“I don’ know. I jus’ itch all over. Nervous as a cat.”
“Well, what’s the matter?”
“I don’ know. Seems like I hear somepin, an’ then I listen an’ they ain’t nothin’ to hear.”
“You’re jus’ jumpy,” the wizened man said. He got up and went outside. And in a second he looked into the tent. “They’s a great big ol’ black cloud a-sailin’ over. Bet she’s got thunder. That’s what’s itchin’ him—’lectricity.” He ducked out again. The other two men stood up from the ground and went outside.
Casy said softly, “All of ’em’s itchy. Them cops been sayin’ how they’re gonna beat the hell outa us an’ run us outa the county. They figger I’m a leader ’cause I talk so much.”
The wizened face looked in again. “Casy, turn out that lantern an’ come outside. They’s somepin.”
Casy turned the screw. The flame drew down into the slots and popped and went out. Casy groped outside and Tom followed him. “What is it?” Casy asked softly.
“I dunno. Listen!”
There was a wall of frog sounds that merged with silence. A high, shrill whistle of crickets. But through this background came other sounds—faint footsteps from the road, a crunch of clods up on the bank, a little swish of brush down the stream.
“Can’t really tell if you hear it. Fools you. Get nervous,” Casy reassured them. “We’re all nervous. Can’t really tell. You hear it, Tom?”