Three young men were coming through the gate—young working men in jeans.
They walked close together.
The guard at the gate questioned them, and they answered and passed through.
“Look at ’em careful,” Jule said.
He moved to the guard. “Who ast them three?” he asked.
“Fella named Jackson, Unit Four.”
Jule came back to Tom.
“I think them’s our fellas.”
“How ya know?”
“I dunno how. Jes’ got a feelin’.
They’re kinda scared.
Foller ’em an’ tell Willie to look ’em over, an’ tell Willie to check with Jackson, Unit Four.
Get him to see if they’re all right.
I’ll stay here.”
Tom strolled after the three young men.
They moved toward the dance floor and took their positions quietly on the edge of the crowd.
Tom saw Willie near the band and signaled him.
“What cha want?” Willie asked.
“Them three—see—there?”
“Yeah.”
“They say a fella name’ Jackson, Unit Four, ast ’em.”
Willie craned his neck and saw Huston and called him over.
“Them three fellas,” he said. “We better get Jackson, Unit Four, an’ see if he ast ’em.”
Huston turned on his heel and walked away; and in a few moments he was back with a lean and bony Kansan.
“This here’s Jackson,” Huston said.
“Look, Jackson, see them three young fellas—?”
“Yeah.”
“Well, did you ast ’em?”
“No.”
“Ever see ’em before?”
Jackson peered at them.
“Sure.
Worked at Gregorio’s with ’em.”
“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.”