Slim sat with George until the sound of grunting engines acted as alarm clocks. “Now we gotta get you up for work or the boss ’ll give ya hell.” George allowed himself to be helped up; he was still wearing yesterday’s clothes “let’s get you all fresh’ed up.”
“No” refused George “it’ll do.”
The sun had begun it’s descent behind the Gabilan mountains. The sycamores swayed in the chilled wind and over the fields a dark shadow had engulfed the workers. “You go to your wife’s funeral Curley?” asked Carlson. “Nah,” replied Curley Casually “I had a hell of a lot o’ work.”
George struggled to hoist the last bag of grain onto the trailer, “God dammit” snapped Curley “hurry the hell up.” Slim eyed Curley angrily as he helped George with the burden of his heavy load.
Back on the farm the workers were met with the smell of sizzling bacon. A lump of potatoes and a sliver of burnt bacon were slapped onto George’s plate. He nibbled the piece of bacon but it was bitter in his mouth and he returned it to his plate. “C’mon George you gotta eat something,” encouraged Slim.
“I’m not hungry slim” replied George his voice barely audible.
“if your’e not gonna eat none then I’ll ‘ave it, no pig’s gonna die in vain ‘long as I’m ‘ere ” Carlson declared scraping it all onto his plate. “Dammit Carlson, a bit o’ respect the guys jus’ lost his buddy,” said whit angrily.
“Ye, giv im back his grub.” Ordered Smitty.
“But he aint even gonna eat it, are ya George?” Carlson replied.
Just then door opened. In stepped the boss wearing his usual smart attire, his face wore a troubled expression and he scanned the room his eyes resting briefly on George and finally fixing on Slim, “Slim, when your’e done, a word.” His voice held in a concerned tone.
The office was small square room, the sunlight glinted off the silver framed paintings which hung on the wall landing some light on the bookcase at the back of the room, the desk in front of it was perpendicular to the opposing wall centred by the mahogany coloured door and the paper work on the desk was organised into alphabetical files. “Knock, knock,” “C’mon in Slim.”
“Curley’s bin tellin’ me bout Georges slackin’ in the field today, is that right?”
“No sir his effort’s jus’ fine,”
“Listen slim, keep it like that, I can’t afford to be payin’ people for nothing’ and I’ve had a little talk with my good friend the sheriff I ast him to keep bad publicity bout the farm as small as he could an’ he tol’ me his evidence has matched our story and has stopped his sniffin’ around.”
That’s jus’ fine sir, is that all?”
“No, jus’ one more thing, you’ve bin offered a job by Murray and Ready as head ranch hand, sure as hell the salary is higher than here. You can ‘ave tonight to think bout it I don’t want ya to leave but I ain't gonna force ya to stay, that’s all”
Slim left the room and the boss buried his face in his hands.
It was Saturday night and as the cheers of the men going into town grew fainter Candy lay on his bed listening to the howling wind. A tear trickled down his old wrinkled cheek. Wiping the tear with his stump he turned his gaze to the box which was almost concealed with shadow beneath Carlson’s Bunk. Rigidly he sat up he picked up the box onto the bed sudden with tears. Candy lifted the gun and placed it to his head. Just then George walked in. The Gun slipped “Bang” Candy shot himself in the stomach startled George looked down at the pathetic Candy. “What ya doin’ yaw crazy bastard,” cried George Covering the wound with his shirt. Candy layback on his bed. “You don’t understand George they’re kickin’ me out, they got a new cleaner comin’ on Monday and they’re kickin’ me out.” “The boss says he can’t afford to pay me for doin’ nothin’.” “I argued, I said I aint doin’ nothing be he wudn’t listen.
“It’s Ok said George I’m gonna get you a doc.”
“That aint no use, I’ll be a goner ‘for he’s ‘ere.”
George buried his face in his hands.
“George?”
“Ye,”
“I wish Lenny was still here an’ we coulda had that farm.
“Me too”
“Will ya sit with me George?”
“Course.”
“My dog, look it’s my dog.
The old swamper’s eyes shut and his head dropped. He was dead.
George sat for a minute, his face as hard as wood.
From outside the barn came the shouts of the men and the clink of beer bottles.
The door opened and slim walked in spotting Candy he runs towards him “What the hell happened to him?”
“The boss tol’ him he aint no use no more and he shot ‘imself” George despaired “I was jus’ too late.”
“It’s ok George it was for the best”
“He didn’t have to die like this, he could’ve bin on the farm with me and Lenny.”
“It aint your fault George, none of it is, you hear?”
George did not answer.
Now I’ll jus’ go tell the others an’ then we’ll go an’ giv’ him a good burial.
Minutes later Carlson strides in “Jesus Christ George, you look like hell.”
It was Sunday morning and as the sun began it’s accent in the sky Slim made his way across a peaceful courtyard and into the bunkhouse, “George I need a word”
“What’s goin’ on?”
“George, I’m leavin’, goin’ to soledad to work for Murray and Ready.”
“what the hell am I s’posed to do here with all them crazy bastards when your gone?”
“I don’t like it here no more, jus’ last night Curley came home drunk and hung crooks like a fish on a line, I’m afraid if I don’t leave now I’ll do somethin’ I’ll regret.”
“I understand” sighed George.
“Maybe some day I’ll come back an’ visit, goodbye George.”
“Some day,” whispered George, “some day”
I
