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old he can’t hardly walk. Stinks like hell, too. Ever’ time he comes into the bunkhouse I can smell him for two, three days. Why’n’t you get Candy to shoot his old dog and give him one of the pups to raise up? I can smell that dog a mile away. Got no teeth, damn near blind, can’t eat. Candy feeds him milk. He can’t chew nothing else.”
    George had been staring intently at Slim. Suddenly a triangle began to ring outside, slowly at first, and then faster and faster until the beat of it disappeared into one ringing sound. It stopped as suddenly as it had started.
    “There she goes,” said Carlson.
    Outside, there was a burst of voices as a group of men went by.
    Slim stood up slowly and with dignity. “You guys better come on while they’s still something to eat. Won’t be nothing left in a couple of minutes.”
    Carlson stepped back to let Slim precede him, and then the two of them went out the door.
    Lennie was watching George excitedly. George rumpled his cards into a messy pile. “Yeah!” George said, “I heard him, Lennie. I’ll ask him.”
    “A brown and white one,” Lennie cried excitedly.
    “Come on. Le’s get dinner. I don’t know whether he got a brown and white one.”
    Lennie didn’t move from his bunk. “You ask him right away, George, so he won’t kill no more of ’em.”
    “Sure. Come on now, get up on your feet.”
    Lennie rolled off his bunk and stood up, and the two of them started for the door. Just as they reached it, Curley bounced in.
    “You seen a girl around here?” he demanded angrily.
    George said coldly, “’Bout half an hour ago maybe.”
    “Well what the hell was she doin’?”
    George stood still, watching the angry little man. He said insultingly, “She said—she was lookin’ for you.”
    Curley seemed really to see George for the first time. His eyes flashed over George, took in his height, measured his reach, looked at his trim middle. “Well, which way’d she go?” he demanded at last.
    “I dunno,” said George. “I didn’t watch her go.”
    Curley scowled at him, and turning, hurried out the door.
    George said, “Ya know, Lennie, I’m scared I’m gonna tangle with that bastard myself. I hate his guts. Jesus Christ! Come on. They won’t be a damn thing left to eat.”
    They went out the door. The sunshine lay in a thin line under the window. From a distance there could be heard a rattle of dishes.
    After a moment the ancient dog walked lamely in through the open door. He gazed about with mild, half-blind eyes. He sniffed, and then lay down and put his head between his paws. Curley popped into the doorway again and stood looking into the room. The dog raised his head, but when Curley jerked out, the grizzled head sank to the floor again.

ALTHOUGH THERE WAS evening brightness showing through the windows of the bunkhouse, inside it was dusk. Through the open door came the thuds and occasional clangs of a horseshoe game, and now and then the sound of voices raised in approval or derision.
    Slim and George came into the darkening bunkhouse together. Slim reached up over the card table and turned on the tin-shaded electric light. Instantly the table was brilliant with light, and the cone of the shade threw its brightness straight downward, leaving the corners of the bunkhouse still in dusk. Slim sat down on a box and George took his place opposite.
    “It wasn’t nothing,” said Slim. “I would of had to drowned most of ’em anyways. No need to thank me about that.”
    George said, “It wasn’t much to you, maybe, but it was a hell of a lot to him. Jesus Christ, I don’t know how we’re gonna get him to sleep in here. He’ll want to sleep right out in the barn with ’em. We’ll have trouble keepin’ him from getting right in the box with them pups.”
    “It wasn’t nothing,” Slim repeated. “Say, you sure was right about him. Maybe he ain’t bright, but I never seen such a worker. He damn near killed his partner buckin’ barley.