"We got warrants for six men." The deputy—it was Huggins—started to walk on in; McGue kept his place.
"Get out of the way, there," Huggins warned him shortly.
"Gimme the names; we'll git the men fer you. No need to go trampling through people's houses and gardens, as you guards did last week."
"I'll give you nothin'."
The voices in dispute resounded down the vacant roads. Men, hungry men, their natures warped with the long unequal struggle, massed in a shifting background behind the rugged committeeman.
"Get out of my way, or I'll jug you too."
Silently McGue stepped aside. The crowd flattened back against the flimsy walls. The armed guards, grinning at one another, jostling and joking, penetrated deeper and deeper into the straggly irregularity of the settlement.
All at once Huggins caught sight of an undergrown, misshapen boy scowling from the back of the men and women. Pushing them aside, he shoved to the spot, the guards close behind. His hand gripped the boy's arm, until he winced.
"Hey—whatcher——"
"What's your name?"