It’s a long story, Jim. You can read it if you want to.” He turned the page. “Oh boy, oh boy. Listen to this editorial:

We believe the time has come to take action. When transient laborers tie up the Valley’s most important industry, when fruit tramps, led and inspired by paid foreign agitators (That’s us, Jim), carry on a campaign of violence and burning, bringing Red Russia into peaceful America, when our highways are no longer safe for American citizens, nor their homes safe from firebrands, we believe the time for action has come!This county takes care of its own people, but these strikers do not belong here. They flout the laws, and destroy life and property. They are living on the fat of the land, supplied by secret sympathizers. This paper does not, and has never believed in violence; but it does believe that when law is not sufficient to cope with these malcontents and murderers, an aroused citizenry must take a hand. The incendiary deserves no mercy. We must drive out these paid trouble-makers. This paper recommends that citizens inquire into the sources of luxuries these men have been given. It is reported that three prime steers were slaughtered in their camp yesterday.”

“Sure. That editor used some dollar-an’-a-half words, all right. ’Paid foreign agitators.’ Me, born in Minneapolis! An’ granpaw fought in the Battle of Bull Run. He always said he thought it was a bull-fight instead of a battle he was goin’ to ’til they started shootin’ at him. An’ you’re about as foreign as the Hoover administration. Oh, hell, Jim. That’s the way it always is. But—” he brought out the last of his tobacco—’’it’s closing in, Jim. Sam shouldn’t of set that fire.”

Mac said sharply, “You think we’re too important, and this little bang-up is too important. If the thing blew up right now it’d be worth it. A lot of the guys’ve been believing this crap about the noble American working-man, an’ the partnership of capital and labor. A lot of ’em are straight now. They know how much capital thinks of ’em, and how quick capital would poison ’em like a bunch of ants. An’ by Christ, we showed ’em two things—what they are, an’ what they’ve got to do. And this last little ruckus showed ’em they could do it. Remember what the ’Frisco strike did to Sam? Well, all these guys’ll get to be a little like Sam.”

“But do you think they’ve got brains enough to see it?”

“Not brains, Jim. It don’t take brains. After it’s all over the thing’ll go on working down inside of ’em. They’ll know it without thinking it out.”

“Well, what do you think; had we better just fade, or put up a fight?”

“Fight, if we can make the guys do it,” said Mac. “If they sneak off, they get a bad feeling out of it, but if they fight and get licked, well, they still fought; and it’s worth doing.”

Jim settled down on one knee. “Look, if they come through with guns they’re going to kill a lot of our guys.”

Mac’s eyes grew slitted and cold. “We keep switching sides, Jim. Suppose they do kill some of our men? That helps our side. For every man they kill ten new ones come over to us. The news goes creeping around the country and men all over hear it and get mad. Guys that are just half-warm get hot, see? But if we sneak off and the word gets around, and men say ’They didn’t even put up a fight,’ why all the working stiffs will be unsure of themselves. If we fight, an’ the news gets around, other men in the same position’ll fight too.”

Jim asked, “Mac, do you s’pose we could get a leave of absence some time and go where nobody knows us, and just sit down in an orchard?”

“’Bout two hours of it, and you’d be raring to go again.”

“I never had time to look at things, Mac, never. I never looked how leaves come out. I never looked at the way things happen. This morning there was a whole line of ants on the floor of the tent. I couldn’t watch them. I was thinking about something else. Some time I’d like to sit all day and look at bugs, and never think of anything else.”

“They’d drive you nuts,” said Mac. “Men are bad enough, but bugs’d drive you nuts.”

“Well, just once in a while you get that feeling—I never look at anything. I never take time to see anything. It’s going to be over, and I won’t know—even how an apple grows.”

“What th’ hell do I care who burned it? It’s burned, the crop’s burned. What do you damn bums know about it? I’ll lose the place sure, now.” His eyes watered with rage. “You bastards never owned nothing. You never planted trees an’ seen ’em grow an’ felt ’em with your hands. You never owned a thing, never went out an’ touched your own apple trees with your hands. What do you know?”

“We never had a chance to own anything,” Mac said. “We’d like to own something and plant trees.”