“No, you wasn’t,” Jule said. “You was gonna sock that kid.”
Tom said, “Mr. Huston, jus’ when these here fellas moved in, somebody give a whistle.”
“Yeah, I know! The cops come right to the gate.” He turned back. “We ain’t gonna hurt you. Now who tol’ you to come bus’ up our dance?” He waited for a reply. “You’re our own folks,” Huston said sadly. “You belong with us. How’d you happen to come? We know all about it,” he added.
“Well, goddamn it, a fella got to eat.”
“Well, who sent you? Who paid you to come?”
“We ain’t been paid.”
“An’ you ain’t gonna be. No fight, no pay. Ain’t that right?” One of the pinioned men said, “Do what you want. We ain’t gonna tell nothing.”
Huston’s head sank down for a moment, and then he said softly, “O.K. Don’t tell. But looka here. Don’t knife your own folks. We’re tryin’ to get along, havin’ fun an’ keepin’ order. Don’t tear all that down. Jes’ think about it. You’re jes’ harmin’ yourself.
“Awright, boys, put ’em over the back fence. An’ don’t hurt ’em. They don’t know what they’re doin’.” The squad moved slowly toward the rear of the camp, and Huston looked after them. Jule said, “Le’s jes’ take one good kick at ’em.”
“No, you don’t!” Willie cried. “I said we wouldn’.”