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.
He was about to get up when a group of men walked by on the edge of the highway. Tom waited until they were far ahead before he stood up and followed them. He watched the side of the road for tents. A few automobiles went by. A stream cut across the fields, and the highway crossed it on a small concrete bridge. Tom looked over the side of the bridge. In the bottom of the deep ravine he saw a tent and a lantern was burning inside. He watched it for a moment, saw the shadows of people against the canvas walls. Tom climbed a fence and moved down into the ravine through brush and dwarf willows; and in the bottom, beside a tiny stream, he found a trail. A man sat on a box in front of the tent.
“Evenin’,” Tom said.
“Who are you?”
“Well- I guess, well- I’m jus’ goin’ past.”
“Know anybody here?”
“No. I tell you I was jus’ goin’ past.”
A head stuck out of the tent. A voice said, “What’s the matter?”
“Casy!” Tom cried. “Casy! For Chris’ sake, what you doin’ here?”
“Why, my God, it’s Tom Joad! Come on in, Tommy. Come on in.”
“Know him, do ya?” the man in front asked.
“Know him? Christ, yes. Knowed him for years. I come west with him. Come on in, Tom.” He clutched Tom’s elbow and pulled him into the tent.
Three other men sat on the ground, and in the center of the tent a lantern burned. The men looked up suspiciously. A dark-faced, scowling man held out his hand. “Glad to meet ya,” he said. “I heard what Casy said. This the fella you was tellin’ about?”
“Sure. This is him. Well, for God’s sake! Where’s your folks? What you doin’ here?”
“Well,” said Tom, “we heard they was work this-a-way. An’ we come, an’ a bunch a State cops run us into this here ranch an’ we been a-pickin’ peaches all afternoon. I seen a bunch a fellas yellin’. They wouldn’ tell me nothin’, so I come out here to see what’s goin’ on. How’n hell’d you get here, Casy?”
The preacher leaned forward and the yellow lantern light fell on his high pale forehead. “Jail house is a kinda funny place,” he said. “Here’s me, been a-goin’ into the wilderness like Jesus to try find out somepin. Almost got her sometimes, too. But it’s in the jail house I really got her.” His eyes were sharp and merry. “Great big ol’ cell, an’ she’s full all a time. New guys come in, and guys go out. An’ ‘course I talked to all of ’em.”
“‘Course you did,” said Tom. “Always talk. If you was up on the gallows you’d be passin’ the time a day with the hangman. Never seen sech a talker.”
The men in the tent chuckled. A wizened little man with a wrinkled face slapped his knee. “Talks all the time,” he said. “Folks kinda likes to hear ‘im, though.”
“Use’ ta be a preacher,” said Tom. “Did he tell that?”
“Sure, he told.”
Casy grinned. “Well, sir,” he went on, “I begin gettin’ at things. Some of them fellas in the tank was drunks, but mostly they was there ’cause they stole stuff; an’ mostly it was stuff they needed an’ couldn’ get no other way. Ya see?” he asked.
“No,” said Tom.
“Well, they was nice fellas, ya see. What made ’em bad was they needed stuff. An’ I begin to see, then. It’s need that makes all the trouble. I ain’t got it worked out. Well, one day they give us some beans that was sour. One fella started yellin’, an’ nothin’ happened. He yelled his head off. Trusty come along an’ looked in an’ went on. Then another fella yelled. Well, sir, then we all got yellin’. And we all got on the same tone, an’ I tell ya, it jus’ seemed like that tank bulged an’ give and swelled up. By God! Then somepin happened! They come a-runnin’, and they give us some other stuff to eat- give it to us. Ya see?”
“No,” said Tom.
Casy put his chin down on his hands. “Maybe I can’t tell you,” he said. “Maybe you got to find out. Where’s your cap?”
“I come without it.”
“How’s your sister?”
“Hell, she’s big as a cow. I bet she got twins. Gonna need wheels under her stomach. Got to holdin’ it with her han’s, now. You ain’ tol’ me what’s goin’ on.”
The wizened man said, “We struck. This here’s a strike.”
“Well, fi’ cents a box ain’t much, but a fella can eat.”
“Fi’ cents?” the wizened man cried. “Fi’ cents! They payin’ you fi’ cents?”
“Sure. We made a buck an’ a half.”
A heavy silence fell in the tent. Casy stared out the entrance, into the dark night. “Lookie, Tom,” he said at last. “We come to work there. They says it’s gonna be fi’ cents. They was a hell of a lot of us. We got there an’ they says they’re payin’ two an’ a half cents. A fella can’t even eat on that, an’ if he got kids- So we says we won’t take it. So they druv us off. An’ all the cops in the worl’ come down on us. Now they’re payin’ you five. When they bust this here strike- ya think they’ll pay five?”
“I dunno,” Tom said. “Payin’ five now.”
“Lookie,” said Casy. “We tried to camp together, an’ they druv us like pigs. Scattered us. Beat the hell outa fellas. Druv us like pigs. They run you in like pigs, too. We can’t las’ much longer. Some people ain’t et for two days. You goin’ back tonight?”
“Aim to,” said Tom.
“Well- tell the folks in there how it is, Tom. Tell ’em they’re starvin’ us an’ stabbin’ theirself in the back. ‘Cause sure as cowflops she’ll drop to two an’ a half jus’ as soon as they clear us out.”
“I’ll tell ’em,” said Tom. “I don’ know how. Never seen so many guys with guns. Don’ know if they’ll even let a fella talk. An’ folks don’ pass no time of day. They jus’ hang down their heads an’ won’t even give a fella a howdy.”
“Try an’ tell ’em, Tom. They’ll get two an’ a half, jus’ the minute we’re gone. You know what two an’ a half is- that’s one ton of peaches picked an’ carried for a dollar.” He dropped his head. “No- you can’t do it. You can’t get your food for that. Can’t eat for that.”
“I’ll try to get to tell the folks.”
“How’s your ma?”
“Purty good. She liked that gov’ment camp. Baths an’ hot water.”
“Yeah- I heard.”
“It was pretty nice there. Couldn’ find no work, though. Had a leave.”
“I’d like to go to one,” said Casy. “Like to see it. Fella says they ain’t no cops.”
“Folks is their own cops.”
Casy looked up excitedly. “An’ was they any trouble? Fightin’, stealin’, drinkin’?”
“No,” said Tom.
“Well, if a fella went bad- what then? What’d they do?”
“Put ‘im outa the camp.”
“But they wasn’ many?”
“Hell, no,” said Tom. “We was there a month, an’ on’y one.”
Casy’s eyes shone with excitement. He turned to the other men. “Ya see?” he cried. “I tol’ you. Cops cause more trouble than they stop. Look, Tom. Try an’ get the folks in there to come on out. They can do it in a couple days. Them peaches is ripe. Tell ’em.”