“So they knowed your name.”
“Sure. I worked right beside ’em.”
“Awright,” Huston said. “Don’t you go near ’em. We ain’t gonna th’ow ’em out if they’re nice. Thanks, Mr. Jackson.”
“Good work,” he said to Tom. “I guess them’s the fellas.”
“Jule picked ’em out,” said Tom.
“Hell, no wonder,” said Willie. “His Injun blood smelled ’em. Well, I’ll point ’em out to the boys.”
A sixteen-year-old boy came running through the crowd. He stopped, panting, in front of Huston. “Mista Huston,” he said. “I been like you said. They’s a car with six men parked down by the euc’lyptus trees, an’ they’s one with four men up that north-side road. I ast ’em for a match. They got guns. I seen ’em.”
Huston’s eyes grew hard and cruel. “Willie,” he said, “you sure you got ever’thing ready?” Willie grinned happily. “Sure. have, Mr. Huston. Ain’t gonna be no trouble.”
“Well, don’t hurt ’em. ’Member now. If you kin, quiet an’ nice, I kinda like to see ’em. Be in my tent.”
“I’ll see what we kin do,” said Willie. Dancing had not formally started, but now Willie climbed onto the platform. “Choose up your squares,” he called. The music stopped. Boys and girls, young men and women, ran about until eight squares were ready on the big floor, ready and waiting. The girls held their hands in front of them and squirmed their fingers. The boys tapped their feet restlessly. Around the floor the old folks sat, smiling slightly, holding the children back from the floor. And in the distance the Jesus-lovers sat with hard condemning faces and watched the sin.