"But how about after?"
"After what?"
"Maybe after this is over you'll collect."
"There ain't no after," Mac said. "When this one's done, we'll be in another one."
London squinted at him, as though he tried to read his thoughts. "I believe it," he said slowly. "You ain't give me no bum steers yet."
Mac reached over and struck him sharply on the shoulders. "I'd of told you before, if you asked me."
London said, "I got nothing against reds. Y'always hear how they're sons-of-bitches. Sam's kind of rattlesnake and whip tempered, but he ain't no son-of-a-bitch. Let's go over an' get some food."
Mac stood up. "I'll bring you and Lisa some, Jim."
London said, from the doorway, "Moon's comin' up nice. I didn't know it was full moon."
"It isn't. Where do you see it?"
"Look, see over there? Looks like moon-rise."
Mac said, "That ain't east--Oh, Jesus! It's Anderson's. London" he shouted. "They've set fire to Anderson's! Get the guys. Come on, God damn it! Where are those guards? Get the guys quick!" He ran away toward the red, gathering light behind the trees.
Jim jumped up from the mattress. He didn't feel his wounded arm as he ran along, fifty yards behind Mac. He heard London's voice roaring, and then the drumming of many feet on the wet ground. He reached the trees and speeded up. The red light mushroomed out behind the trees. It was more than a glow now. A lance of flame cleared the tree-tops. Above the sound of steps there was a vicious crackling. From ahead came shrill cries and a muffled howling. The trees threw shadows away from the light. The end of the orchard row was blocked with fire, and in front of it black figures moved about. Jim could see Mac pounding ahead of him, and he could hear the increasing, breathy roar of the flames. He sprinted, caught up with Mac, and ran beside him. "It's the barn," he gasped. "Were the apples out yet?"
"Jim! Damn it, you shouldn't come. No, the apples are in the barn. Where the hell were the guards? Can't trust anybody." They neared the end of the row, and the hot air struck their faces. All the barn walls were sheathed in fire, and the strong flames leaped from the roof. The guards stood by Anderson's little house, quiet, watching the light, while Anderson danced jerkily in front of them.
Mac stopped running. "No go. We can't do a thing. They must of used gasoline."
London plunged past them, and his face was murderous. He drew up in front of the guards and shouted, "You Goddamn rats! Where in hell were you?"
One of the men raised his voice above the fire. "You sent a guy to tell us you wanted us. We was halfway to the camp when we seen it start."
London's fury drained out of him. His big fists undoubted. He turned helplessly to where Mac and Jim stood, their eyes glaring in the light. Anderson capered close to them in his jerky, wild dance. He came close to Mac and stood in front of him and pushed his chin up into Mac's face. "You dirty son-of-a-bitch!" His voice broke, and he turned, crying, back toward the tower of flame. Mac put his arm around Anderson's waist, but the old man flung it off. Out of the fire came the sharp, sweet odor of burning apples.
Mac looked weak and sad. To London he said, "God, I wish it hadn't happened. Poor old man, it's all his crop." A thought stopped him. "Christ Almighty! Did you leave anybody to look after the camp?"
"No. I never thought."
Mac whirled. "Come on, a flock of you. Maybe they're drawin' us. Some of you stay here so the house won't burn too." He sprinted back, the way he had come. His long black shadow leaped ahead of him. Jim tried to keep up with him, but a sick weakness set in. Mac drew away from him, and the men passed him, until he was alone, behind them, stumbling along giddily over the uneven earth. No flames broke from the camp ahead. Jim settled down to walk along the vague aisle between the rows. He heard the crash of the falling barn, and did not even turn to look. When he was halfway back, his legs buckled with weakness, and he sat down heavily on the ground. The sky was bright with fire over his head, and behind the low, rosy light the icy stars hung.
Mac, retracing his steps, found him there. "What's the matter, Jim?"
"Nothing. My legs got weak. I'm just resting. Is the camp all right?"
"Sure. They didn't get to it. There's a man hurt. Fell down, I think he busted his ankle. We've got to find Doc. What a damn fool easy trick that was! One of their guys tells the guards to get out while the rest splash gasoline around and throw in a match. Jesus, it was quick! Now we'll get hell from Anderson. Get kicked off the place tomorrow, I guess."
"Where'll we go then, Mac?"
"Say! You're all in. Here, give me your arm. I'll help you back. Did you see Doc at the fire?"
"No."
"Well, he said he was going over to see Al. I didn't see him come back. Come on, climb to your feet. I've got to get you bedded down."
Already the light was dying. At the end of the row lay a pile of fire, but the flames no longer leaped up in long streamers. "Hold on to me, now. Anderson was nearly crazy, wasn't he? Thank God they didn't get his house."
London, with Sam behind him, caught up. "How's the camp?"
"O.K. They didn't get it."
"Well what's the matter with the kid?"
"Just weak from his wound. Give 'im a lift on that side." Together they half-carried Jim down the row and across the open space to London's tent. They set him down on the mattress. Mac asked, "Did you see the Doc over there? A guy's bust his ankle."
"No. I never seen him."
"Well, I wonder where he is?"
Sam entered the tent silently. His lean face was ridged with tight muscles. He walked stiffly over and stood in front of Mac, "That afternoon, when that guy says what he'd do----"
"What guy?"
"That first guy that come, an' you told him."
"I told him what?"
"Told 'im what we'd do."
Mac started and looked at London. "I don't know, Sam. It might switch public sympathy. We should be getting it now. We don't want to lose it."
Sam's voice was thick with hatred. "You can't let 'em get away with it. You can't let the yellow bastards burn us out."
London said, "Come out of it, Sam. What do you want?"
"I want to take a couple guys--an' play with matches." Mac and London watched him carefully. "I'm goin'," Sam said. "I don' give a damn. I'm goin'. There's a guy name Hunter. He's got a big white house. I'm takin' a can of gasoline."
Mac grinned. "Take a look at this guy, London. Ever see him before? Know who he is?"
London caught it. "No, can't say I do. Who is he?"
"Search me. Was he ever in camp?"
"No, by God! Maybe he's just a guy with a grudge. We get all kind of things pinned on us."
Mac swung back on Sam. "If you get caught, you got to take it."
"I'll take it," Sam said sullenly. "I ain't sharin' no time. I ain't takin' nobody with me, neither. I changed my mind."
"We don't know you. You just got a grudge."
"I hate the guy 'cause he robbed me," said Sam.
Mac stepped close to him and gripped his arm. "Burn the bastard into the ground," he said viciously. "Burn every stick in the house. I'd like to go with you. Jesus, I would!"
"Stick here," said Sam. "This ain't your fight. This guy robbed me--an' I'm a fireburg. I always like to play with matches."
London said, "So long, Sam. Drop in some time."
Sam slipped quietly out of the tent and disappeared. London and Mac looked for a moment at the gently swaying tent-flap. London said, "I got a feelin' he ain't comin' back. Funny how you can get to like a mean man like that. Always got his chin stuck out, lookin' for trouble."
Jim had sat quietly on the mattress. His face was troubled. Through the tent walls the glow of the fire was still faintly visible, and now the shriek of sirens sounded, coming nearer and nearer, lonely and fierce in the night.
Mac said bitterly, "They gave it a good long time to get started before the trucks came out. Hell, we never did get anything to eat. Come on,
London. I'll get some for you, Jim."
Jim sat waiting for them to come back. Lisa, beside him, was secretly nursing the baby under the blanket again. "Don't you ever move around?" Jim asked.
"Huh?"
"You just sit still. All these things go on around you, and you pay no attention. You don't even hear."
"I wisht it was over," she replied. "I wisht we lived in a house with a floor, an' a toilet close by. I don't like this fightin'."
"It's got to be done," Jim said. "It will be over sometime, but maybe not in our lives."
Mac came in carrying two steaming food cans. "Well, the fire trucks got there before it was all out, anyway. Here, Jim, I put the beef in with the beans. You take this one, Lisa."
Jim said, "Mac, you shouldn't've let Sam go."
"Why the hell shouldn't I?"
"Because you didn't feel right about it, Mac. You let your own personal hatred get in."
"Well, Jesus! Think of poor old Anderson, losing his barn and all his crop."
"Sure, I know. Maybe it's a good idea to burn Hunter's house. You got hot about it, though."
"Yeah? An' I guess you're goin' to be reportin' me, maybe. I bring you out to let you get some experience, an' you turn into a God damn school teacher. Who th' hell do you think you are, anyway? I was doin' this job when you were slobberin' your bib."
"Now wait a minute, Mac. I can't do anything to help but use my head. Everything's going on, and I sit here with a sore shoulder. I just don't want you to get mad, Mac. You can't think if you get mad."
Mac glared sullenly at him. "You're lucky I don't knock your can off, not because you're wrong, but because you're right. You get sick of a guy that's always right." Suddenly he grinned. "It's done, Jim. Let's forget it. You're turning into a proper son-of-a-bitch. Everybody's going to hate you, but you'll be a good Party man. I know I get mad; I can't help it. I'm worried as hell, Jim. Everything's going wrong. Where you s'pose Doc is?"
"No sign of him yet? Remember what he said when he went out?"
"Said he was going to see Al."
"Yes, but before that, how lonely he was. He sounded screwy, like a guy that's worked too hard. Maybe he went off his nut. He never did believe in the cause, maybe he's scrammed."
Mac shook his head. "I've been around with Doc plenty. That's one thing he didn't do. Doc never ran out on anybody. I'm worried, Jim. Doc was headed for Anderson's. S'pose he took those raiders for our guards, an' they caught him? They'd sure as hell catch him if they could."
"Maybe he'll be back later."
"Well, I'll tell you. If the health office gets out an order against us tomorrow, we can be damn sure that Doc was snatched. Poor devil! I don't know what to do about the man with the busted ankle. One of the guys set it, but he probably set it wrong. Oh, well, maybe Doc's just wanderin' around in the orchard. It's my fault for letting him start over there alone, all my fault. London's doing everything he can. I forget things. I'm getting a weight on me, Jim. Anderson's barn's right on top of me."
"You're forgetting the whole picture," Jim said.
Mac sighed. "I thought I was a tough baby, but you're a hell of a lot tougher. I hope I don't get to hate you. You better sleep in the hospital tent, Jim. There's an extra cot, and I don't want you sleeping on the ground until you feel better. Why don't you eat?"
Jim looked down at the can. "Forgot it, and I'm hungry, too." He picked up a piece of boiled beef out of the beans and gnawed it. "You better get some yourself," he said.
"Yeah, I'm going now."
After he had gone, Jim quickly ate the beans, the big oval, golden beans. He speared three of them at a time on a sharpened stick, and when they were gone tilted the can and drank the juice. "Tastes good, doesn't it," he said to Lisa.
"Yeah. I always like limey beans. Don't need nothing but salt. Salt pork's better."
"The men are quiet, awfully quiet."
"They got their mouths full," said the girl. "Always talkin', except their mouths' full. Always talkin'. If they got to fight, why don' they fight an' get it over, 'stead o' talkin'?"
"This is a strike," Jim said defensively.
"Even you talk all the time," she said. "Talk don't turn no wheel."
"Sometimes it gets steam up to turn 'em, Lisa."
London came in, and stood picking his teeth with a sharpened match. The bald spot in his tonsure shone dully in the lamplight. "I been watchin' all over the country," he said. "Ain't seen no fire yet. Mebbe they caught Sam."
"He was a clever guy," said Jim. "The other day he knocked over a checker, and the checker had a gun, too."
"Oh, he's smart all right. Smart like a snake. Sam's a rattlesnake, only he don't never rattle. He went out alone, didn't take nobody with him."
"All the better. If he gets caught, he's just a nut. If three guys got caught, it'd be a plot, see?"
"I hope he don't get caught, Jim. He's a nice guy, I like him."
"Yeah, I know."
Mac came back in with his can of food. "Jesus I'm hungry. I didn't know it till I got the first bite. Have enough to eat, Jim?"
"Sure. Why don't the men build fires to sit by? They did last night."
"They got no wood," said London. "I made 'em put all the wood over by the stoves."
"Well, what makes 'em so quiet? You can hardly hear a thing," Jim said. "It's all quiet."
Mac mused, "It's damn funny about a bunch of men, how they act. You can't tell. I always thought if a guy watched close enough he might get to know what they're goin' to do. They get steamed up, an' then, all of a sudden, they're scared as hell. I think this whole damn camp is scared. Word's got out that Doc's been snatched. An' they're scared to be without 'im. They go an' take a look at the guy with the busted ankle, an' then they walk away. An' then, pretty soon, they go an' take a look at 'im again. He's all covered with sweat, he hurts so bad." Mac gnawed at a beef bone, tearing the white gristle with his teeth.
Jim asked, "D'you suppose anybody knows?"
"Knows what?"
"How a bunch o' guys'll act."
"Maybe London knows. He's been bossin' men all his life. How about it, London?"
London shook his head. "No," he said. "I've saw a bunch of guys run like rabbits when a truck back-fired. Other times, seems like nothin' can scare 'em. Y'can kind of feel what's goin' to happen before it starts, though."
"I know," said Mac. "The air gets full of it. I saw a nigger lynched one time. They took him about a quarter of a mile to a railroad over-pass. On th' way out that crowd killed a little dog, stoned it to death. Ever'body just picked up rocks. The air was just full of killin'. Then they wasn't satisfied to hang the nigger. They had to burn 'im an' shoot 'im, too."
"Well I ain't lettin' nothin' like that get started in this camp," London said.
Mac advised, "Well, if it does start, you better stand out of the way. Listen, there's a sound."
There was a tramp of feet outside the tent, almost a military rhythm. "London in there?"
"Yeah. What do you want?"
"We got a guy out here."
"What kind of a guy?" A man came in, carrying a Winchester carbine. London said, "Ain't you one of the guys I left to guard that house?"
"Yes. Only three of us came over. We saw this fellow moving around, and we kind of got around him and caught him."
"Well, who is it?"
"I don't know. He had this gun. The guys wanted to beat hell out of him, but I says we better bring him here, so we done it. We got him outside, tied up."
London looked at Mac, and Mac nodded toward Lisa. London said, "You better get out, Lisa."
She got slowly to her feet. "Where I'm goin' to go?"
"I don't know. Where's Joey?"
"Talkin' to a guy," said Lisa. "This guy wrote to a school that's goin' to get him to be a postman. Joey, he wants to be a postman too, so he's talkin' to this guy about it."
"Well, you go an' find some woman an' set with her."
Lisa shrugged up the baby on her
hip and went out of the tent. London took the rifle from the man and threw down the lever. A loaded shell flipped out. "Thirty-thirty," said London. "Bring the guy in."
"O.K. Bring him in." Two guards pushed the prisoner through the flaps. He stumbled and recovered his balance. His elbows were bound together behind him with a belt, and his wrists were wrapped together with baling wire. He was very young. His body was thin and his shoulders narrow. He was dressed in corduroy trousers, a blue shirt and a short leather jacket. His light blue eyes were fixed with terror.
"Hell," said London. "It's a kid."
"Kid with a thirty-thirty," Mac added. "Can I talk to him, London?"
"Sure. Go ahead."
Mac stepped in front of the captive. "What are you doin' out there?"
The boy swallowed painfully. "I wasn't doing a thing." His voice was a whisper.
"Who sent you?"
"Nobody."
Mac struck him in the face with his open hand. The head jerked sideways, and an angry red spot formed on the white, beardless cheek. "Who sent you?"
"Nobody." The open hand struck again, harder. The boy lurched, tried to recover and fell on his shoulder.
Mac reached down and pulled him to his feet again. "Who sent you?"
The boy was crying. Tears rolled down his nose, into his bleeding mouth. "The fellows at school said we ought to."
"High school?"
"Yes. An' the men in the street said somebody ought to."
"How many of you came out?"
"Six of us."
"Where did the rest go?"
"I don't know, mister. Honest, I lost 'em."
Mac's voice was monotonous. "Who burned the barn?"
"I don't know." This time Mac struck with a closed fist. The blow flung the slight body against the tent-pole. Mac jerked him up again. The boy's eye was closed and cut.
"Be careful about that 'don't know? business. Who burned the barn?"
The boy could not speak; his sobs choked him. "Don't hit me, mister. Some fellows at the pool room said it would be a good thing. They said Anderson was a radical."
"All right, now. Did you kids see anything of our doctor?"
The boy looked at him helplessly. "Don't hit me, mister. I don't know. We didn't see anybody."
"What were you going to do with the gun?"
"Sh--sh-shoot through the tents an' try to scare you."
Mac smiled coldly. He turned to London. "Got any ideas what to do with him?"
"Oh hell," said London. "He's just a kid."
"Yes, a kid with a thirty-thirty. Can I still have him, London?"