Curley came suddenly to life.
“I know who done it,” he cried.
“That big son-of-a-bitch done it. I know he done it. Why—ever’body else was out there playin’ horseshoes.”
He worked himself into a fury.
“I’m gonna get him. I’m going for my shotgun. I’ll kill the big son-of-a-bitch myself. I’ll shoot ’im in the guts. Come on, you guys.”
He ran furiously out of the barn.
Carlson said, “I’ll get my Luger,” and he ran out too.
Slim turned quietly to George.
“I guess Lennie done it, all right,” he said.
“Her neck’s bust. Lennie coulda did that.”
George didn’t answer, but he nodded slowly. His hat was so far down on his forehead that his eyes were covered.
Slim went on, “Maybe like that time in Weed you was tellin’ about.”
Again George nodded.
Slim sighed. “Well, I guess we got to get him. Where you think he might of went?”
It seemed to take George some time to free his words.
“He—would of went south,” he said.
“We come from north so he would of went south.”
“I guess we gotta get ’im,” Slim repeated.
George stepped close.
“Couldn’ we maybe bring him in an’ they’ll lock him up? He’s nuts, Slim. He never done this to be mean.”
Slim nodded.
“We might,” he said.
“If we could keep Curley in, we might. But Curley’s gonna want to shoot ’im. Curley’s still mad about his hand. An’ s’pose they lock him up an’ strap him down and put him in a cage. That ain’t no good, George.”
“I know,” said George, “I know.”
Carlson came running in.
“The bastard’s stole my Luger,” he shouted.
“It ain’t in my bag.”
Curley followed him, and Curley carried a shotgun in his good hand. Curley was cold now.
“All right, you guys,” he said.
“The nigger’s got a shotgun. You take it, Carlson. When you see ’um, don’t give ’im no chance. Shoot for his guts. That’ll double ’im over.”
Whit said excitedly, “I ain’t got a gun.”
Curley said, “You go in Soledad an’ get a cop. Get Al Wilts, he’s deputy sheriff. Le’s go now.” He turned suspiciously on George. “You’re comin’ with us, fella.” {1}
“Yeah,” said George.
“I’ll come. But listen, Curley. The poor bastard’s nuts. Don’t shoot ’im. He di’n’t know what he was doin’.”
“Don’t shoot ’im?” Curley cried.
“He got Carlson’s Luger. ’Course we’ll shoot ’im.”
George said weakly, “Maybe Carlson lost his gun.”
“I seen it this morning,” said Carlson. “No, it’s been took.”
Slim stood looking down at Curley’s wife.
He said, “Curley—maybe you better stay here with your wife.”
Curley’s face reddened. “I’m goin’,” he said. “I’m gonna shoot the guts outa that big bastard myself, even if I only got one hand. I’m gonna get ’im.”
Slim turned to Candy. “You stay here with her then, Candy. The rest of us better get goin’.”
They moved away. George stopped a moment beside Candy and they both looked down at the dead girl until Curley called, “You George! You stick with us so we don’t think you had nothin’ to do with this.”
George moved slowly after them, and his feet dragged heavily.
And when they were gone, Candy squatted down in the hay and watched the face of Curley’s wife.
“Poor bastard,” he said softly.
The sound of the men grew fainter.
The barn was darkening gradually and, in their stalls, the horses shifted their feet and rattled the halter chains.
Old Candy lay down in the hay and covered his eyes with his arm.
The deep green pool of the Salinas River was still in the late afternoon.
Already the sun had left the valley to go climbing up the slopes of the Gabilan Mountains, and the hilltops were rosy in the sun.
But by the pool among the mottled sycamores, a pleasant shade had fallen.
A water snake glided smoothly up the pool, twisting its periscope head from side to side; and it swam the length of the pool and came to the legs of a motionless heron that stood in the shallows.
A silent head and beak lanced down and plucked it out by the head, and the beak swallowed the little snake while its tail waved frantically.{2}
A far rush of wind sounded and a gust drove through the tops of the trees like a wave.
The sycamore leaves turned up their silver sides, the brown, dry leaves on the ground scudded a few feet.
And row on row of tiny wind waves flowed up the pool’s green surface.
As quickly as it had come, the wind died, and the clearing was quiet again.
The heron stood in the shallows, motionless and waiting.
Another little water snake swam up the pool, turning its periscope head from side to side.
Suddenly Lennie appeared out of the brush, and he came as silently as a creeping bear moves.
The heron pounded the air with its wings, jacked itself clear of the water and flew off down river.
The little snake slid in among the reeds at the pool’s side.
