“Dunno,” said the man. He cupped his hands full of water and rubbed his face, snorting and bubbling. Dusty water ran out of his hair and streaked his neck.
“I like to hear some more ’bout this,” said Pa.
“Me too,” Tom added. “Why these folks out west hate ya?”
The man looked sharply at Tom. “You jus’ goin’ wes’?”
“Jus’ on our way.”
“You ain’t never been in California?”
“No, we ain’t.”
“Well, don’ take my word. Go see for yourself.”
“Yeah,” Tom said, “but a fella kind a likes to know what he’s gettin’ into.”
“Well, if you truly wanta know, I’m a fella that’s asked questions an’ give her some thought. She’s a nice country. But she was stole a long time ago. You git acrost the desert an’ come into the country aroun’ Bakersfield. An’ you never seen such purty country—all orchards, an’ grapes, purtiest country you ever seen. An’ you’ll pass lan’ flat an’ fine with water thirty feet down, and that lan’s layin’ fallow. But you can’t have none of that lan’. That’s a Lan’ and Cattle Company. An’ if they don’t want ta work her, she ain’t gonna git worked. You go in there an’ plant you a little corn, an’ you’ll go to jail!”