He was about to get up when a group of men walked by on the edge of the highway. Tom waited until they were far ahead before he stood up and followed them. He watched the side of the road for tents. A few automobiles went by. A stream cut across the fields, and the highway crossed it on a small concrete bridge. Tom looked over the side of the bridge. In the bottom of the deep ravine he saw a tent and a lantern was burning inside. He watched it for a moment, saw the shadows of people against the canvas walls. Tom climbed a fence and moved down into the ravine through brush and dwarf willows; and in the bottom, beside a tiny stream, he found a trail. A man sat on a box in front of the tent.
“Evenin’,” Tom said. “Who are you?”
“Well—I guess, well—I’m jus’ goin’ past.”
“Know anybody here?”
“No. I tell you I was jus’ goin’ past.” A head stuck out of the tent. A voice said, “What’s the matter?”
“Casy!” Tom cried. “Casy! For Chris’ sake, what you doin’ here?”
“Why, my God, it’s Tom Joad! Come on in, Tommy. Come on in.”
“Know him, do ya?” the man in front asked. “Know him? Christ, yes. Knowed him for years. I come west with him. Come on in, Tom.” He clutched Tom’s elbow and pulled him into the tent. Three other men sat on the ground, and in the center of the tent a lantern burned. The men looked up suspiciously. A dark-faced, scowling man held out his hand. “Glad to meet ya,” he said. “I heard what Casy said. This the fella you was tellin’ about?”
“Sure. This is him. Well, for God’s sake! Where’s your folks? What you doin’ here?”
“Well,” said Tom, “we heard they was work this-a-way. An’ we come, an’ a bunch a State cops run us into this here ranch an’ we been a-pickin’ peaches all afternoon. I seen a bunch a fellas yellin’. They wouldn’ tell me nothin’, so I come out here to see what’s goin’ on. How’n hell’d you get here, Casy?”