, she’s gettin’ cold, ain’t she?”
“They’s clouds up,” said Pa. “Fellas says it’s gonna be an early winter.”
“Squirrels a-buildin’ high, or grass seeds?” Tom asked. “By God, you can tell weather from anythin’. I bet you could find a fella could tell weather from a old pair of underdrawers.”
“I dunno,” Pa said. “Seems like it’s gittin’ on winter to me. Fella’d have to live here a long time to know.”
“Which way we a-goin’?” Tom asked.
“I dunno. Al, he turned off lef’. Seems like he’s goin’ back the way we come.”
Tom said, “I can’t figger what’s best. Seems like if we get on the main highway they’ll be more cops. With my face this-a-way, they’d pick me right up. Maybe we oughta keep to back roads.”
Ma said, “Hammer on the back. Get Al to stop.”
Tom pounded the front board with his fist; the truck pulled to a stop on the side of the road. Al got out and walked to the back. Ruthie and Winfield peeked out from under their blanket.