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"
Yes
,
sir
.
Good
lan
’
an
’
they
ain
’
t
!
Well
,
sir
,
that
’
ll
get
you
a
little
mad
,
but
you
ain
’
t
seen
nothin
’
.
People
gonna
have
a
look
in
their
eye
.
They
gonna
look
at
you
an
’
their
face
says
,
’
I
don
’
t
like
you
,
you
son
-
of
-
a
-
bitch
.
’
Gonna
be
deputy
sheriffs
,
an
’
they
’
ll
push
you
aroun
’
.
You
camp
on
the
roadside
,
an
’
they
’
ll
move
you
on
.
You
gonna
see
in
people
’
s
face
how
they
hate
you
.
An
’
—
I
’
ll
tell
you
somepin
.
They
hate
you
’
cause
they
’
re
scairt
.
They
know
a
hungry
fella
gonna
get
food
even
if
he
got
to
take
it
.
They
know
that
fallow
lan
’
s
a
sin
an
’
somebody
’
gonna
take
it
.
What
the
hell
!
You
never
been
called
’
Okie
’
yet
.
"
Tom
said
,
"
Okie
?
What
’
s
that
?
"
"
Well
,
Okie
use
’
ta
mean
you
was
from
Oklahoma
.
Now
it
means
you
’
re
a
dirty
son
-
of
-
a
-
bitch
.
Okie
means
you
’
re
scum
.
Don
’
t
mean
nothing
itself
,
it
’
s
the
way
they
say
it
.
But
I
can
’
t
tell
you
nothin
’
.
You
got
to
go
there
.
I
hear
there
’
s
three
hunderd
thousan
’
of
our
people
there
—
an
’
livin
’
like
hogs
,
’
cause
ever
’
thing
in
California
is
owned
.
They
ain
’
t
nothin
’
left
.
An
’
them
people
that
owns
it
is
gonna
hang
on
to
it
if
they
got
ta
kill
ever
’
body
in
the
worl
’
to
do
it
.
An
’
they
’
re
scairt
,
an
’
that
makes
’
em
mad
.
You
got
to
see
it
.
You
got
to
hear
it
.
Purtiest
goddamn
country
you
ever
seen
,
but
they
ain
’
t
nice
to
you
,
them
folks
.
They
’
re
so
scairt
an
’
worried
they
ain
’
t
even
nice
to
each
other
.
"
Tom
looked
down
into
the
water
,
and
he
dug
his
heels
into
the
sand
.
"
S
’
pose
a
fella
got
work
an
’
saved
,
couldn
’
he
get
a
little
lan
’
?
"
The
older
man
laughed
and
he
looked
at
his
boy
,
and
his
silent
boy
grinned
almost
in
triumph
.
And
the
man
said
,
"
You
ain
’
t
gonna
get
no
steady
work
.
Gonna
scrabble
for
your
dinner
ever
’
day
.
An
’
you
gonna
do
her
with
people
lookin
’
mean
at
you
.
Pick
cotton
,
an
’
you
gonna
be
sure
the
scales
ain
’
t
honest
.
Some
of
’
em
is
,
an
’
some
of
’
em
ain
’
t
.
But
you
gonna
think
all
the
scales
is
crooked
,
an
’
you
don
’
t
know
which
ones
.
Ain
’
t
nothin
’
you
can
do
about
her
anyways
.
"
Pa
asked
slowly
,
"
Ain
’
t
—
ain
’
t
it
nice
out
there
at
all
?
"
"
Sure
,
nice
to
look
at
,
but
you
can
’
t
have
none
of
it
.
They
’
s
a
grove
of
yella
oranges
—
an
’
a
guy
with
a
gun
that
got
the
right
to
kill
you
if
you
touch
one
.
They
’
s
a
fella
,
newspaper
fella
near
the
coast
,
got
a
million
acres
—
"
Casy
looked
up
quickly
,
"
Million
acres
?
What
in
the
worl
’
can
he
do
with
a
million
acres
?
"
"
I
dunno
.
He
jus
’
got
it
.
Runs
a
few
cattle
.
Got
guards
ever
’
place
to
keep
folks
out
.
Rides
aroun
’
in
a
bullet
-
proof
car
.
I
seen
pitchers
of
him
.
Fat
,
sof
’
fella
with
little
mean
eyes
an
’
a
mouth
like
a
ass
-
hole
.
Scairt
he
’
s
gonna
die
.
Got
a
million
acres
an
’
scairt
of
dyin
’
.
"
