“Mind if we come in an’ set?”
“She ain’t our river. We’ll len’ you a little piece of her.”
The men shucked off their pants, peeled their shirts, and waded out. The dust coated their legs to the knee, their feet were pale and soft with sweat. They settled lazily into the water and washed listlessly at their flanks. Sun-bitten, they were, a father and a boy. They grunted and groaned with the water.
Pa asked politely, “Goin’ west?”
“Nope. We come from there. Goin’ back home. We can’t make no livin’ out there.”
“Where’s home?” Tom asked.
“Panhandle, come from near Pampa.”
Pa asked, “Can you make a livin’ there?”
“Nope. But at leas’ we can starve to death with folks we know. Won’t have a bunch a fellas that hates us to starve with.”
Pa said, “Ya know, you’re the second fella talked like that. What makes ’em hate you?”