“Goddamn it, I don’t know yet.”
“If you don’ know, you got no right to hire men.”
“I got a right to run my own business my own way. If you men want to sit here on your ass, O.K. I’m out getting men for Tulare County. Going to need a lot of men.”
Floyd turned to the crowd of men. They were standing up now, looking quietly from one speaker to the other. Floyd said, “Twicet now I’ve fell for that. Maybe he needs a thousan’ men. He’ll get five thousan’ there, an’ he’ll pay fifteen cents an hour. An’ you poor bastards’ll have to take it ’cause you’ll be hungry. ’F he wants to hire men, let him hire ’em an’ write out an’ say what he’s gonna pay. Ast ta see his license. He ain’t allowed to contract men without a license.”
The contractor turned to the Chevrolet and called, “Joe!” His companion looked out and then swung the car door open and stepped out. He wore riding breeches and laced boots. A heavy pistol holster hung on a cartridge belt around his waist. On his brown shirt a deputy sheriff’s star was pinned. He walked heavily over. His face was set to a thin smile. “What you want?” The holster slid back and forth on his hip.
“Ever see this guy before, Joe?”
The deputy asked, “Which one?”
“This fella.” The contractor pointed to Floyd.
“What’d he do?” The deputy smiled at Floyd.
“He’s talkin’ red, agitating trouble.”