Jim said, "Well he sure looked cool enough to me. I'm glad I didn't lay a finger on his truck."
Mac heaped a little pile of dirt on the floor with his hand, and moulded it round, and patted a little flat top on it. "I'm kind of worried, Jim. Dick hasn't sent any food today. We haven't heard anything from him except those blankets. They're cooking up all the rest of the beans with pork bones, but that's all there is, except some mush. That's all there is for tomorrow."
"Do you suppose they knocked Dick off?"
Mac patted his mound flatter. "Dick's clever as a weasel. I don't think they could catch him. I don't know what's the matter. We've got to get food in. The minute the guys get hungry, they're through, I'm afraid."
"Maybe he didn't collect anything. He sent that pig this morning."
"Sure, and the pig's in the beans now. Dick knows how much it takes to feed these guys. Dick must have organized the sympathizers by now."
Jim asked, "How do the guys feel now?"
"Oh, they're better. They got a shot of life, this afternoon. I know it's quick, but we got to have that funeral tomorrow. That ought to steam 'em up for a while." He looked out the tent entrance. "God, look at that cloud!" He stepped outside and looked overhead. The sky was nearly dark with the thick black cloud. A skirmishing wind sprang up, blowing the dust along, blowing the smoke from the fires, flapping the canvases, whisking the apple trees that surrounded the camp. "That looks like a rain cloud," Mac said. "Lord, I hope it doesn't rain. It'll drown this bunch like rats."
Jim said, "You worry too much about what might happen, Mac. All the time you're worrying. These guys are used to the open. A little rain won't hurt 'em. You fidget all the time."
Mac sat down on the floor again. "Maybe that's right, Jim. I get so scared the strike'll crack, maybe I imagine things. I've been in so many strikes that got busted, Jim."
"Yeah, but what do you care if it's busted? It solidifies the unrest, you said so yourself."
"Sure, I know. I s'pose it wouldn't matter if the strike broke right now. The guys won't ever forget how Joy got killed; and they won't ever forget about Dakin's truck."
"You're getting just like an old woman, Mac."
"Well, it's my strike--I mean, I feel like it's mine. I don't want to see it go under now."
"Well, it won't, Mac."
"Huh? What do you know about it?"
"Well, I was thinkin' this morning. Ever read much history, Mac?"
"A little, in school. Why?"
"Well, you remember how the Greeks won the battle of Salamis?"
"Maybe I knew. I don't remember."
"Well, here's the Greeks with some ships, all boxed in a harbor. They want to run away to beat hell. And here's a whole slough of Persian ships out in front. Well, the Greek admiral knows his guys are going to run away, so he sends word to the enemy to box 'em in tight. Next morning the Greeks see they can't run away; they've got to fight to get away, and they win. They beat hell out of the Persian fleet." Jim fell silent.
Men began moving past, toward the stoves. Mac patted the ground hard with his open hand. "I see what you mean, Jim," he said. "We don't need it now, but if we do, by God, it's an idea, Jim," he said plaintively. "I bring you out here to teach you things, and right away you start teaching me things."
"Nuts," said Jim.
"O.K., then, nuts. I wonder how men know when food's ready. Kind of mind reading, I guess. Or maybe they've got that same kind of a sense that vultures have. Look, there they go. Come on, Jim. Let's eat."
11
THEY had beans, swimming in pork fat to eat. Mac and Jim brought their cans from the tent and stood in line until some of the mess was dumped into each of their cans. They walked away. Jim took a little wooden paddle from his pocket and tasted the beans. "Mac," he said, "I can't eat it."
"Used to better things, huh? You've got to eat it." He tasted his own, and immediately dumped the can on the ground. "Don't eat it, Jim. It'll make you sick, beans and grease! The guys'll raise hell about this."
They looked at the men sitting in front of the tents, trying to eat their food. The storm cloud spread over the sky and swallowed the new stars. Mac said, "Somebody'll try to kill the cooks, I guess. Let's go over to London's tent."
"I don't see Dakin's tent, Mac."
"No, Mrs. Dakin took it down. She went into town and took it along with her. Funny guy, Dakin; he'll have money before he's through. Let's find London."
They walked down the line to the grey tent of London. A light shone through the canvas. Mac raised the flap. Inside, London sat on a box, holding an open can of sardines in his hand. The dark girl, Lisa, crouched on the floor mattress nursing the baby. She drew a piece of blanket about the baby and the exposed breast as the men entered. She smiled quickly at them, and then looked down at the baby again.
"Just in time for dinner!" Mac said.
London looked embarrassed. "I had a little stuff left over."
"You tasted that mess out there?"
"Yeah."
"Well, I hope the other guys got some stuff left over. We got to do better than that, or them guys'll run out on us."
"Food kind of stopped comin' in," said London. "I got another can of sardines. You guys like to have it?"
"Damn right." Mac took the proffered can greedily, and twisted the key to open it. "Get out your knife, Jim. We'll split this."
"How's your arm?" London asked.
"Getting stiff," said Jim.
Outside the tent a voice said, "That's the place, that one with the light." The flap raised and Dick entered. His hair was combed neatly. He held a grey cap in his hand. His grey suit was clean, but unpressed. Only his dusty, unpolished shoes showed that he had been walking through the country. He stood in the tent entrance, looking about. "Hi, Mac. Hello, Jim," and to the girl, "Hi ya, baby?" Her eyes brightened. A spot of red came into her cheeks. She drew the piece of blanket coquettishly down around her shoulders.
Mac waved his hand. "This here's London--this here's Dick." Dick made a half salute. "H'ya?" he said. "Look, Mac, these babies in town have been taking lessons."
"What you mean? What you doin' out here anyways?"
Dick took a newspaper from his outside pocket and handed it over. Mac opened it and London and Jim looked over his shoulder. "Come out before noon," said Dick.
Mac exclaimed, "Son-of-a-bitch!" The paper carried a headline, "Supervisors vote to feed strikers. At a public meeting last night the Board of Supervisors voted unanimously to feed the men now striking against the apple growers."
"They sure took lessons," Mac said. "Did it start work-in', yet, Dick?"
"Hell, yes."
London broke in, "I don't see no reason to kick. If they want to send out ham and eggs, it's O.K. by me."
"Sure," Mac said sarcastically, "if they want to. This paper don't tell about the other meeting right afterwards when they repealed the vote."
"What's the gag?" London demanded. "What the hell's it all about?"
"Listen, London," Mac said. "This here's an old one, but it works. Here's Dick got the sympathizers lined up. We got food and blankets and money comin'. Well, then this comes out. Dick goes the round. The sympathizers say, 'What the hell? The county's feeding 'em.' 'Th' hell it is,' says Dick. And the guy says, 'I seen it in the paper. It says they're sendin' food to you. What you gettin' out of this?' That's how it works, London. Did you see any county food come in today?"
"No----"
"Well, Dick couldn't get a rise either. Now you know. They figure to starve us out. And by God they can do it, too, if we don't get help." He turned to Dick. "You was goin' good."
"Sure," Dick agreed. "It was a push-over. Take me some time to work it all up again. I want a paper from this guy here saying you aren't getting any food. I want it signed by the strike chairman."
"O.K.," said London.
"Lots of sympathizers in Torgas," Dick went on." 'Course the joint's organized by the Growers' Association, so the whole bunch is un
derground like a flock o' gophers. But the stuff is there, if I can get to it."
"You were doin' swell till this busted," Mac said.
"Sure I was. I had some trouble with one old dame. She wanted to help the cause somethin' terrible."
Mac laughed. "I never knew no maiden modesty to keep you out of the feed bag. S'pose she did want to give her all to the cause?"
Dick shuddered. "Her all was sixteen axe-handles acrost," he said.
"Well, we'll get your paper for you, and then I want you to get the hell out of here. They ain't got you spotted yet, have they?"
"I don't know," said Dick. "I kind of think they have. I wrote in for Bob Schwartz to come down. I got a feeling I'm going to get vagged pretty soon. Bob can take over then."
London rooted in a box and brought out a tablet of paper and a pencil. Mac took them from him and wrote out the statement. "You write nice," London said admiringly.
"Huh? Oh, sure. Can I sign it for you, London?"
"Sure. Go ahead."
"Hell," said Dick. "I could of done that myself." He took the paper and folded it carefully. "Oh, say, Mac. I heard about one of the guys gettin' bumped."
"Didn't you know, Dick? It was Joy."
"Th' hell!"
"Sure, he come down with a bunch of scabs. He was tryin' to bring 'em over when he got it."
"Poor bastard."
"Got him quick. He didn't suffer more'n a minute."
Dick sighed. "Well, it was in the books for Joy. He was sure to get it sooner or later. Going to have a funeral?"
"Tomorrow."
"All the guys goin' to march in it?"
Mac looked at London. "Sure they are," he said. "Maybe we can drag public sympathy our way."
"Well, Joy would like that," Dick said. "Nothing he'd like better. Too bad he can't see it. Well, so long. I got to go." He turned to leave the tent. Lisa raised her eyes. "Bye, baby. See you sometime," said Dick. The spots of color came into her cheeks again. Her lips parted a little and, when the tent flaps dropped behind Dick, her eyes remained there for some time.
Mac said, "Jesus, they got an organization here. Dick's a good man. If he can't get stuff to eat, it ain't to be got."
Jim asked, "How about that platform for the speech?"
Mac turned to London, "Yeah, did you get at it, London?"
"The guys'll put it up tomorrow mornin'. Couldn't get nothing but some old fence posts to make it. Have to be just a little one."
"Don't matter," Mac said, "just as long as it's high enough so every guy here can see Joy, that's enough."
A worried look came on London's face. "What t'hell am I goin' to say to the guys? You said I ought to make a speech."
"You'll get steamed up enough," said Mac. "Tell 'em this little guy died for 'em. And if he could do that they can at least fight for themselves."
"I never made no speeches much," London complained.
"Well, don't make a speech. Just talk to the guys. You done that often enough. Just tell 'em. That's better'n a speech, anyway."
"Oh. Like that. O.K."
Mac turned to the girl. "How's the kid?"
She blushed and pulled the blanket closer over her shoulders. Her lashes shadowed her cheeks. "Pretty good," she whispered. "He don't cry none."
The tent-flap jerked open and the doctor entered, his quick, brusque movements at variance with the sad, doglike eyes. "I'm going over to see young Anderson, Mac," he said. "Want to come?"
"Sure I do, Doc." And to London, "Did you send the guys over to guard Anderson's place?"
"Yeah. They didn't want to go none, but I sent 'em."
"All right. Let's go, Doc. Come on, Jim, if you can make it."
"I feel all right," said Jim.
Burton looked steadily at him. "You should be in bed."
Mac chuckled. "I'm scared to leave him. He raises hell when I leave him alone for a minute. See you later, London."
Outside the darkness was thick. The big cloud had spread until it covered the sky, and all the stars were gone. A muffled quietness lay on the camp. Those men who sat around a few little fires spoke softly. The air was still and warm and damp. Doc and Mac and Jim picked their way carefully out of the camp and into the blackness that surrounded it. "I'm afraid it's going to rain," Mac said. "We'll have one hell of a time with the guys when they get wet. It's worse than gun-fire for taking the hearts out of men. Most of those tents leak, I guess."
"Of course they do," said Burton.
They reached the line of the orchard and walked down between two rows of trees. And it was so dark that they put their hands out in front of them.
"How do you like your strike now?" Doc asked.
"Not so good. They've got this valley organized like Italy. Food supply's cut off now. We're sunk if we can't get some food. And if it rains good and hard tonight the men'll be sneaking out on us. They just won't take it, I tell you. It's a funny thing, Doc. You don't believe in the cause, and you'll probably be the last man to stick. I don't get you at all."
"I don't get myself," Doc said softly. "I don't believe in the cause, but I believe in men."
"What do you mean?"
"I don't know. I guess I just believe they're men, and not animals. Maybe if I went into a kennel and the dogs were hungry and sick and dirty, and maybe if I could help those dogs, I would. Wouldn't be their fault they were that way. You couldn't say, 'Those dogs are that way because they haven't any ambition. They don't save their bones. Dogs always are that way.' No, you'd try to clean them up and feed them. I guess that's the way it is with me. I have some skill in helping men, and when I see some who need help, I just do it. I don't think about it much. If a painter saw a piece of canvas, and he had colors, well, he'd want to paint on it. He wouldn't figure why he wanted to."
"Sure, I get you. In one way it seems cold-blooded, standing aside and looking down on men like that, and never getting yourself mixed up with them; but another way, Doc, it seems fine as the devil, and clean."
"Oh, Mac, I'm about out of disinfectant. You'll get no more fine smell if I don't get some more carbolic."
"I'll see what I can do," said Mac.
A hundred yards away a yellow light was shining. "Isn't that Anderson's house?" Jim asked.
"I guess it is. We ought to pick up a guard pretty soon." They walked on toward the light, and they were not challenged. They came to the gate of the house-yard without being challenged. Mac said, "God-damn it, where are the guys London sent over? Go on in, Doc. I'm going to see if I can't find 'em." Burton walked up the path and into the lighted kitchen. Mac and Jim went toward the barn, and inside the barn they found the men, lying down in the low bed of hay smoking cigarettes. A kerosene lamp hung on a hook on the wall and threw a yellow light on the line of empty stalls and on the great pile of boxed apples--Anderson's crop, waiting to be moved.
Mac spluttered with anger, but he quickly controlled himself, and when he spoke his voice was soft and friendly. "Listen, you guys," he argued. "This isn't any joke. We got word the damn vigilantes is goin' to try something on Anderson to get back at him for lettin' us stay on his place. S'pose he never let us stay? They'd be kickin' us all over hell by now. Anderson's a nice guy. We hadn't ought to let nobody hurt him."
"There ain't nobody around," one of the men protested. "Jesus, mister, we can't hang around all night. We was out picketin' all afternoon."
"Go on, then," Mac cried angrily. "Let 'em raid this place. Then Anderson'll kick us off. Then where in hell would we be?"
"We could jungle up, down by the river, mister."
"You think you could. They'd run you over the county line so quick your ass'd smoke, and you know it!"
One of the men got slowly to his feet. "The guy's right," he said. "We better drag it out of here. My old woman's in the camp. I don't want to have her get in no trouble."
"Well, put out a line," Mac suggested. "Don't let nobody through. You know what they done to Anderson's boy--burned his lunch wagon, kicked hell out of A
l."
"Al put out a nice stew," said one of the men. They stood up tiredly. When they were all out of the barn Mac blew out the lantern. "Vigilantes like to shoot at a light," he explained. "They take big chances like that. We better have Anderson pull down his curtains, too."
The guards filed off into the darkness. Jim asked, "You think they'll keep watch now, Mac?" he asked.
"I wish I thought so. I think they'll be back in that barn in about ten minutes. In the army they can shoot a guy if he goes to sleep. We can't do a thing but talk. God, I get sick of this helplessness! If we could only use guns! If we could only use punishment to keep discipline!" The sound of the guards' footsteps died away in the darkness. Mac said, "I'll rouse 'em out once more before we go back." They walked up on the kitchen porch and knocked on the door. Barking and growling dogs answered them. They could hear the dogs leaping around inside the house, and Anderson quieting them. The door opened a crack. "It's us, Mr. Anderson."
"Come on in," he said sullenly.
The pointers weaved about, whipping their thin, hard tails and whining with pleasure. Mac leaned over and patted each one and pulled the leathers. "You ought to leave the dogs outside, Mr. Anderson, to watch the place," he said. "It's so dark the guards can't see anything. But the dogs could smell anybody coming through."
Al lay on a cot by the stove. He looked pale and weak. He seemed to have grown thin, for the flesh on his jowls was loose. He lay flat on his back, and one arm was strapped down in front of him. Doc sat in a chair beside the cot.
In Dubious Battle Page 18
