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And
they
talked
of
the
land
behind
them
.
I
don
’
t
know
what
it
’
s
coming
to
,
they
said
.
The
country
’
s
spoilt
.
It
’
ll
come
back
though
,
on
’
y
we
won
’
t
be
there
.
Maybe
,
they
thought
,
maybe
we
sinned
some
way
we
didn
’
t
know
about
.
Fella
says
to
me
,
gov
’
ment
fella
,
an
’
he
says
,
she
’
s
gullied
up
on
ya
.
Gov
’
ment
fella
.
He
says
,
if
ya
plowed
’
cross
the
contour
,
she
won
’
t
gully
.
Never
did
have
no
chance
to
try
her
.
An
’
the
new
super
’
ain
’
t
plowin
’
’
cross
the
contour
.
Runnin
’
a
furrow
four
miles
long
that
ain
’
t
stoppin
’
or
goin
’
aroun
’
Jesus
Christ
Hisself
.
And
they
spoke
softly
of
their
homes
:
They
was
a
little
cool
-
house
under
the
win
’
mill
.
Use
’
ta
keep
milk
in
there
ta
cream
up
,
an
’
watermelons
.
Go
in
there
midday
when
she
was
hotter
’
n
a
heifer
,
an
’
she
’
d
be
jus
’
as
cool
,
as
cool
as
you
’
d
want
.
Cut
open
a
melon
in
there
an
’
she
’
d
hurt
your
mouth
,
she
was
so
cool
.
Water
drippin
’
down
from
the
tank
.
They
spoke
of
their
tragedies
:
Had
a
brother
Charley
,
hair
as
yella
as
corn
,
an
’
him
a
growed
man
.
Played
the
’
cordeen
nice
too
.
He
was
harrowin
’
one
day
an
’
he
went
up
to
clear
his
lines
.
Well
,
a
rattlesnake
buzzed
an
’
them
horses
bolted
an
’
the
harrow
went
over
Charley
,
an
’
the
points
dug
into
his
guts
an
’
his
stomach
,
an
’
they
pulled
his
face
off
an
’
—
God
Almighty
!
They
spoke
of
the
future
:
Wonder
what
it
’
s
like
out
there
?
Well
,
the
pitchers
sure
do
look
nice
.
I
seen
one
where
it
’
s
hot
an
’
fine
,
an
’
walnut
trees
an
’
berries
;
an
’
right
behind
,
close
as
a
mule
’
s
ass
to
his
withers
,
they
’
s
a
tall
up
mountain
covered
with
snow
.
That
was
a
pretty
thing
to
see
.
If
we
can
get
work
it
’
ll
be
fine
.
Won
’
t
have
no
cold
in
the
winter
.
Kids
won
’
t
freeze
on
the
way
to
school
.
I
’
m
gonna
take
care
my
kids
don
’
t
miss
no
more
school
.
I
can
read
good
,
but
it
ain
’
t
no
pleasure
to
me
like
with
a
fella
that
’
s
used
to
it
.
And
perhaps
a
man
brought
out
his
guitar
to
the
front
of
his
tent
.
And
he
sat
on
a
box
to
play
,
and
everyone
in
the
camp
moved
slowly
in
toward
him
,
drawn
in
toward
him
.
Many
men
can
chord
a
guitar
,
but
perhaps
this
man
was
a
picker
.
There
you
have
something
—
the
deep
chords
beating
,
beating
,
while
the
melody
runs
on
the
strings
like
little
footsteps
.
Heavy
hard
fingers
marching
on
the
frets
.
The
man
played
and
the
people
moved
slowly
in
on
him
until
the
circle
was
closed
and
tight
,
and
then
he
sang
"
Ten
-
Cent
Cotton
and
Forty
-
Cent
Meat
.
"
And
the
circle
sang
softly
with
him
.
And
he
sang
"
Why
Do
You
Cut
Your
Hair
,
Girls
?
"
And
the
circle
sang
.
