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“It ain’t so fu
“Umm,” said Slim.
George looked over at Slim and saw the calm, Godlike eyes fastened on him. “Fu
“He’s a nice fella,” said Slim. “Guy don’t need no sense to be a nice fella. Seems to me sometimes it jus’ works the other way around. Take a real smart guy and he ain’t hardly ever a nice fella.”
George stacked the scattered cards and began to lay out his solitaire hand. The shoes thudded on the ground outside. At the windows the light of the evening still made the window squares bright.
“I ain’t got no people,” George said. “I seen the guys that go around on the ranches alone. That ain’t no good. They don’t have no fun. After a long time they get mean. They get wantin’ to fight all the time.”
“Yeah, they get mean,” Slim agreed. “They get so they don’t want to talk to nobody.”
“’Course Le
“He ain’t mean,” said Slim. “I can see Le
“’Course he ain’t mean. But he gets in trouble alla time because he’s so God damn dumb. Like what happened in Weed—” He stopped, stopped in the middle of turning over a card. He looked alarmed and peered over at Slim. “You wouldn’t tell nobody?”
“What’d he do in Weed?” Slim asked calmly.
“You wouldn’ tell?.... No, ‘course you wouldn’.”
“What’d he do in Weed?” Slim asked again.
“Well, he seen this girl in a red dress. Dumb bastard like he is, he wants to touch ever’thing he likes. Just wants to feel it. So he reaches out to feel this red dress an’ the girl lets out a squawk, and that gets Le
Slim’s eyes were level and unwinking. He nodded very slowly. “So what happens?”
George carefully built his line of solitaire cards. “Well, that girl rabbits in an’ tells the law she been raped. The guys in Weed start a party out to lynch Le
Slim sat in silence for a moment. “Didn’t hurt the girl none, huh?” he asked finally.
“Hell, no. He just scared her. I’d be scared too if he grabbed me. But he never hurt her. He jus’ wanted to touch that red dress, like he wants to pet them pups all the time.”
“He ain’t mean,” said Slim. “I can tell a mean guy a mile off.”
“’Course he ain’t, and he’ll do any damn thing I—”
Le
“Hi, Le
Le
George put down his cards very deliberately. “Le
Le
“I tol’ you you couldn’t bring that pup in here.”
“What pup, George? I ain’t got no pup.”
George went quickly to him, grabbed him by the shoulder and rolled him over. He reached down and picked the tiny puppy from where Le
Le
George said, “You get right up an’ take this pup back to the nest. He’s gotta sleep with his mother. You want to kill him? Just born last night an’ you take him out of the nest. You take him back or I’ll tell Slim not to let you have him.”
Le
George handed the pup to him. “Awright. You get him back there quick, and don’t you take him out no more. You’ll kill him, the first thing you know.” Le
Slim had not moved. His calm eyes followed Le
“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 bunk house 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 outa 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.”