k his damned head
off. That's all he's good for. To hell with work, if that's the whole
of the game--an' I've done my share of work, an' I can work alongside of
any of 'em. But what's the good? If they's one thing I've learned solid
since you an' me hit the road, Saxon, it is that work's the least part
of life. God!--if it was all of life I couldn't cut my throat quick
enough to get away from it. I want shotguns an' rifles, an' a horse
between my legs. I don't want to be so tired all the time I can't love
my wife. Who wants to be rich an' clear two hundred an' forty thousand
on a potato deal! Look at Rockefeller. Has to live on milk. I want
porterhouse and a stomach that can bite sole-leather. An' I want you,
an' plenty of time along with you, an' fun for both of us. What's the
good of life if they ain't no fun?"

"Oh, Billy!" Saxon cried. "It's just what I've been trying to get
straightened out in my head. It's been worrying me for ever so long. I
was afraid there was something wrong with me--that I wasn't made for
the country after all. All the time I didn't envy the San Leandro
Portuguese. I didn't want to be one, nor a Pajaro Valley Dalmatian, nor
even a Mrs. Mortimer. And you didn't either. What we want is a valley
of the moon, with not too much work, and all the fun we want. And we'll
just keep on looking until we find it. And if we don't find it, we'll
go on having the fun just as we have ever since we left Oakland. And,
Billy... we're never, never going to work our damned heads off, are we?"

"Not on your life," Billy growled in fierce affirmation.

They walked into Black Diamond with their packs on their backs. It was a
scattered village of shabby little cottages, with a main street that
was a wallow of black mud from the last late spring rain. The sidewalks
bumped up and down in uneven steps and landings. Everything seemed
un-American. The names on the strange dingy shops were unspeakably
foreign. The one dingy hotel was run by a Greek. Greeks were
everywhere--swarthy men in sea-boots and tam-o'-shanters, hatless
women in bright colors, hordes of sturdy children, and all speaking in
outlandish voices, crying shrilly and vivaciously with the volubility of
the Mediterranean.

"Huh!--this ain't the United States," Billy muttered. Down on the water
front they found a fish cannery and an asparagus cannery in the height
of the busy season, where they looked in vain among the toilers for
familiar American faces.