Then the gallon bucket tied on behind.
They made the bottom of the load as even as possible, and filled the spaces between boxes with rolled blankets.
Then over the top they laid the mattresses, filling the truck in level.
And last they spread the big tarpaulin over the load and Al made holes in the edge, two feet apart, and inserted little ropes, and tied it down to the side-bars of the truck.
“Now, if it rains,” he said, “we’ll tie it to the bar above, an’ the folks can get underneath, out of the wet.
Up front we’ll be dry enough.”
And Pa applauded.
“That’s a good idear.”
“That ain’t all,” Al said. “First chance I git I’m gonna fin’ a long plank an’ make a ridge pole, an’ put the tarp over that.
An’ then it’ll be covered in, an’ the folks’ll be outa the sun, too.”
And Pa agreed,
“That’s a good idear.
Whyn’t you think a that before?”
“I ain’t had time,” said Al.
“Ain’t had time?
Why, Al, you had time to coyote all over the country.
God knows where you been this las’ two weeks.”
“Stuff a fella got to do when he’s leavin’ the country,” said Al.
And then he lost some of his assurance. “Pa,” he asked. “You glad to be goin’, Pa?”
“Huh?
Well—sure. Leastwise—yeah. We had hard times here. ’Course it’ll be all different out there—plenty work, an’ ever’thing nice an’ green, an’ little white houses an’ oranges growin’ aroun’.”
“Is it all oranges ever’where?”
“Well, maybe not ever’where, but plenty places.”
The first gray of daylight began in the sky.
And the work was done—the kegs of pork ready, the chicken coop ready to go on top.
Ma opened the oven and took out the pile of roasted bones, crisp and brown, with plenty of gnawing meat left.
Ruthie half awakened, and slipped down from the box, and slept again.
But the adults stood around the door, shivering a little and gnawing at the crisp pork.
“Guess we oughta wake up Granma an’ Grampa,” Tom said. “Gettin’ along on toward day.”
Ma said,
“Kinda hate to, till the las’ minute.
They need the sleep.
Ruthie an’ Winfield ain’t hardly got no real rest neither.”
“Well, they kin all sleep on top a the load,” said Pa. “It’ll be nice an’ comf ’table there.”
Suddenly the dogs started up from the dust and listened.
And then, with a roar, went barking off into the darkness.
“Now what in hell is that?” Pa demanded.
In a moment they heard a voice speaking reassuringly to the barking dogs and the barking lost its fierceness.
Then footsteps, and a man approached.
It was Muley Graves, his hat pulled low.
He came near timidly.
“Morning, folks,” he said.
“Why, Muley.” Pa waved the ham bone he held. “Step in an’ get some pork for yourself, Muley.”
“Well, no,” said Muley. “I ain’t hungry, exactly.”
“Oh, get it, Muley, get it. Here!” And Pa stepped into the house and brought out a hand of spareribs.
“I wasn’t aiming to eat none a your stuff,” he said. “I was jus’ walkin’ aroun’, an’ I thought how you’d be goin’, an’ I’d maybe say good-by.”
“Goin’ in a little while now,” said Pa. “You’d a missed us if you’d come an hour later.
All packed up—see?”
“All packed up.” Muley looked at the loaded truck. “Sometimes I wisht I’d go an’ fin’ my folks.”
Ma asked,