| affiliates | credits | links |
by John Steinbeck
p.16 "Cause I can jus' as well go away, George, an' live in a cave."
"You can jus' as well go to hell," said George. "Shut up now."
The red light dimmed on the coals. Up the hill from the river a coyote yammered, and a dog answered from the other side of the stream. The sycamore leaves whispered in a little night breeze.
p.17 The bunk house was a long, rectangular building. Inside, the walls were whitewashed and the floor unpainted. In three walls there were small, square windows, and in the fourth, a solid door with a wooden latch. Against the walls were eight bunks, five of them up with blankets and the other tree showing the burlap ticking. Over each bunk there was nailed an apple box with the opening forward that it made two shelves for the personal belongings for the occupant of the bunk. And these shelves were loaded with little artic, soap and talcum powder, razors and those Western magazines ranch men love to read and scoff at and secretly believe. And there were medicines on the shelves, and little vials, combs; and from nails on the box sides, a few neckties. Near one wall there was a black cast-iron stove, its stovepipe going straight up through the ceiling. In the middle of the room stood a big square table littered with playing cards, and around it were grouped boxes for the players to sit on.