Departure Read Free Page A

and they had opened the doors and said: Take this maiden for yourself, she with the lips as red as poppies and the lissome stride. I had only hatred and contempt for those whose eyes were wet now.
    â€œWhat is it, kid?”
    â€œTo hell with you! To hell with you!”
    And when the train stopped in the morning, we were in France.

The Old Wagon
    O N THE SEAT of the wagon, as it drove into the little town, were a man and woman, and a child of six. The man drove two jaded horses; the child, sitting between the man and woman, twisted his head from left to right with never flagging interest. The woman, who was small, sat primly in the seat, as if she knew what a poor impression the wagon made, and desired to counteract it.
    The old wagon was piled high with household goods, with pots and pans and chests and chairs and quilts, with much that was no better than junk. Over all, a patched canvas cover was drawn. Roped onto the side were two water barrels. And in back, with bare, dusty legs hanging over the tailboard, were two more children, a boy of eleven, a girl of nine.
    The horses were tired, and they walked into the town slowly. The man was tired, and he slouched over his reins, a long, rawboned man with a stubble of beard on his face. Only the woman seemed as fresh as if she had just got out of bed and washed and dressed. She was a little woman, and she sat primly, with her hands folded in her lap. She wore a plain blue cotton dress that fell to her ankles, a duller blue than the color of her eyes, which were large and round and warm. The eyes were the one prominent feature in her small plain face. Her black hair was drawn back tightly under a black bonnet.
    It was a few hours past midday, hot, sunny, when they drove into the town. The town consisted of one long street, carpeted with dust, and at this hour it was empty, except for a dozen or so horses standing in front of two saloons.
    Briefly, the woman glanced at the town, at the flat house fronts, at the saloons and the horses, after which she folded her hands again a little more firmly in her lap. Her lips compressed, and a click of her tongue told her husband she didn’t like the town.
    â€œDon’t like it much myself,” he admitted. “Got a name for being bad.”
    â€œJust shiftless, looks to me,” she said. “Now don’t stop, but go right through.”
    â€œNow, Martha,” he complained, “I got to rest the horses.”
    â€œRest them plenty tonight.”
    He pointed ahead to where the single street of the village lost itself in flat land that was brown and yellow, hot and baked. “How do I know there’s water out along there, Martha?”
    â€œYou don’t know. But if we’re a goin’ to live there, there’s water. That’s all.”
    The child said: “Maw, I’m thirsty.”
    â€œSee,” the man said. “Ain’t no reason why the little shaver shouldn’t have a nice cool cup of water.”
    â€œNo reason except that a saloon’s the place you’ll look for it.”
    â€œMartha, there’s a trough out there, an’ you can’t drive dry, tired horses past water without giving them to drink.”
    â€œAll right,” she nodded.
    The team scented the water and quickened their pace. They found the trough themselves and plunged their dusty heads into it. The man sighed. The woman clicked her tongue and looked straight ahead of her. The boy began to climb down from the seat.
    â€œYou stay here,” she ordered.
    â€œMaw, I want a drink.”
    â€œStay here.”
    â€œSuppose I get the little shaver a cup of cool water,” the man suggested.
    â€œWe ain’t got money to throw away.”
    â€œNow, Martha, why talk that way. I took a pledge nine month past, an’ I ain’t broken it.”
    She looked at him a moment. “Guess I shouldn’t a said that, Jim.”
    Awkwardly, stretching his cramped legs, the man