George handed the pup to him. "Awright. You get him back there quick, and don' you take him out no more. You'll kill him, the first thing you know." Lennie fairly scuttled out of the room.
Slim had not moved. His calm eyes followed Lennie out the door. "Jesus," he said. "He's jes' like a kid, ain't he."
"Sure he's jes' like a kid. There ain't no more harm in him than a kid neither, except he's so strong. I bet he won't come in here to sleep tonight. He'd sleep right alongside that box in the barn. Well--let 'im. He ain't doin' no harm out there."
It was almost dark outside now. Old Candy, the swamper, came in and went to his bunk, and behind him struggled his old dog. "Hello, Slim. Hello, George. Didn't neither of you play horseshoes?"
"I don't like to play ever' night," said Slim.
Candy went on, "Either you guys got a slug of whisky? I gotta gut ache."
"I ain't," said Slim. "I'd drink it myself if I had, an' I ain't got a gut ache neither."
"Gotta bad gut ache," said Candy. "Them God damn turnips give it to me. I knowed they was going to before I ever eat 'em."
The thick-bodied Carlson came in out of the darkening yard. He walked to the other end of the bunkhouse and turned on the second shaded light. "Darker'n hell in here," he said. "Jesus, how that nigger can pitch shoes."
"He's plenty good," said Slim.
"Damn right he is," said Carlson. "He don't give nobody else a chance to win----" He stopped and sniffed the air, and still sniffing, looked down at the old dog. "God awmighty, that dog stinks. Get him outta here, Candy! I don't know nothing that stinks as bad as an old dog. You gotta get him out."
Candy rolled to the edge of his bunk. He reached over and patted the ancient dog, and he apologized, "I been around him so much I never notice how he stinks."
"Well, I can't stand him in here," said Carlson. "That stink hangs around even after he's gone." He walked over with his heavy-legged stride and looked down at the dog. "Got no teeth," he said. "He's all stiff with rheumatism. He ain't no good to you, Candy. An' he ain't no good to himself. Why'n't you shoot him, Candy?"
The old man squirmed uncomfortably. "Well--hell! I had him so long. Had him since he was a pup. I herded sheep with him." He said proudly, "You wouldn't think it to look at him now, but he was the best damn sheep dog I ever seen."
George said, "I seen a guy in Weed that had an Airedale could herd sheep. Learned it from the other dogs."
Carlson was not to be put off. "Look, Candy. This ol' dog jus' suffers hisself all the time. If you was to take him out and shoot him right in the back of the head--" he leaned over and pointed, "--right there, why he'd never know what hit him."
Candy looked about unhappily. "No," he said softly. "No, I couldn' do that. I had 'im too long."
"He don't have no fun," Carlson insisted. "And he stinks to beat hell. Tell you what. I'll shoot him for you. Then it won't be you that does it."
Candy threw his legs off his bunk. He scratched the white stubble whiskers on his cheek nervously. "I'm so used to him," he said softly. "I had him from a pup."
"Well, you ain't bein' kind to him keepin' him alive," said Carlson. "Look, Slim's bitch got a litter right now. I bet Slim would give you one of them pups to raise up, wouldn't you, Slim?"
The skinner had been studying the old dog with his calm eyes. "Yeah," he said. "You can have a pup if you want to." He seemed to shake himself free for speech. "Carl's right, Candy. That dog ain't no good to himself. I wisht somebody'd shoot me if I got old an' a cripple."
Candy looked helplessly at him, for Slim's opinions were law. "Maybe it'd hurt him," he suggested. "I don't mind takin' care of him."
Carlson said, "The way I'd shoot him, he wouldn't feel nothing. I'd put the gun right there." He pointed with his toe. "Right back of the head. He wouldn't even quiver."
Candy looked for help from face to face. It was quite dark outside by now. A young laboring man came in. His sloping shoulders were bent forward and he walked heavily on his heels, as though he carried the invisible grain bag. He went to his bunk and put his hat on his shelf. Then he picked a pulp magazine from his shelf and brought it to the light over the table. "Did I show you this, Slim?" he asked.
"Show me what?"
The young man turned to the back of the magazine, put it down on the table and pointed with his finger. "Right there, read that." Slim bent over it. "Go on," said the young man. "Read it out loud."
" 'Dear Editor:' " Slim read slowly. " 'I read your mag for six years and I think it is the best on the market. I like stories by Peter Rand. I think he is a whing-ding. Give us more like the Dark Rider. I don't write many letters. Just thought I would tell you I think your mag is the best dime's worth I ever spent.' "
Slim looked up questioningly. "What you want me to read that for?"
Whit said, "Go on. Read the name at the bottom."
Slim read, " 'Yours for success, William Tenner.' " He glanced up at Whit again. "What you want me to read that for?"
Whit closed the magazine impressively. "Don't you remember Bill Tenner? Worked here about three months ago?"
Slim thought. . . . "Little guy?" he asked. "Drove a cultivator?"
"That's him," Whit cried. "That's the guy!"
"You think he's the guy wrote this letter?"
"I know it. Bill and me was in here one day. Bill had one of them books that just come. He was lookin' in it and he says, 'I wrote a letter. Wonder if they put it in the book!' But it wasn't there. Bill says, 'Maybe they're savin' it for later.' An' that's just what they done. There it is."
"Guess you're right," said Slim. "Got it right in the book."
George held out his hand for the magazine. "Let's look at it?"
Whit found the place again, but he did not surrender his hold on it. He pointed out the letter with his forefinger. And then he went to his box shelf and laid the magazine carefully in. "I wonder if Bill seen it," he said. "Bill and me worked in that patch of field peas. Run cultivators, both of us. Bill was a hell of a nice fella."
During the conversation Carlson had refused to be drawn in. He continued to look down at the old dog. Candy watched him uneasily. At last Carlson said, "If you want me to, I'll put the old devil out of his misery right now and get it over with. Ain't nothing left for him. Can't eat, can't see, can't even walk without hurtin'."
Candy said hopefully, "You ain't got no gun."
"The hell I ain't. Got a Luger. It won't hurt him none at all."
Candy said, "Maybe tomorra. Le's wait till tomorra."
"I don't see no reason for it," said Carlson. He went to his bunk, pulled his bag from underneath it and took out a Luger pistol. "Let's get it over with," he said. "We can't sleep with him stinkin' around in here." He put the pistol in his hip pocket.
Candy looked a long time at Slim to try to find some reversal. And Slim gave him none. At last Candy said softly and hopelessly, "Awright--take 'im." He did not look down at the dog at all. He lay back on his bunk and crossed his arms behind his head and stared at the ceiling.
From his pocket Carlson took a little leather thong. He stooped over and tied it around the old dog's neck. All the men except Candy watched him. "Come boy. Come on, boy," he said gently. And he said apologetically to Candy, "He won't even feel it." Candy did not move nor answer him. He twitched the thong. "Come on, boy." The old dog got slowly and stiffly to his feet and followed the gently pulling leash.
Slim said, "Carlson."
"Yeah?"
"You know what to do."
"What ya mean, Slim?"
"Take a shovel," said Slim shortly.
"Oh, sure! I get you." He led the dog out into the darkness.
George followed to the door and shut the door and set the latch gently in its place. Candy lay rigidly on his bed staring at the ceiling.
Slim said loudly, "One of my lead mules got a bad hoof. Got to get some tar on it." His voice trailed off. It was silent outside. Carlson's footsteps died away. The silence came into the room.
And the silence lasted.
George chuckled, "I bet Lennie's right out there in the barn with his pup. He won't want to come in here no more now he's got a pup."
Slim said, "Candy, you can have any one of them pups you want."
Candy did not answer. The silence fell on the room again. It came out of the night and invaded the room. George said, "Anybody like to play a little euchre?"
"I'll play out a few with you," said Whit.
They took places opposite each other at the table under the light, but George did not shuffle the cards. He rippled the edge of the deck nervously, and the little snapping noise drew the eyes of all the men in the room, so that he stopped doing it. The silence fell on the room again. A minute passed, and another minute. Candy lay still, staring at the ceiling. Slim gazed at him for a moment and then looked down at his hands; he subdued one hand with the other, and held it down. There came a little gnawing sound from under the floor and all the men looked down toward it gratefully. Only Candy continued to stare at the ceiling.
"Sounds like there was a rat under there," said George. "We oughtta get a trap down there."
Whit broke out, "What the hell's takin' him so long? Lay out some cards, why don't you? We ain't going to get no euchre played this way."
George brought the cards together tightly and studied the backs of them. The silence was in the room again.
A shot sounded in the distance. The men looked quickly at the old man. Every head turned toward him.
For a moment he continued to stare at the ceiling. Then he rolled slowly over and faced the wall and lay silent.
George shuffled the cards noisily and dealt them. Whit drew a scoring board to him and set the pegs to start. Whit said, "I guess you guys really come here to work."
"How do ya mean?" George asked.
Whit laughed. "Well, ya come on a Friday. You got two days to work till Sunday."
"I don't see how you figure," said George.
Whit laughed again. "You do if you been around these big ranches much. Guy that wants to look over a ranch comes in Sat'day afternoon. He gets Sat'day night supper an' three meals on Sunday, and he can quit Monday mornin' after breakfast without turning his hand. But you come to work Friday noon. You got to put in a day an' a half no matter how you figure."
George looked at him levelly. "We're gonna stick aroun' awhile," he said. "Me an' Lennie's gonna roll up a stake."
The door opened quietly and the stable buck put in his head; a lean negro head, lined with pain, the eyes patient. "Mr. Slim."
Slim took his eyes from old Candy. "Huh? Oh! Hello, Crooks. What's'a matter?"
"You told me to warm up tar for that mule's foot. I got it warm."
"Oh! Sure, Crooks. I'll come right out an' put it on."
"I can do it if you want, Mr. Slim."
"No. I'll come do it myself." He stood up.
Crooks said, "Mr. Slim."
"Yeah."
"That big new guy's messin' around your pups out in the barn."
"Well, he ain't doin' no harm. I give him one of them pups."
"Just thought I'd tell ya," said Crooks. "He's takin' 'em outta the nest and handlin' them. That won't do them no good."
"He won't hurt 'em," said Slim. "I'll come along with you now."
George looked up. "If that crazy bastard's foolin' around too much, jus' kick him out, Slim."
Slim followed the stable buck out of the room.
George dealt and Whit picked up his cards and examined them. "Seen the new kid yet?" he asked.
"What kid?" George asked.
"Why, Curley's new wife."
"Yeah, I seen her."
"Well, ain't she a looloo?"
"I ain't seen that much of her," said George.
Whit laid down his cards impressively. "Well, stick around an' keep your eyes open. You'll see plenty. She ain't concealin' nothing. I never seen nobody like her. She got the eye goin' all the time on everybody. I bet she even gives the stable buck the eye. I don't know what the hell she wants."
George asked casually, "Been any trouble since she got here?"
It was obvious that Whit was not interested in his cards. He laid his hand down and George scooped it in. George laid out his deliberate solitaire hand--seven cards, and six on top, and five on top of those.
Whit said, "I see what you mean. No, they ain't been nothing yet. Curley's got yella-jackets in his drawers, but that's all so far. Ever' time the guys is around she shows up. She's lookin' for Curley, or she thought she lef' somethin' layin' around and she's lookin' for it. Seems like she can't keep away from guys. An' Curley's pants is just crawlin' with ants, but they ain't nothing come of it yet."
George said, "She's gonna make a mess. They's gonna be a bad mess about her. She's a jail bait all set on the trigger. That Curley got his work cut out for him. Ranch with a bunch of guys on it ain't no place for a girl, 'specially like her."
Whit said, "If you got idears, you oughtta come in town with us guys tomorra night."
"Why? What's doin'?"
"Jus' the usual thing. We go in to old Susy's place. Hell of a nice place. Old Susy's a laugh--always crackin' jokes. Like she says when we come up on the front porch las' Sat'day night. Susy opens the door and then she yells over her shoulder, 'Get yor coats on, girls, here comes the sheriff.' She never talks dirty, neither. Got five girls there."
"What's it set you back?" George asked.
"Two an' a half. You can get a shot for two bits. Susy got nice chairs to set in, too. If a guy don't want a flop, why he can just set in the chairs and have a couple or three shots and pass the time of day and Susy don't give a damn. She ain't rushin' guys through and kickin' 'em out if they don't want a flop."
"Might go in and look the joint over," said George.
"Sure. Come along. It's a hell of a lot of fun--her crackin' jokes all the time. Like she says one time, she says, 'I've knew people that if they got a rag rug on the floor an' a Kewpie doll lamp on the phonograph they think they're running a parlor house.' That's Clara's house she's talkin' about. An' Susy says, 'I know what you boys want,' she says. 'My girls is clean,' she says, 'an' there ain't no water in my whisky,' she says. 'If any you guys wanta look at a Kewpie doll lamp an' take your own chance gettin' burned, why you know where to go.' An' she says, 'There's guys around here walkin' bow-legged 'cause they like to look at a Kewpie doll lamp.' "
George asked, "Clara runs the other house, huh?"
"Yeah," said Whit. "We don't never go there. Clara gets three bucks a crack and thirty-five cents a shot, and she don't crack no jokes. But Susy's place is clean and she got nice chairs. Don't let no goo-goos in, neither."
"Me an' Lennie's rollin' up a stake," said George. "I might go in an' set and have a shot, but I ain't puttin' out no two and a half."
"Well, a guy got to have some fun sometime," said Whit.
The door opened and Lennie and Carlson came in together. Lennie crept to his bunk and sat down, trying not to attract attention. Carlson reached under his bunk and brought out his bag. He didn't look at old Candy, who still faced the wall. Carlson found a little cleaning rod in the bag and a can of oil. He laid them on his bed and then brought out the pistol, took out the magazine and snapped the loaded shell from the chamber. Then he fell to cleaning the barrel with the little rod. When the ejector snapped, Candy turned over and looked for a moment at the gun before he turned back to the wall again.
Carlson said casually, "Curley been in yet?"
"No," said Whit. "What's eatin' on Curley?"
Carlson squinted down the barrel of his gun. "Lookin' for his old lady. I seen him going round and round outside."
Whit said sarcastically, "He spends half his time lookin' for her, and the rest of the time she's lookin' for him."
Curley burst into the room excitedly. "Any you guys seen my wife?" he demanded.
"She ain't been here," said Whit.
Curley looked threateningly about the room. "Where the hell's Slim?"
Curley's shoulders dropped and squared. "How long ago'd he go?"
"Five--ten minutes."
Curley jumped out the door and banged it after him.
Whit stood up. "I guess maybe I'd like to see this," he said. "Curley's just spoilin' or he wouldn't start for Slim. An' Curley's handy, God damn handy. Got in the finals for the Golden Gloves. He got newspaper clippings about it." He considered. "But jus' the same, he better leave Slim alone. Nobody don't know what Slim can do."
"Thinks Slim's with his wife, don't he?" said George.
"Looks like it," Whit said. " 'Course Slim ain't. Least I don't think Slim is. But I like to see the fuss if it comes off. Come on, le's go."
George said, "I'm stayin' right here. I don't want to get mixed up in nothing. Lennie and me got to make a stake."
Carlson finished the cleaning of the gun and put it in the bag and pushed the bag under his bunk. "I guess I'll go out and look her over," he said. Old Candy lay still, and Lennie, from his bunk, watched George cautiously.
When Whit and Carlson were gone and the door closed after them, George turned to Lennie. "What you got on your mind?"
"I ain't done nothing, George. Slim says I better not pet them pups so much for a while. Slim says it ain't good for them; so I come right in. I been good, George."
"I coulda told you that," said George.
"Well, I wasn't hurtin' 'em none. I jus' had mine in my lap pettin' it."
George asked, "Did you see Slim out in the barn?"
"Sure I did. He tol' me I better not pet that pup no more."
"Did you see that girl?"
"You mean Curley's girl?"
"Yeah. Did she come in the barn?"
"No. Anyways I never seen her."
"You never seen Slim talkin' to her?"
"Uh-uh. She ain't been in the barn."
"O.K.," said George. "I guess them guys ain't gonna see no fight. If there's any fightin', Lennie, you keep out of it."
"I don't want no fights," said Lennie. He got up from his bunk and sat down at the table, across from George. Almost automatically George shuffled the cards and laid out his solitaire hand. He used a deliberate, thoughtful slowness.
Lennie reached for a face card and studied it, then turned it upside down and studied it. "Both ends the same," he said. "George, why is it both ends the same?"
"I don't know," said George. "That's jus' the way they make 'em. What was Slim doin' in the barn when you seen him?"
The Short Novels of John Steinbeck Page 29
