“Well, we got to go,” said Tom.
Wilson walked near for the last words. “We can’t go, folks,” he said. “Sairy’s done up. She got to res’. She ain’t gonna git acrost that desert alive.”
They were silent at his words; then Tom said, “Cop says he’ll run us in if we’re here tomorra.”
Wilson shook his head. His eyes were glazed with worry, and a paleness showed through his dark skin. “Jus’ hafta do ’er, then. Sairy can’t go. If they jail us, why, they’ll hafta jail us. She got to res’ an’ get strong.”
Pa said, “Maybe we better wait an’ all go together.”
“No,” Wilson said. “You been nice to us; you been kin’, but you can’t stay here. You got to get on an’ get jobs and work. We ain’t gonna let you stay.”
Pa said excitedly, “But you ain’t got nothing.”
Wilson smiled. “Never had nothin’ when you took us up. This ain’t none of your business. Don’t you make me git mean. You got to go, or I’ll get mean an’ mad.”
Ma beckoned Pa into the cover of the tarpaulin and spoke softly to him.
Wilson turned to Casy. “Sairy want you should go see her.”