Of Mice and Men

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John Steinbeck’s 
 
Of 
 
Mice and Men 
 
 
   

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 CHAPTER  1 
 
   
 
 A FEW MILES south of Soledad, the Salinas River drops in close 
to the hillside bank and runs deep and green. The water is warm 
too, for it has slipped twinkling over the yellow sands in the 
sunlight before reaching the narrow pool. On one side of the river 
the golden foothill slopes curve up to the strong and rocky Gabilan 
mountains, but on the valley side the water is lined with trees - 
willows fresh and green with every spring, carrying in their lower 
leaf junctures the debris of the winter’s flooding; and sycamores 
with mottled, white, recumbent limbs and branches that arch over 
the pool. On the sandy bank under the trees the leaves lie deep 
and so crisp that a lizard makes a great skittering if he runs 
among them. Rabbits come out of the brush to sit on the sand in 
the evening, and the damp flats are covered with the night tracks 
of ’coons, and with the spread pads of dogs from the ranches, and 
with the split-wedge tracks of deer that come to drink in the dark. 
 
 There is a path through the willows and among the sycamores, a 
path beaten hard by boys coming down from the ranches to swim 
in the deep pool, and beaten hard by tramps who come wearily 
down from the highway in the evening to jungle-up near water. In 
front of the low horizontal limb of a giant sycamore there is an ash 
pile made by many fires; the limb is worn smooth by men who 
have sat on it. 
 
   
 
 Evening of a hot day started the little wind to moving among the 
leaves. The shade climbed up the hills toward the top. On the sand 
banks the rabbits sat as quietly as little gray, sculptured stones. 
And then from the direction of the state highway came the sound 
of footsteps on crisp sycamore leaves. The rabbits hurried 
noiselessly for cover. A stilted heron labored up into the air and 

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pounded down river. For a moment the place was lifeless, and 
then two men emerged from the path and came into the opening 
by the green pool. 
 
 They had walked in single file down the path, and even in the 
open one stayed behind the other. Both were dressed in denim 
trousers and in denim coats with brass buttons. Both wore black, 
shapeless hats and both carried tight blanket rolls slung over 
their shoulders. The first man was small and quick, dark of face, 
with restless eyes and sharp, strong features. Every part of him 
was defined: small, strong hands, slender arms, a thin and bony 
nose. Behind him walked his opposite, a huge man, shapeless of 
face, with large, pale eyes, with wide, sloping shoulders; and he 
walked heavily, dragging his feet a little, the way a bear drags his 
paws. His arms did not swing at his sides, but hung loosely. 
 
 The first man stopped short in the clearing, and the follower 
nearly ran over him. He took off his hat and wiped the sweat-band 
with his forefinger and snapped the moisture off. His huge 
companion dropped his blankets and flung himself down and 
drank from the surface of the green pool; drank with long gulps, 
snorting into the water like a horse. The small man stepped 
nervously beside him. 
 
 "Lennie!" he said sharply. "Lennie, for God’ sakes don’t drink so 
much." Lennie continued to snort into the pool. The small man 
leaned over and shook him by the shoulder. "Lennie. You gonna be 
sick like you was last night." 
 
 Lennie dipped his whole head under, hat and all, and then he sat 
up on the bank and his hat dripped down on his blue coat and ran 
down his back. "Tha’s good," he said. "You drink some, George. 
You take a good big drink." He smiled happily. 
 
 George unslung his bindle and dropped it gently on the bank. "I 
ain’t sure it’s good water," he said. "Looks kinda scummy." 
 
 Lennie dabb1ed his big paw in the water and wiggled his fingers 

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so the water arose in little splashes; rings widened across the pool 
to the other side and came back again. Lennie watched them go. 
"Look, George. Look what I done." 
 
 George knelt beside the pool and drank from his hand with quick 
scoops. "Tastes all right," he admitted. "Don’t really seem to be 
running, though. You never oughta drink water when it ain’t 
running, Lennie," he said hopelessly. "You’d drink out of a gutter 
if you was thirsty." He threw a scoop of water into his face and 
rubbed it about with his hand, under his chin and around the back 
of his neck. Then he replaced his hat, pushed himself back from 
the river, drew up his knees and embraced them. Lennie, who had 
been watching, imitated George exactly. He pushed himself back, 
drew up his knees, embraced them, looked over to George to see 
whether he had it just right. He pulled his hat down a little more 
over his eyes, the way George’s hat was. 
 
 George stared morosely at the water. The rims of his eyes were 
red with sun glare. He said angrily, "We could just as well of rode 
clear to the ranch if that bastard bus driver knew what he was 
talkin’ about. ‘Jes’ a little stretch down the highway,’ he says. ‘Jes’ 
a little stretch.’ God damn near four miles, that’s what it was! 
Didn’t wanta stop at the ranch gate, that’s what. Too God damn 
lazy to pull up. Wonder he isn’t too damn good to stop in Soledad 
at all. Kicks us out and says, ‘Jes’ a little stretch down the road.’ I 
bet it was
more
 than four miles. Damn hot day." 
 
 Lennie looked timidly over to him. "George?" 
 
 "Yeah, what ya want?" 
 
 "Where we goin’, George?" 
 
 The little man jerked down the brim of his hat and scowled over 
at Lennie. "So yon forgot that awready, did you? I gotta tell you 
again, do I? Jesus Christ, you’re a crazy bastard!" 
 
 "I forgot," Lennie said softly. "I tried not to forget. Honest to God I 

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did, George." 
 
 "O.K.- O.K. I’ll tell ya again. I ain’t got nothing to do. Might jus’ 
as well spen’ all my time tellin’ you things and then you forget 
’em, and I tell you again." 
 
 "Tried and tried," said Lennie, "but it didn’t do no good. I 
remember about the rabbits, George." 
 
 "The hell with the rabbits. That’s all you ever can remember is 
them rabbits. O.K.! Now you listen and this time you got to 
remember so we don’t get in no trouble. You remember settin’ in 
that gutter on Howard Street and watchin’ that blackboard?" 
 
 Lennie’s face broke into a delighted smile. "Why sure, George. I 
remember that.... but.... what’d we do then? I remember some girls 
come by and you says.... you say." 
 
 "The hell with what I says. You remember about us goin’ into 
Murray and Ready’s, and they give us work cards and bus 
tickets?" 
 
 "Oh, sure, George. I remember that now." His hands went quickly 
into his side coat pockets. He said gently, "George.... I ain’t got 
mine. I musta lost it," He looked down at the ground in despair. 
 
 "You never had none, you crazy bastard. I got both of ’em here. 
Think I’d let you carry your own work card?" 
 
 Lennie grinned with relief. "I.... I thought I put it in my side 
pocket." His hand went into the pocket again. 
 
 George looked sharply at him. "What’d you take outa that 
pocket?" 
 
 "Ain’t a thing in my pocket," Lennie said cleverly. 
 
 "I know there ain’t. You got it in your hand. What you got in your 

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hand - hidin’ it?" 
 
 "I ain’t got nothin’, George, Honest." 
 
 "Come on, give it here." 
 
 Lennie held his closed hand away from George's direction. "It’s 
only a mouse, George." 
 
 "A mouse? A live mouse?" 
 
 "Uh-uh. Jus’ a dead mouse, George. I didn’ kill it. ’ Honest! I 
found it. I found it dead." 
 
 "Give it here!" said George. 
 
 "Aw, leave me have it, George." 
 
 "Give it
here!" 
 
 Lennie’s closed hand slowly obeyed. George took the mouse and 
threw it across the pool to the other side, among the brush. "What 
you want of a dead mouse, anyways?" 
 
 "I could pet it with my thumb while we walked along," said 
Lennie. 
 
 "Well, you ain’t petting no mice while you walk with me. You 
remember where we’re goin’ now?" 
 
 Lennie looked startled and then in embarrassment hid his face 
against his knees. "I forgot again." 
 
 "Jesus Christ," George said resignedly. "Well - look, we’re gonna 
work on a ranch like the one we come from up north" 
 
 "Up north?" 
 

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 "In Weed." 
 
 "Oh, sure. I remember. In Weed." 
 
 "That ranch we’re goin’ to is right down there about a quarter 
mile. We’re gonna go in an’ see the boss. Now, look - I’ll give him 
the work tickets, but you ain’t gonna say a word. You jus’ stand 
there and don’t say nothing. If he finds out what a crazy bastard 
you are, we won’t get no job, but if he sees ya work before he hears 
ya talk, we’re set. Ya got that?" 
 
 "Sure, George. Sure I got it." 
 
 "O.K. Now when we go in to see the boss, what you gonna do?" 
 
 "I.... I," Lennie thought. His face grew tight with thought. "I.... 
ain’t gonna say nothin’. Jus’ gonna stan’ there." 
 
 "Good boy. That’s swell. You say that over two, three times so you 
sure won’t forget it." 
 
 Lennie droned to himself softly, "I ain’t gonna say nothin’.... I 
ain’t gonna say nothin’.... I ain’t gonna say nothin’." 
 
 "O.K.," said George. "An’ you ain’t gonna do no bad things like you 
done in Weed, neither." 
 
 Lennie looked puzzled. "Like I done in Weed?" 
 
 "Oh, so ya forgot that too, did ya. Well, I ain’t gonna remind ya, 
fear ya do it again." 
 
 A light of understanding broke on Lennie’s face. "They run us 
outa Weed," he exploded triumphantly. 
 
 "Run us out, hell," said George disgustedly. "We run. They was 
lookin’ for us, but they didn’t catch us. 
 

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 Lennie giggled happily. "I didn’t forget that, you bet." 
 
 George lay back on the sand and crossed his hands under his 
head, and Lennie imitated him, raising his head to see whether he 
were doing it right. "God, you’re a lot of trouble," said George. "I 
could get along so easy and so nice if I didn’t have you on my tail. I 
could live so easy and maybe have a girl." 
 
 For a moment Lennie lay quiet, and then he said hopefully, "We 
gonna work on a ranch, George." 
 
 "Awright. You got that. But we’re gonna sleep here because I got 
a reason." 
 
 The day was going fast now. Only the tops of the Gabilan 
mountains flamed with the light of the sun that hid gone from the 
valley. A water snake slipped along on the pool, its head held up 
like a little periscope. The reeds jerked slightly in the current. Far 
off toward the highway a man shouted something, and another 
man shouted back. The sycamore limbs rustled under a little wind 
that died immediately. 
 
 "George - why ain’t we goin’ on to the ranch and get some supper? 
They got supper at the ranch." 
 
 George rolled on his side. "No reason at all for you. I like it here. 
Tomorra we’re gonna go to work I seen thrashin’ machines on the 
way down. That means we’ll be bucking grain bags, bustin’ a gut. 
Tonight I’m gonna lay right here and look up. I like it." 
 
 Lennie got up on his knees and looked down at George. "Ain’t we 
gonna have no supper?" 
 
 "Sure we are, if you gather up some dead willow sticks, I got three 
cans of beans in my bindle. You get a fire ready. I’ll give you a 
match when you get the sticks together. Then we’ll heat the beans 
and have supper." 
 

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 Lennie said, "I like beans with ketchup." 
 
 "Well, we ain’t got no ketchup. You go get wood. An’ don’t you fool 
around. It’ll be dark before long." 
 
 Lennie lumbered to his feet and disappeared in the brush. George 
lay where he was and whistled softly to himself. There were 
sounds of splashings down the river in the direction Lennie had 
taken. George stopped whistling and listened, "Poor bastard," he 
said softly, and then went on whistling again. 
 
 In a moment Lennie came crashing back through the brush. He 
carried one small willow stick in his hand. George sat up. 
"Awright," he said brusquely. "Gi’me that mouse!" 
 
 But Lennie made an elaborate pantomime of innocence. "What 
mouse, George? I ain’t got no mouse." 
 
 George held out his hand. "Come on. Give it to me. You ain’t 
puttin’ nothing over." 
 
 Lennie hesitated, backed away, looked wildly at the brush line as 
though he contemplated running for his freedom. George said 
coldly, "You gonna give me that mouse or do I have to sock you?" 
 
 "Give you what, George?" 
 
 "You know God damn well what. I want that mouse." 
 
 Lennie reluctantly reached into his pocket. His voice broke a 
little. "I don’t know why I can’t keep it. It ain’t nobody’s mouse. I 
didn’t steal it. I found it lyin’ right beside the road." 
 
 George’s hand remained outstretched imperiously. Slowly, like a 
terrier who doesn’t want to bring a ball to its master, Lennie 
approached, drew back, approached again. George snapped his 
fingers sharply, and at the sound Lennie laid the mouse in his 
hand. 

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 "I wasn’t doin’ nothing bad with it, George. Jus’ strokin’ it." 
 
 George stood up and threw the mouse as far as he could into the 
darkening brush, and then he stepped to the pool and washed his 
hands. "You crazy fool. Don’t you think I could see your feet was 
wet where you went acrost the river to get it?" He heard Lennie’s 
whimpering cry and wheeled about. "Blubberin’ like a baby! Jesus 
Christ! A big guy like you." Lennie’s lip quivered and tears started 
in his eyes. "Aw, Lennie!" George put his hand on Lennie’s 
shoulder. "I ain’t takin’ it away jus’ for ' meanness. That mouse 
ain’t fresh, Lennie; and besides, you’ve broke it pettin’ it. You get 
another mouse that’s fresh and I’ll let you keep it a little while." 
 
 Lennie sat down on the ground and hung his head dejectedly, "I 
don’t know where there is no other mouse. I remember a lady used 
to give ’em to me - ever’ one she got. But that lady ain’t here." 
 
 George scoffed. "Lady, huh? Don’t even remember who that lady 
was. That was your own Aunt Clara. An’ she stopped givin’ ’em to 
ya. You always killed ’em." 
 
 Lennie looked sadly up at him. "They was so little," he said, 
apologetically. "I’d pet ’em, and pretty soon they bit my fingers 
and I pinched their heads a little and then they was dead - 
because they was so little. 
 
 "I wish’t we’d get the rabbits pretty soon, George. They ain’t so 
little." 
 
 "The hell with the rabbits. An’ you ain’t to be trusted with no live 
mice; Your Aunt Clara give you a rubber mouse and you wouldn’t 
have nothing to do with it." 
 
 "It wasn’t no good to pet," said Lennie. 
 
 The flame of the sunset lifted from the mountain-tops and dusk 
came into the valley, and a half darkness came in among the 

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willows and the sycamores. A big carp rose to the surface of the 
pool, gulped air and then sank mysteriously into the dark water 
again, leaving widening rings on the water. Over-head the leaves 
whisked again and little puffs of willow cotton blew down and 
landed on the pool’s surface, 
 
 "You gonna get that wood?" George demanded. "There’s plenty 
right up against the back of that sycamore. Floodwater wood. Now 
you get it." 
 
 Lennie went behind the tree and brought out a litter of dried 
leaves and twigs. He threw them in a heap on the oldash pile and 
went back for more and more. It was almost night now. A dove’s 
wings whistled over the water. George walked to the fire pile and 
lighted the dry leaves. The flame cracked up among the twigs and 
fell to work. George undid his bindle and brought out three cans of 
beans. He stood them about the fire, close in against the blaze, but 
not quite touching the flame. 
 
 "There’s enough beans for four men," George said. 
 
 Lennie watched him from over the fire. He said patiently, "I like 
’em with ketchup." 
 
 "Well, we ain’t got any," George exploded. "Whatever we ain’t got, 
that’s what you want. God a’mighty, if I was alone I could live so 
easy. I could go get a job an’ work, an’ no trouble. No mess ' all, 
and when the end of the month come I coul' take my fifty bucks 
and go into town and get what‘ ever I want. Why, I could stay in a 
cat house night. I could eat any place I want, hotel or an place, 
and order any damn thing I could think of. An’ I could do all that 
every damn month. Get a gallon of whisky, or set in a pool room 
and play cards or shoot pool." Lennie knelt and looked over the 
fire at the angry George. And Lennie’s face was drawn with terror. 
"An’ whatta I got," George went on furiously. "I got you! You can’t 
keep a job and you lose me ever’ job I get. Jus’ keep me shovin’ all 
over the country all the time. An’ that ain’t the,' worst. You get in 
trouble. You do bad things and I got m get you out." His voice rose 

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nearly to a shout. "You crazy son-of-a-bitch. You keep me in hot 
water all the time." He took on the elaborate manner of little girls 
when they are mimicking one another. "Jus’ wanted to feel that 
girl’s dress - jus’ wanted to pet it like it was a mouse - Well, how 
the hell did she know you jus’ wanted to feel her dress? She jerks 
back and you hold on like it was a mouse. She yells and we got to 
hide in a irrigation ditch all day with guys lookin’ for us, and we 
got to sneak out in the dark and get outta the country. All the 
time somethin’ like that - all the time. I wisht I could put you in a 
cage with about a million mice an’ let you have fun." His anger left 
him suddenly. He looked across the fire at Lennie’s anguished 
face, and then he looked ashamedly at the flames. 
 
   
 
 It was quite dark now, but the fire lighted the trunks of the trees 
and the curving branches overhead. Lennie crawled slowly and 
cautiously around the fire until he was close to George. He sat 
back on his heels. George turned the bean cans so that another 
side faced the fire. He pretended to be un-aware of Lennie so close 
beside him. 
 
 "George," very softly. No answer. "George!" 
 
 "Whatta you want?" 
 
 "I was only foolin’, George. I don’t want no ketchup. I wouldn’t eat 
no ketchup if it was right here beside me." 
 
 "If it was here, you could have some." 
 
 "But I wouldn’t eat none, George. I’d leave it all for you. You could 
cover your beans with it and I wouldn’t touch none of it." 
 
 George still stared morosely at the fire. "When I think of the swell 
time I could have without you, I go nuts. I never get no peace." 
 
 Lennie still knelt. He looked off into the darkness across the 

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river, "George, you want I should go away and leave you alone?" 
 
 "Where the hell could you go?" 
 
 "Well, I could. I could go off in the hills there. Some place I’d find 
a cave." 
 
 "Yeah' How’d you eat. You ain’t got sense enough to find nothing 
to eat." 
 
 "I’d find things, George. I don’t need no nice food with ketchup. I’d 
lay out in the sun and nohody’d hurt me; An’ if I foun’ a mouse, I 
could keep it. Nobody’d take it away from me." 
 
 George looked quickly and searchingly at him. "I been mean, ain’t 
I?" 
 
 "If you don’ want me I can go off in the hills an’ find a cave. I can 
go away any time." 
 
 "No - look! I was jus’ foolin’, Lennie. ’Cause'. I want you to stay 
with me. Trouble with mice is you always kill ’em." He paused. 
"Tell you what I’ll do, Lennie. First chance I get I'll give you a pup. 
Maybe you wouldn’t kill
it.
 That’d be better than. mice. And you 
could pet it harder." 
 
 Lennie avoided the bait. He had sensed his advantage, "If you 
don’t want me, you only jus’ got to say so, and I’ll go off in those 
hills right there - right up in those hills and live by myself. An’ I 
won’t get no mice stole from me." 
 
 George said, "I want you to stay with me, Lennie. Jesus Christ, 
somebody’d shoot you for a coyote if you was by yourself. No, you 
stay with me. Your Aunt Clara wouldn’t like you running off by 
yourself, even if she is dead." 
 
 Lennie spoke craftily, "Tell me - like you done before." 
 

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 "Tell you what?" 
 
 "About the rabbits." 
 
 George snapped, "You ain’t gonna put nothing over on me." 
 
 Lennie pleads "Come on, George. Tell me. Please, George. Like 
you done before." 
 
 "You get a kick outta that, don’t you? Awright, I’ll tell you, and 
then we’ll eat our supper...." 
 
 George’s voice became deeper. He repeated his words 
rhythmically as though he had said them many times before. 
"Guys like us, that work on ranches, are the loneliest guys in the 
world. They got no family. They don’t belong no place. They come 
to a ranch an’ work up a stake and then they go inta town and 
blow their stake, and the first thing you know they’re poundin’ 
their tail on some other ranch. They ain’t got nothing to look 
ahead to." 
 
 Lennie was delighted. "That’s it - that’s it. Now tell how it is with 
us." 
 
 George went on. "With us it ain’t like that. We got a future. We 
got somebody to talk to that gives a damn about us. We don’t have 
to sit in no bar room blowin’ our jack jus’ because we got no place 
else to go. If them other guys gets in jail they can rot for all 
anybody gives a damn. But not us." 
 
 Lennie broke in.
"But not us! An’ why? Because .... because I got 
you to look after me, and you got me to look after you, and that’s 
why."
 He laughed delightedly. "Go on now, George!" 
 
 "You got it by heart. You can do it yourself." 
 
 "No, you. I forget some a’ the things. Tell about how it’s gonna 
be." 

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 "O.K. Someday - we’re gonna get the jack together and we’re 
gonna have a little house and a couple of acres an’ a cow and some 
pigs and -" 
 
 "An’ live off the fatta the lan’,"
Lennie shouted. "An’ have
rabbits.
 
Go on, George! Tell about what we’re gonna have in the garden 
and about the rabbits in the cages and about the rain in the 
winter and the stove, and how thick the cream is an the milk like 
you can hardly cut it. Tell about that, George." 
 
 "Why’n’t you do it yourself? You know all of it." 
 
 "No.... you tell it. It ain’t the same if I tell it. Go on.... George. 
How I get to tend the rabbits." 
 
 "Well," said George, "we’ll have a big vegetable patch and a rabbit 
hutch and chickens. And when it rains in the winter, we’ll just say 
the hell with goin’ to work, and we’ll build up a fire in the stove 
and set around it an’ listen to the rain comin’ down on the roof - 
Nuts!" He took out his pocket knife. "I ain’t got time for no more." 
He drove his knife through the top of one of the bean cans, sawed 
out the top and passed the can to Lennie. Then he opened a second 
can. From his side pocket he brought out two spoons and passed 
one of them to Lennie. 
 
 They sat by the fire and filled their mouths with beans and 
chewed mightily. A few beans slipped out of the side of Lennie’s 
mouth. George gestured with his spoon. "What you gonna say 
tomorrow when the boss asks you questions?" 
 
 Lennie stopped chewing and swallowed. His face was 
concentrated. "I.... I ain’t gonna.... say a word." 
 
 "Good boy! That’s fine, Lennie! Maybe you’re gettin’ better. When 
we get the coupla acres I can let you tend the rabbits all right. 
’Specially if you remember as good as that." 
 

---

 
 
 
 
 Lennie choked with pride. "I can remember," he said. 
 
 George motioned with his spoon again. "Look, Lennie. I want you 
to look around here. You can remember this place, can’t you? The 
ranch is about a quarter mile up that way. Just follow the river?" 
 
 "Sure," said Lennie. "I can remember this. Di’n’t I remember 
about not gonna say a word?" 
 
 "’Course you did. Well, look Lennie - if you jus’ happen to get in 
trouble like you always done be fore, I want you to come right here 
an’ hide in the brush." 
 
 "Hide in the brush," said Lennie slowly. 
 
 "Hide in the brush till I come for you. Can you remember that?" 
 
 "Sure I can, George. Hide in the brush till you come." 
 
 "But you ain’t gonna get in no trouble, because if you do, I won’t 
let you tend the rabbits." He threw his empty bean can off into the 
brush. 
 
 "I won’t get in no trouble, George. I ain’t gonna say a word." 
 
 "O.K. Bring your bindle over here by the fire. It’s gonna be nice 
sleepin’ here. Lookin’ up, and the leaves. Don’t build up no more 
fire. We’ll let her die down." 
 
 They made their beds on the sand, and as the blaze dropped from 
the fire the sphere of light grew smaller; the curling branches 
disappeared and only a faint glimmer showed where the tree 
trunks were. From the darkness Lennie called, "George - you 
asleep?" 
 
 "No. Whatta you want?" 
 
 "Let’s have different color rabbits, George." 

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 "Sure we will," George said sleepily. "Red and blue and green 
rabbits, Lennie. Millions of ’em." 
 
 "Furry ones, George, like I seen in the fair in Sacramento." 
 
 "Sure, furry ones." 
 
 "’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 hammered, and a dog answered from the other side of the 
stream. The sycamore leaves whispered in a little night breeze. 
 
   
 
   
 
   
 
   
 CHAPTER  2 
 
   
 
 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 larch. Against the walls were eight bunks, five of 
them made up with blankets and the other three showing their 
burlap ticking. Over each bunk there was nailed an apple box with 
the opening forward so that it made two shelves for the personal 
belongings of the occupant of the bunk. And these shelves were 
loaded with little articles 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. 
 
 At about ten o’clock in the morning the sun threw a bright dust-
laden bar through one of the side windows, and in and out of the 
beam flies shot like rushing stars. 
 
 The wooden latch raised. The door opened and a tall, stoop-
shouldered old man came in. He was dressed in blue jeans and he 
carried a big push broom in his left hand. Behind him came 
George, and behind George, Lennie. 
 
 "The boss was expectin’ you last night," the old man said. "He was 
sore as hell when you wasn’t here to go out this morning." He 
pointed with right arm, and out of the sleeve came a round stick 
like wrist, but no hand. "You can have them two beds there," he 
said, indicating two bunks near the stove. 
 
 George stepped over and threw his blankets do on the burlap sack 
of straw that was a mattress. He looked into his box shelf and 
then picked a small yellow can from it. "Say. What the hell’s this?" 
 
 "I don’t know," said the old man. 
 
 "Says ‘positively kills lice, roaches and other:, scourges.’ What the 
hell kind of bed you giving us, anyways. We don’t want no pants 
rabbits." 
 
 The old swamper shifted his broom and held it between his elbow 
and his side while he held out his hand for the can. He studied the 
label carefully. "Tell you what -" he said finally, "last guy that 
hadthis bed was a blacksmith - hell of a nice fella and clean a guy 
as you want to meet. Used to wash his hands even
after
 he ate." 
 
 "Then how come he got graybacks?" George working up a slow 

---

 
 
 
 
anger. Lennie put his bindle on the neighboring bunk and sat 
down. He watched George with open mouth. 
 
 "Tell you what," said the old swamper. "This here blacksmith - 
name of Whitey - was the kind of guy that would put that stuff 
around even if there wasn’t no bugs - just to make sure, see? Tell 
you what he used to do - At meals he’d peel his boil’ potatoes, an’ 
he’d take out ever’ little spot, no matter what kind, before he’d eat 
it. And if there was a red splotch on an egg, he’d scrape it off. 
Finally quit about the food. That’s the kinda guy he was - clean. 
Used ta dress up Sundays even when he wasn’t going no place, put 
on a necktie even, and then set in the bunk house." 
 
 "I ain’t so sure," said George skeptically. "What did you say he 
quit for?" 
 
 The old man put the yellow can in his pocket, and he rubbed his 
bristly white whiskers with his knuckles. "Why.... he.... just quit, 
the way a guy will. Says it was the food. Just wanted to move. 
Didn’t give no other reason but the food. Just says ‘gimme my 
time’ one night, the way any guy would." 
 
 George lifted his tick and looked underneath it, He leaned over 
and inspected the sacking closely. Immediately Lennie got up and 
did the same with his bed. Finally George seemed satisfied. He 
unrolled his bindle and put things on the shelf, his razor and bar 
of soap, his comb and bottle of pills, his liniment and leather 
wristband. Then he made his bed up neatly with blankets. The old 
man said, "I guess the boss’ll be out here in a minute. He was sure 
burned when you wasn’t here this morning. Come right in when 
we was eatin’ breakfast and says, ‘Where the hell’s them new 
men?’ An’ he give the stable buck hell, too." 
 
 George patted a wrinkle out of his bed, and sat ' down. "Give the 
stable buck hell?" he asked. 
 
 "Sure. Ya see the stable buck’s a nigger." 
 

---

 
 
 
 
 "Nigger, huh?" 
 
 "Yeah. Nice fella too. Got a crooked back where. a horse kicked 
him. The boss gives him hell when he’s mad. But the stable buck 
don’t give a damn about that. He reads a lot. Got books in his 
room." 
 
 "What kind of a guy is the boss?" George asked. 
 
 "Well, he’s a pretty nice fella. Gets pretty mad sometimes, but 
he’s pretty nice. Tell ya what - know what he done Christmas? 
Brang a gallon of whisky right in here and say "‘Drink hearty 
boys. Christmas comes but once a year.’" 
 
 "The hell he did! Whole gallon?" 
 
 "Yes sir. Jesus, we had fun. They let the nigger come in that 
night. Little skinner name of Smithy took after the nigger. Done 
pretty good, too. The guys wouldn’t let him use his feet, so the 
nigger got him. If he coulda used his feet, Smitty says he woulda 
killed the nigger. The guys said on account of the nigger’s got a 
crooked back, Smitty can’t use his feet." He paused in relish of the 
memory. "After that the guys went into Soledad and raised hell, 
didn’t go in there. I ain’t got the poop no more." 
 
 Lennie was just finishing making his bed. The wooden latch 
raised again and the door opened. A little stocky man stood in the 
open doorway. He wore blue jean trousers, a flannel shirt, a black, 
unbuttoned vest and a black coat. His thumbs were stuck in his 
belt, on each side of a square steel buckle. On his head was a 
soiled brown Stetson hat, and he wore high-heeled boots and spurs 
to prove he was not a laboring man. 
 
 The old swamper looked quickly at him, and then shuffled to the 
door rubbing his whiskers with his knuckles as he went. "Them 
guys just come," he said, and shuffled past the boss and out the 
door. 
 

---

 
 
 
 
 The boss stepped into the room with the short, quick steps of a 
fat-legged man. "I wrote Murray and Ready I wanted two men this 
morning. You got your work slips?" George reached into his pocket 
and produced the slips and handed them to the boss. "It wasn’t 
Murray, and Ready’s fault. Says right here on the slip that you 
was to be here for work this morning." 
 
 George looked down at his feet. "Bus driver give us a bum steer," 
he said. "We hadda walk ten miles. Says we was here when we 
wasn’t. We couldn’t get no rides in the morning." 
 
 The boss squinted his eyes. "Well, I had to send out the grain 
teams short two buckers. Won’t do any good to go out now till after 
dinner." He pulled his time book out of his pocket and opened it 
where a pencil was stuck between the leaves. George scowled 
meaningfully at Lennie, and Lennie nodded to show that he 
understood. The boss licked his pencil. "What’s your name?" 
 
 "George Milton." 
 
 "And what’s yours?" 
 
 George said, "His name’s Lennie Small." 
 
 The names were entered in the book. "Le’s see, this is the 
twentieth, noon the twentieth." He closed the book. "Where you 
boys been working?" 
 
 "Up around Weed," said George. 
 
 "You, too?" to Lennie. 
 
 "Yeah, him too," said George. 
 
 The boss pointed a playful finger at Lennie." He ain’t much of a 
talker, is he?" 
 
 "No, he ain’t, but he’s sure a hell of a good worker. Strong as a 

---

 
 
 
 
bull." 
 
 Lennie smiled to himself. "Strong as a bull," he repeated. George 
scowled at him, and Lennie dropped his head in shame at having 
forgotten. 
 
 The boss said suddenly, "Listen, Small!" Lennie raised his head. 
What can you do?" 
 
 In a panic, Lennie looked at George for help. "He can do anything 
you.tell him," said George. "He’ a good skinner. He can rassel 
grain bags, drive cultivator. He can do anything. Just give him a 
try." 
 
 The boss turned on George. "Then why don’t you let him answer? 
What are you trying to put over?" 
 
 George broke in loudly, "Oh! I ain’t saying he’s bright. He ain’t, 
But I say he’s a God damn good worker. He can put up a four 
hundred pound bale." 
 
 The boss deliberately put the little book in his pocket. He hooked 
his thumbs in his belt and squinted one eye nearly closed. "Say - 
what you sellin'?" 
 
 "Huh'" 
 
 "I said what stake you got in this guy? You takin’ 
 
 his pay away from him?" 
 
 "No, ’course I ain’t. Why ya think I’m sellin’ him out?" 
 
 "Well, I never seen one guy take so much trouble for another guy. 
I just like to know what your interest is." 
 
 George said, "He’s my.... cousin. I told his old lady I’d take care of 
him. He got kicked in the head by a horse when he was a kid, He’s 

---

 
 
 
 
awright. Just ain’t bright. But he can do anything you tell him." 
 
 The boss turned half away. "Well, God knows be don’t need any 
brains to buck barley bags. Rut don’t you try to put nothing over, 
Milton. I got my eye on you. Why’d you quit in Weed?" 
 
 "Job was done," said George promptly. 
 
 "What kinda job?" 
 
 "We.... we was diggin’ a cesspool." 
 
 "All right. But don’t try to put nothing over, ’cause you can’t get 
away with nothing. I seen wise guys before. Go on out with the 
grain teams after dinner. They’re pickin’ up barley at the 
threshing machine. Go out with Slim’s team." 
 
 "Slim?" 
 
 "Yeah. Big tall skinner. You’ll see him at dinner." He turned 
abruptly and went to the door, but before he went out he turned 
and looked for a long moment at the two men. 
 
 When the sound of his footsteps had died away George turned on 
Lennie. "So you wasn’t gonna say a word. You was gonna leave 
your big flapper shut and leave me do the talkin’. Damn near lost 
us the job." 
 
 Lennie stared hopelessly at his hands. "I forgot George." 
 
 "Yeah, you forgot. You always forget, an’ I got to talk you out of 
it." He sat down heavily on. the bunk. "Now he’s got his eye on us. 
Now we got to be careful and not make no slips. You keep your big 
Rapper shut after this." He fell morosely silent. 
 
 "George." 
 
 "What you want now?" 

---

 
 
 
 
 
 "I wasn’t kicked in the head with no horse, was I, George?" 
 
 "Be a damn good thing if you was," George said viciously. "Save 
ever’body a hell of a lot of trouble." 
 
 "You said I was your cousin, George." 
 
 "Well, that was a lie. An’ I’m damn glad it was. If I was a relative 
of yours I’d shoot myself." He stopped suddenly, stepped to the 
open front door and peered out. "Say, what the hell you doin' 
litenin’?" 
 
 The old man came slowly into the room. He had his broom in his 
hand. And at his heels there walked a dragfooted sheepdog, gray 
of muzzle, and with pale, blind old eyes. The dog struggled lamely 
to .i the side of the room and lay down, grunting softly i to himself 
and licking his grizzled, moth-eaten coat. The swamper watched 
him until he was settled. "I wasn’t listenin’. I was jus’ standin’ in 
the shade a minute scratchin’ my dog. I jus’ now finished 
swampin' out the wash house." 
 
 "You was pokin’ your big ears into our business," George said. "I 
don’t like nobody to get nosey." 
 
 The old man looked uneasily from George to Lennie, and then 
back "I jus’ come there," he said. "I didn’t hear nothing you guys 
was sayin’. I ain’t interested in nothing you was sayin’. A guy on a 
ranch don’t never listen nor he don’t ast no questions." 
 
 "Damn right he don’t," said George, slightly mollified, "not if he 
wants to stay. workin’ long." Rut he was reassured by the 
swamper’s defense. "Come on in and set down a minute," he said. 
"That’s a hell of an old dog." 
 
 "Yeah. I had ’im ever since he was a pup. God, he was a good 
sheep dog when he was younger." He stood his broom against the 
wall and he rubbed his white bristled cheek with his knuckles. 

---

 
 
 
 
"How’d you like the boss?" he asked. 
 
 "Pretty good. Seemed awright." 
 
 "He’s a nice fella," the swamper agreed. "You got to take him 
right." 
 
 At that moment a young man came into the bunk house; a thin 
young man with a brown face, with brown eyes and a head of 
tightly curled hair. He wore a work glove on his left hand, and, 
like the boss, he wore high-heeled boots, "Seen my old man?" he 
asked. 
 
 The swamper said, "He was here jus’ a minute ago, Curley. Went 
over to the cook house, I think." 
 
 "I’ll try to catch him," said Curley. His eyes passed over the new 
men and he stopped. He glanced coldly at George and then at 
Lennie. His arms gradually bene at the elbows and his hands 
closed into fists. He stiffened and went into a slight crouch. His 
glance was at once calculating and pugnacious. Lennie squirmed 
under the look and shifted his feet nervously. Curley stepped 
gingerly close to him. "You the new guys the old man was waitin' 
for?" 
 
 "We just come in," said George. 
 
 "Let the big gay talk." 
 
 Lennie twisted with embarrassment. 
 
 George said, "S’pose he don't want to talk?" 
 
 Curley lashed his body around. "By Christ,' he's gotta talk when 
he’s spoke to. What the hell are you gettin’ into it for?" 
 
 "We travel together," said George coldly. 
 

---

 
 
 
 
 "Oh, so it’s that way." 
 
 George was tense, and motionless. "Yeah, it’s that way." 
 
 Lennie was looking helplessly to George for instruction. 
 
 "An’ yon won’t let the big guy talk, is that it?" 
 
 "He can talk if he wants to tell you anything." He nodded slightly 
to Lennie. 
 
 "We jus’ come in," said Lennie softly. 
 
 Curley stared levelly at him. "Well, nex’ time you answer when 
you’re spoke to." He turned toward the door and walked out, and 
his elbows were bent out a little. 
 
 George watched him out, and then he turned back to the 
swamper. "Say, what the hell’s he got on his shoulder? Lennie 
didn’t do nothing to him." 
 
 The old man looked cautiously at the door to make sure no one 
was listening. "That’s the boss’s son," he said quietly. "Curley’s 
pretty handy. He done quite a bit in the ring. He’s a lightweight, 
and he’s handy." 
 
 "Well, let him be handy," said George, "He don’t have to take after 
Lennie. Lennie didn’t do nothing to him. What’s he got against 
Lennie?" 
 
 The swamper considered..... "Well.... tell you what. Curley’s like a 
lot of little guys. He hates big guys. He’s alla time picking scraps 
with big guys. Kind of like he's mad at ’em because he ain’t a big 
guy. You seen little guys like that, ain’t you? Always scrappy?" 
 
 "Sure," said George. "I seen plenty tough little guys. But this 
Curley better not make no mistakes about Lennie. Lennie ain’t 
handy, but this Curley punk is gonna get' hurt if he messes 

---

 
 
 
 
around with Lennie." 
 
 "Well, Curley’s pretty handy," the swamper said skeptically. 
"Never did seem right to me. S'pose Curley jumps a big guy an’ 
licks him. Ever’body says what a game guy Curley is. And s’pose 
he does the same thing and gets licked. Then ever’body says the 
big guy oughtta pick somebody his own size, and maybe they gang 
up on the big guy. Never did seem right to me. Seems like Curley 
ain’t givin’ nobody a chance." 
 
 George was watching the door. He said ominously, "Well, he 
better watch out for Lennie. Lennie ain’t no fighter, but Lennie’s 
strong and quick, and Lennie don’t know no rules." He walked to 
the square table and sat down on one of the boxes. He gathered 
some of the cards together and shuffled them. 
 
 The old man sat down on another box. "Don’t tell Curley I said 
none of this. He’d slough me. He just don’t give a damn. Won’t 
ever get canned ’cause his old man’s the boss." 
 
 George cut the cards and began turning them over, looking at 
each one and throwing it down on a pile. He said, "This guy Curley 
sounds like a son-of-a-bitch to me. I don’t like mean little guys." 
 
 "Seems to me like he’s worse lately," said the swamper. "He got 
married a couple of weeks ago. Wife lives over in the boss’s house. 
Seems like CurIey is cockier’n ever since he got married." 
 
 George grunted, "Maybe he’s showin’ off for his wife." 
 
 The swamper warmed to his gossip. "You seen that glove on his 
left hand?" 
 
 "Yeah. I seen it." 
 
 "Well, that glove’s fulla vaseline." 
 
 "Vaseline? What the hell for?" 

---

 
 
 
 
 
 "Well, I tell ya what - Curley says he’s keepin’ that hand soft for 
his wife." 
 
 George studied the cards absorbedly. "That’s a dirty thing to tell 
around," he said. 
 
 The old man was reassured. He had drawn a derogatory 
statement from George. He felt safe now, and be spoke more 
confidently. "Wait'll you see Curley's wife." 
 
 George cut the cards again and put out a solitaire lay, slowly and 
deliberately. "Purty?" he asked casually. 
 
 "Yeah. Purty . . . . but-" 
 
 George studied his cards. "But what?" 
 
 "Well--she got the eye." 
 
 "Yeah? Married two weeks and got the eye? Maybe that's why 
Curley's pants is full of ants." 
 
 "I seen her give Slim the eye. Slim's a jerkline skinner. Hell of a 
nice fella. Slim don't need to wear no high-heeled boots on a grain 
team. I seen her give Slim the eye. Curley never seen it. An' I seen 
her give Carlson the eye." 
 
 George pretended a lack of interest. "Looks like we was gonna 
have fun." 
 
 The swamper stood up from his box. "Know what I think?" George 
did not answer. "Well, I think Curley's married . . . . a tart." 
 
 "He ain't the first," said George. "There's plenty done that." 
 
 The old man moved toward the door, and his ancient dog lifted his 
head and peered about, and then got painfully to his feet to follow. 

---

 
 
 
 
"I gotta be settin' out the wash basins for the guys. The teams'll be 
in before long. You guys gonna buck barley?" 
 
 "Yeah." 
 
 "You won't tell Curley nothing I said?" 
 
 "Hell no." 
 
 "Well, you look her over, mister. You see if she ain't a tart." He 
stepped out the door into the brilliant sunshine. 
 
 George laid down his cards thoughtfully, turned his piles of three. 
He built four clubs on his ace pile. The sun square was on the floor 
now, and the flies whipped through it like sparks. A sound of 
jingling harness and the croak of heavy-laden axles sounded from 
outside. From the distance came a clear call. "Stable Buck--ooh, 
sta-able Buck!" And then, " Where the hell is that God damn 
nigger?" 
 
 George stared at his solitaire lay, and then he flounced the cards 
together and turned around to Lennie. Lennie was lying down on 
the bunk watching him. 
 
 "Look, Lennie! This here ain't no set up. I'm scared. You gonna 
have trouble with that Curley guy. I seen that kind before. He was 
kinda feelin' you out. He figures he's got you scared and he's 
gonna take a sock at you the first chance he gets." 
 
 Lennie's eyes were frightened. "I don't want no trouble," he said 
plaintively. "Don't let him sock me, George." 
 
 George got up and went over to Lennie's bunk and sat down on it. 
"I hate that kinda bastard," he said. "I seen plenty of 'em. Like the 
old guy says, Curley don't take no chances. He always wins." He 
thought for a moment. "If he tangles with you, Lennie, we're 
gonna get the can. Don't make no mistake about that. He's the 
boss's son. Look, Lennie. You try to keep away from him, will you? 

---

 
 
 
 
Don't never speak to him. If he comes in here you move clear to 
the other side of the room. Will you do that, Lennie?" 
 
 "I don't want no trouble," Lennie mourned. "I never done nothing 
to him." 
 
 "Well, that won't do you no good if Curley wants to plug himself 
up for a fighter. Just don't have nothing to do with him. Will you 
remember?" 
 
 "Sure, George. I ain't gonna say a word." 
 
 The sound of the approaching grain teams was louder, thud of big 
hooves on hard ground, drag of brakes and the jingle of trace 
chains. Men were calling back and forth from the teams. George, 
sitting on the bunk beside Lennie, frowned as he thought Lennie 
asked timidly, "You ain't mad, George?" 
 
 "I ain't mad at you. I'm mad at this here Curley bastard. I hoped 
we was gonna get a little stake together-maybe a hundred 
dollars." His tone grew decisive. "You keep away from Curley, 
Lennie." 
 
 "Sure I will, George. I won't say a word." 
 
 "Don't let him pull you in-but-if the son-of-abitch socks you-let 'im 
have it." 
 
 "Let 'im have what, George?" 
 
 "Never mind, never mind. I'll tell you when. I hate that kind of a 
guy. Look, Lennie, if you get in any kind of trouble, you remember 
what I told you to do?" 
 
 Lennie raised up on his elbow. His face contorted with thought. 
Then his eyes moved sadly to George's face. "If I get in any 
trouble, you ain't gonna let me tend the rabbits." 
 

---

 
 
 
 
 "That's not what I meant. You remember where we slep' last 
night? Down by the river?" 
 
 "Yeah. I remember. Oh, sure I remember! I go there an' hide in 
the brush." 
 
 "Hide till I come for you. Don't let nobody see you. Hide in the 
brush by the river. Say that over." 
 
 "Hide in the brush by the river, down in the brush by the river." 
 
 "If you get in trouble." 
 
 "If I get in trouble." 
 
 A brake screeched outside. A call came, "StableBuck. Oh! Sta-able 
Buck." 
 
 George said, "Say it over to yourself, Lennie, so you won't forget 
it." 
 
 Both men glanced up, for the rectangle of sunshine in the 
doorway was cut off. A girl was standing there looking in. She had 
full, rouged lips and wide-spaced eyes, heavily made up. Her 
fingernails were red. Her hair hung in little rolled clusters, like 
sausages. She wore a cotton house dress and red mules, on the 
insteps of which were little bouquets of red ostrich feathers. "I'm 
lookin' for Curley," she said. Her voice had a nasal, brittle quality. 
 
 George looked away from her and then back. "He was in here a 
minute ago, but he went." 
 
 "Oh!" She put her hands behind her back and leaned against the 
door frame so that her body was thrown forward. "You're the new 
fellas that just come, ain't ya?" 
 
 "Yeah." 
 

---

 
 
 
 
 Lennie's eyes moved down over her body, and though she did not 
seem to be looking at Lennie she bridled a little. She looked at her 
fingernails. "Sometimes Curley's in here," she explained. 
 
 George said brusquely, "Well he ain't now." 
 
 "If he ain't, I guess I better look some place else," she said 
playfully. 
 
 Lennie watched her, fascinated. George said, "If I see him, I'll 
pass the word you was looking for him. 
 
 She smiled archly and twitched her body. "Nobody can't blame a 
person for lookin'," she said. There were footsteps behind her, 
going by. She turned her head. "Hi, Slim," she said. 
 
 Slim's voice came through the door. "Hi, Goodlookin'." 
 
 "I'm tryin' to find Curley, Slim." 
 
 "Well, you ain't tryin' very hard. I seen him goin' in your house." 
 
 She was suddenly apprehensive. "Bye, boys," she called into the 
bunk house, and she hurried away. 
 
 George looked around at Lennie. "Jesus, what a tramp," he said. 
"So that's what Curley picks for a wife." 
 
 "She's purty," said Lennie defensively. 
 
 "Yeah, and she's sure hidin' it. Curley got his work ahead of him. 
Bet she'd clear out for twenty bucks." 
 
 Lennie still stared at the doorway where she had been. "Gosh, she 
was purty." He smiled admiringly. George looked quickly down at 
him and then he took him by an ear and shook him. 
 
 "Listen to me, you crazy bastard," he said fiercely. "Don't you 

---

 
 
 
 
even take a look at that bitch. I don't care what she says and what 
she does. I seen 'em poison before, but I never seen no piece of jail 
bait worse than her. You leave her be." 
 
 Lennie tried to disengage his ear. "I never done nothing, George." 
 
 "No, you never. But when she was standin' in the doorway 
showin' her legs, you wasn't lookin' the other way, neither." 
 
 "I never meant no harm, George. Honest I never." 
 
 "Well, you keep away from her, 'cause she's a rattrap if I ever 
seen one. You let Curley take the rap. He let himself in for it. 
Glove fulla vaseline," George said disgustedly. "An' I bet he's eatin' 
raw eggs and writin' to the patent medicine houses." 
 
 Lennie cried out suddenly-"I don' like this place, George. This 
ain't no good place. I wanna get outa here." 
 
 "We gotta keep it till we get a stake. We can't help it, Lennie. 
We'll get out jus' as soon as we can. I don't like it no better than 
you do." He went back to the table and set out a new solitaire 
hand. "No, I don't like it," he said. "For two bits I'd shove out of 
here. If we can get jus' a few dollars in the poke we'll shove off and 
go up the American River and pan gold. We can make maybe a 
couple of dollars a day there, and we might hit a pocket." 
 
 Lennie leaned eagerly toward him. "Le's go, George. Le's get outta 
here. It's mean here." 
 
 "We gotta stay," George said shortly. "Shut up now. The guys'll be 
cumin' in." 
 
 From the washroom nearby came the sound of running water and 
rattling basins. George studied the cards. "Maybe we oughtta 
wash up," he said. "But we ain't done nothing to get dirty." 
 
 A tall man stood in the doorway. He held a crushed Stetson hat 

---

 
 
 
 
under his arm while he combed his long, black, damp hair straight 
back. Like the others he wore blue jeans and a short denim jacket. 
When he had finished combing his hair he moved into the room, 
and he moved with a majesty only achieved by royalty and master 
craftsmen. He was a jerkline skinner, the prince of the ranch, 
capable of driving ten, sixteen, even twenty mules with a single 
line to the leaders. He was capable of killing a fly on the wheeler's 
butt with a bull whip without touching the mule. There was a 
gravity in his manner and a quiet so profound that all talk 
stopped when he spoke. His authority was so great that his word 
was taken on any subject, be it politics or love. This was Slim, the 
jerkline skinner. His hatchet face was ageless. He might have 
been thirty-five or fifty. His ear heard more than was said to him, 
and his slow speech had overtones not of thought, but of 
understanding beyond thought. His hands, large and lean, were as 
delicate in their action as those of a temple dancer. 
 
 He smoothed out his crushed hat, creased it in the middle and put 
it on. He looked kindly at the two in the bunk house. "It's 
brighter'n a bitch outside," he said gently. "Can't hardly see 
nothing in here. You the new guys?" 
 
 "Just come," said George. 
 
 "Gonna buck barley?" 
 
 "That's what the boss says." 
 
 Slim sat down on a box across the table from 
 
 George. He studied the solitaire hand that was upside down to 
him. "Hope you get on my team," he said. His voice was very 
gentle. "I gotta pair of punks on my team that don't know a barley 
bag from a blue ball. You guys ever bucked any barley?" 
 
 "Hell, yes," said George. "I ain't nothing to scream about, but that 
big bastard there can put up more grain alone than most pairs 
can." 

---

 
 
 
 
 
 Lennie, who had been following the conversation back and forth 
with his eyes, smiled complacency at the compliment. Slim looked 
approvingly at George for having given the compliment. He leaned 
over the table and snapped the corner of a loose card. "You guys 
travel around together?" His tone was friendly. It invited 
confidence without demanding it. 
 
 "Sure," said George. "We kinda look after each other." He 
indicated Lennie with his thumb. "He ain't bright. Hell of a good 
worker, though. Hell of a nice fella, but he ain't bright. I've knew 
him for a long time." 
 
 Slim looked through George and beyond him. "Ain't many guys 
travel around together," he mused. "I don't know why. Maybe 
ever'body in the whole damn world is scared of each other." 
 
 "It's a lot nicer to go around with a guy you know," said George. 
 
 A powerful, big-stomached man came into the bunk house. His 
head still dripped water from the scrubbing and dousing. "Hi, 
Slim," he said, and then stopped and stared at George and Lennie. 
 
 "These guys jus' come," said Slim by way of introduction. 
 
 "Glad to meet ya," the big man said. "My name's Carlson." 
 
 "I'm George Milton. This here's Lennie Small." 
 
 "Glad to meet ya," Carlson said again. "He ain't very small." He 
chuckled softly at his joke. "Ain't small at all," he repeated. 
"Meant to ask you, Slim-how's your bitch? I seen she wasn't under 
your wagon this morning." 
 
 "She slang her pups last night," said Slim. "Nine of 'em. I 
drowned four of 'em right off. She couldn't feed that many." 
 
 "Got five left, huh?" 

---

 
 
 
 
 
 "Yeah, five. I kept the biggest" 
 
 "What kinda dogs you think they're gonna be?" 
 
 "I dunno," said Slim. "Some kinda shepherds, I guess. That's the 
most kind I seen around here when she was in heat." 
 
 Carlson went on, "Got five pups, huh. Gonna keep all of 'em?" 
 
 "I dunno. Have to keep 'em a while so they can drink Lulu's milk." 
 
 Carlson said thoughtfully, "Well, looka here, Slim. I been thinkin'. 
That dog of Candy's is so God damn old he can't hardly walk. 
Stinks like hell, too. Ever' time he comes into the bunk house 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, an 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' 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. 
 
   
 
   
 
   
 
   
 CHAPTER  3 
 
   
 
 ALTHOUGH there was evening brightness showing through the 
windows of the bunk house, 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 bunk house 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 bunk house 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. There ain't nobody 
can keep up with him. God awmighty I never seen such a strong 
guy." 
 
 George spoke proudly. "Jus' tell Lennie what to do an' he'll do it if 
it don't take no figuring. He can't think of nothing to do himself, 
but he sure can take orders." 
 
 There was a clang of horseshoe on iron stake outside and a little 
cheer of voices. 
 
 Slim moved back slightly so the light was not on his face. "Funny 
how you an' him string along together." It was Slim's calm 
invitation to confidence. 
 
 "What's funny about it?" George demanded defensively. 
 
 "Oh, I dunno. Hardly none of the guys ever travel together. I 
hardly never seen two guys travel together. You know how the 
hands are, they just come in and get their bunk and work a 
month, and then they quit and go out alone. Never seem to give a 
damn about nobody. It jus' seems kinda funny a cuckoo like him 
and a smart little guy like you travelin' together." 
 
 "He ain't no cuckoo," said George. "He's dumb as hell, but he ain't 
crazy. An' I ain't so bright neither, or I wouldn't be buckin' barley 
for my fifty and found. If I was bright, if I was even a little bit 
smart, I'd have my own little place, an' I'd be bringin' in my own 
crops, 'stead of doin' all the work and not getting what comes up 
outa the ground." George fell silent. He wanted to talk. Slim 
neither encouraged nor discouraged him. He just sat back quiet 
and receptive. 

---

 
 
 
 
 
 "It ain't so funny, him an' me goin' aroun' together," George said 
at last. "Him and me was both born in Auburn. I knowed his Aunt 
Clara. She took him when he was a baby and raised him up. When 
his Aunt Clara died, Lennie just come along with me out workin'. 
Got kinda used to each other after a little while." 
 
 "Umm," said Slim. 
 
 George looked over at Slim and saw the calm, Godlike eyes 
fastened on him. "Funny," said George. "I used to have a hell of a 
lot of fun with 'im. Used to play jokes on 'im 'cause he was too 
dumb to take care of 'imself. But he was too dumb even to know he 
had a joke played on him. I had fun. Made me seem God damn 
smart alongside of him. Why he'd do any damn thing I tol' hits. If I 
tol' him to walk over a cliff, over he'd go. That wasn't so damn 
much fun after a while. He never got mad about it, neither. I've 
beat the hell outa him, and he coulda bust every bone in my body 
jus' with his han's, but he never lifted a finger against me." 
George's voice was taking on the tone of confession. "Tell you what 
made me stop that. One day a bunch of guys was standin' around 
up on the Sacramento River. I was feelin' pretty smart. I turns to 
Lennie and says, 'Jump in.' An' he jumps. Couldn't swim a stroke. 
He damn near drowned before we could get him. An' he was so 
damn nice to me for pullin' him out. Clean forgot I told him to 
jump in. Well, I ain't done nothing like that no more." 
 
 "He's a nice fella," said Slim. "Guy don't need no sense to be a nice 
fella. Seems to me sometimes it jus' works the other way around. 
Take a real smart guy and he ain't hardly ever a nice fella." 
 
 George stacked the scattered cards and began to lay out his 
solitaire hand. The shoes thudded on the ground outside. At the 
windows the light of the evening still made the window squares 
bright. 
 
 "I ain't got no people," George said. "I seen the guys that go 
around on the ranches alone. That ain't no good. They don't have 

---

 
 
 
 
no fun. After a long time they get mean. They get wantin' to fight 
all the time. 
 
 "Yeah, they get mean," Slim agreed. "They get so they don't want 
to talk to nobody." 
 
 "'Course Lennie's a God damn nuisance most of the time," said 
George. "But you get used to goin' around with a guy an' you can't 
get rid of him." 
 
 "He ain't mean," said Slim. "I can see Lennie ain't a bit mean." 
 
 "'Course he ain't mean. But he gets in trouble alla time because 
he's so God damn dumb. Like what happened in Weed-" he 
stopped, stopped in the middle of turning over a card. He looked 
alarmed and peered over at Slim. "You wouldn't tell nobody?" 
 
 "What'd he do in Weed?" Slim asked calmly. 
 
 "You wouldn' tell? . . . . No, 'course you wouldn'." 
 
 "What'd he do in Weed?" Slim asked again. 
 
 "Well, he seen this girl in a red dress. Dumb bastard like he is, he 
wants to touch ever'thing he likes. Just wants to feel it. So he 
reaches out to feel this red dress an' the girl lets out a squawk, 
and that gets Lennie all mixed up, and he holds on 'cause that's 
the only thing he can think to do. Well, this girl squawks and 
squawks. I was jus' a little bit off, and I heard all the yellin', so I 
comes running, an' by that time Lennie's so scared all he can 
think to do is jus' hold on. I socked him over the head with a fence 
picket to make him let go. He was so scairt he couldn't let go of 
that dress. And he's so God damn strong, you know." 
 
 Slim's eyes were level and unwinking. He nodded very slowly. "So 
what happens?" 
 
 George carefully built his line of solitaire cards. "Well, that girl 

---

 
 
 
 
rabbits in an' tells the law she been raped. The guys in Weed start 
a party out to lynch Lennie. So we sit in a irrigation ditch under 
water all the rest of that day. Got on'y our heads sticking outa 
water, an' up under the grass that sticks out from the side of the 
ditch. An' that night we scrammed outa there." 
 
 Slim sat in silence for a moment. "Didn't hurt the girl none, huh?" 
he asked finally. 
 
 "Hell, no. He just scared her. I'd be scared too if he grabbed me. 
But he never hurt her. He jus' wanted to touch that red dress, like 
he wants to pet them pups all the time." 
 
 "He ain't mean," said Slim. "I can tell a mean guy a mile off." 
 
 "'Course he ain't, and he'll do any damn thing I-" 
 
 Lennie came in through the door. He wore his blue denim coat 
over his shoulders like a cape, and he walked hunched way over. 
 
 "Hi, Lennie," said George. "How you like the pup now?" 
 
 Lennie said breathlessly, "He's brown an' white jus' like I 
wanted." He went directly to his bunk and lay down and turned 
his face to the wall and drew up his knees. 
 
 George put down his cards very deliberately. "Lennie," he said 
sharply. 
 
 Lennie twisted his neck and looked over his shoulder. "Huh? 
What you want, George?" 
 
 "I tol' you you couldn't bring that pup in here." 
 
 "What pup, George? I ain't got no pup." 
 
 George went quickly to him, grabbed him by the shoulder and 
rolled him over. He reached down and picked the tiny puppy from 

---

 
 
 
 
where Lennie had been concealing it against his stomach. 
 
 Lennie sat up quickly. "Give 'um to me, George." 
 
 George said, "You get right up an' take this pup back to the nest. 
He's gotta sleep with his mother. You want to kill him? Just born 
last night an' you take him out of the nest. You take him back or 
I'll tell Slim not to let you have him." 
 
 Lennie held out his hands pleadingly. "Give 'um to me, George. 
I'll take 'um back. I didn't mean no harm, George. Honest I didn't. 
I jus' wanted to pet 'um a little." 
 
 George handed the pup to him. "Awright. You get him back there 
quick, and don't you take him out no more. You'll kill him, the 
first thing you know." Lennie fairly scuttled out of the room. 
 
 Slim had not moved. His calm eyes followed Lennie out the door. 
"Jesus," he said. "He's jes' like kid, ain't he." 
 
 "Sure he's jes' like a kid. There ain't no more harm in him than a 
kid neither, except he's so strong. I bet he won't come in here to 
sleep tonight. He'd sleep right alongside that box in the barn. 
Well-let 'im. He ain't doin' no harm out there." 
 
 It was almost dark outside now. Old Candy, the swamper, came 
in and went to his bunk, and behind him struggled his old dog. 
"Hello, Slim. Hello, George. Didn't neither of you play 
horseshoes?" 
 
 "I don't like to play ever' night," said Slim. 
 
 Candy went on, "Either you guys got a slug of whisky? I gotta gut 
ache." 
 
 "I ain't," said Slim. "I'd drink it myself if I had, an' I ain't got a 
gut ache neither." 
 

---

 
 
 
 
 "Gotta bad gut ache," said Candy. "Them God! damn turnips give 
it to me. I knowed they was going to before I ever eat 'em." 
 
 The thick-bodied Carlson came in out of the darkening yard. He 
walked to the other end of the bunk house and turned on the 
second shaded light. "Darker'n hell in here," he said. "Jesus, how 
that nigger can pitch shoes." 
 
 "He's plenty good," said Slim. 
 
 "Damn right he is," said Carlson. "He don't give nobody else a 
chance to win-" He stopped and sniffed the air, and still sniffing, 
looked down at the old dog. "God awmighty, that dog stinks. Get 
him outa here, Candy! I don't know nothing that stinks as bad as 
an old dog. You gotta get him out." 
 
 Candy rolled to the edge of his bunk. He reached over and patted 
the ancient dog, and he apologized, "I been around him so much I 
never notice how he stinks." 
 
 "Well, I can't stand him in here," said Carlson. "That stink hangs 
around even after he's gone." He walked over with his heavy-
legged stride and looked down at the dog. "Got no teeth," he said. 
"He's all stiff with rheumatism. He ain't no good to you, Candy. 
An' he ain't no good to himself. Why'n't you shoot him, Candy?" 
 
 The old man squirmed uncomfortably. "Well-hell! I had him so 
long. Had him since he was a pup. I herded sheep with him." He 
said proudly, "You wouldn't think it to look at him now, but he 
was the best damn sheep dog I ever seen." 
 
 George said, "I seen a guy in Weed that had an Airedale could 
herd sheep. Learned it from the other dogs." 
 
 Carlson was not to be put off. "Look, Candy. This of dog jus' 
suffers hisself all the time. If you was to take him out and shoot 
him right in the back of the head-" he leaned over and pointed, "-
right there, why he'd never know what hit him." 

---

 
 
 
 
 
 Candy looked about unhappily. "No," he said softly. "No, I 
couldn't do that. I had 'im too long." 
 
 "He don't have no fun," Carlson insisted. "And he stinks to beat 
hell. Tell you what. I'll shoot him for you. Then it won't be you 
that does it." 
 
 Candy threw his legs off his bunk. He scratched the white stubble 
whiskers on his check nervously. 
 
   
 
 "I'm so used to him," he said softly. "I had him from a pup." 
 
 "Well, you ain't bein' kind to him keepin' him alive," said Carlson. 
"Look, Slim's bitch got a litter right now. I bet Slim would give you 
one of them pnps to raise up, wouldn't you, Slim?" 
 
 The skinner had been studying the old dog with his calm eyes. 
"Yeah," he said. "You can have a pup if you want to." He seemed to 
shake himself free for speech. "Carl's right, Candy. That dog ain't 
no good to himself. I wisht somebody'd shoot me if I get old an' a 
cripple." 
 
 Candy looked helplessly at him, for Slim's opinions were law. 
"Maybe it'd hurt him," he suggested. "I don't mind takin' care of 
him." 
 
 Carlson said, "The way I'd shoot him, he wouldn't feel nothing. I'd 
put the gun right there." He pointed with his toe. "Right back of 
the head. He wouldn't even quiver." 
 
 Candy looked for help from face to face. It was quite dark outside 
by now. A young laboring man came in. His sloping shoulders 
were bent forward and he walked heavily on his heels, as though 
he carried the invisible grain bag. He went to his bunk and put his 
hat on his shelf. Then he picked up a pulp magazine from his shelf 

---

 
 
 
 
and brought it to the light over the table. "Did I show you this, 
Slim?" he asked. 
 
 "Show me what?" 
 
 The young man turned to the back of the magazine, put it down 
on the table and pointed with his finger. "Right there, read that." 
Slim bent over it. 
 
   
 
 "Go on," said the young man. "Read it out loud." 
 
 "Dear Editor"': Slim read slowly. " 'I read your mag for six years 
and I think it is the best on the market. I like stories by Peter 
Rand. I think he is a whingding. Give us more like the Dark Rider. 
I don't write many letters. Just thought I would tell you I think 
your mag is the best dime's worth I ever spent.' " 
 
   
 
 Slim looked up questioningly. "What you want me to read that 
for?" 
 
 Whit said, "Go on. Read the name at the bottom." 
 
 Slim read, "'Yours for success, William Tenner.'" He glanced up at 
Whit again. "What you want me to read that for?" 
 
 Whit closed the magazine impressively. "Don't you remember Bill 
Termer? Worked here about three months ago?" 
 
 Slim thought . . . . "Little guy?" he asked. "Drove a cultivator?" 
 
 "That's him," Whit cried. "That's the guy!" 
 
 "You think he's the guy wrote this letter?" 
 

---

 
 
 
 
 "I know it. Bill and me was in here one day. Bill had one of them 
books that just come. He was lookin' in it and he says, 'I wrote a 
letter. Wonder if they put it in the book!' But it wasn't there. Bill 
says, `Maybe they're savin' it for later.' An' that's just what they 
done. There it is." 
 
 "Guess you're right," said Slim. "Got it right in the book." 
 
 George held out his hand for the magazine. "Let's look at it?" 
 
 Whit found the place again, but he did not surrender his hold on 
it. He pointed out the letter with his forefinger. And then he went 
to his box shelf and laid the magazine carefully in. "I wonder if 
Bill seen it," he said. "Bill and me worked in that patch of field 
peas. Run cultivators, both of us. Bill was a hell of a nice fella." 
 
 During the conversation Carlson had refused to be drawn in. He 
continued to look down at the old dog. Candy watched him 
uneasily. At last Carlson said, "if you want me to, I'll put the old 
devil out of his misery right now and get it over with. Ain't 
nothing left for him. Can't eat, can't see, can't even walk without 
hurtin'." 
 
 Candy said hopefully, "You ain't got no gun." 
 
 "The hell I ain't. Got a Luger. It won't hurt him none at all." 
 
 Candy said, "Maybe tomorra. Le's wait till tomorra." 
 
 "I don't see no reason for it," said Carlson. He went to his bunk, 
pulled his bag from underneath it and took out a Luger pistol. 
"Le's get it over with," he said. "We can't sleep with him stinkin' 
around in here." He put the pistol in his hip pocket. 
 
 Candy looked a long time at Slim to try to find some reversal. And 
Slim gave him none. At last Candy said softly and hopelessly, 
"Awright--take 'im." He did not look down at the dog at all. He lay 
back on his bunk and crossed his arms behind his head and stared 

---

 
 
 
 
at the ceiling. 
 
 From his pocket Carlson took a little leather thong. He stooped 
over and tied it around the old dog's neck. All the men except 
Candy watched him. 
 
 "Come boy. Come on, boy," he said gently. And he said 
apologetically to Candy, "He won't even feel it." Candy did not 
move nor answer him. He twitched the thong. "Come on, boy." The 
old dog got slowly and stiffly to his feet and followed the gently 
pulling leash. 
 
 Slim said, "Carlson." 
 
 "Yeah?" 
 
 "You know what to do." 
 
 "What ya mean, Slim?" 
 
 "Take a shovel," said Slim shortly. 
 
 "Oh, sure! I get you." He led the dog out into the darkness. 
 
 George followed to the door and shut the door and set the latch 
gently in its place. Candy lay rigidly on his bed staring at the 
ceiling. 
 
 Slim said loudly, "One of my lead mules got a bad hoof. Got to get 
some tar on it." His voice trailed off. It was silent outside. 
Carlson's footsteps died away. The silence come into the room. 
And the silence lasted. 
 
 George chuckled, "I bet Lennie's right out there in the barn with 
his pup. He won't want to come in here no more now he's got a 
pup." 
 
 Slim said, "Candy, you can have any one of them pups you want." 

---

 
 
 
 
 
 Candy did not answer. The silence fell on the room again. It came 
out of the night and invaded the room. George said, "Anybody like 
to play a little euchre?" 
 
 "I'll play out a few with you," said Whit. 
 
 They took places opposite each other at the table under the light, 
but George did not shuffle the cards. He rippled the edge of the 
deck nervously, and the little snapping noise drew.the eyes of all 
the men in the room, so that he stopped doing it. The silence fell 
on the room again. A minute passed, and another minute. Candy 
lay still, staring at the ceiling. Slim gazed at him for a moment 
and then looked down at his hands; he subdued one hand with the 
other, and held it down. There came a little gnawing sound from 
under the floor and all the men looked down toward it gratefully. 
Only Candy continued to stare at the ceiling. 
 
 "Sounds like there was a rat under there," said Geoge. "We ought 
to get a trap down there." 
 
 Whit broke out, "What the hell's takin' him so long? Lay out some 
cards, why don't you? We ain't going to get no euchre played this 
way." 
 
 George brought the cards together tightly and studied the backs 
of them. The silence was in the room again. 
 
 A shot sounded in the distance. The men looked quickly at the old 
man. Every head turned toward him. 
 
 For a moment he continued to stare at the ceiling. Then he rolled 
slowly over and faced the wall and lay silent. 
 
 George shuffled the cards noisily and dealt them. Whit drew a 
scoring board to him and set the pegs to start. Whit said, "I guess 
you guys really come here to work." 
 

---

 
 
 
 
 "How do ya mean?" George asked. 
 
 Whit laughed. "Well, ya come on a Friday. You got two days to 
work till Sunday." 
 
 "I don't see how you figure," said George. 
 
 Whit laughed again. "You do if you been around these big ranches 
much. Guy that wants to look over a ranch comes in Sat'day 
afternoon. He gets Sat'day tight supper an' three meals on 
Sunday, and he can quit Monday mornin' after breakfast without 
turning his hand. But you come to work Friday noon. You got to 
put in a day an' a half no matter how you figure. 
 
 George looked at him levelly. "We're gonna stick aroun' a while," 
he said. "Me an' Lennie's gonna roll up a stake." 
 
 The door opened quietly and the stable buck put in his head; a 
lean Negro head, lined with pain, the eyes patient. "Mr. Slim." 
 
 Slim took his eyes from old Candy. "Huh? Oh! Hello, Crooks. 
What's'a matter?" 
 
 "You told me to warm up tar for that mule's foot. I got it warm." 
 
 "Oh! Sure, Crooks. I'll come right out an' put it on." 
 
 "I can do it if you want, Mr. Slim." 
 
 "No. I'll come do it myself." He stood up. 
 
 Crooks said, "Mr. Slim." 
 
 "Yeah." 
 
 "That big new guy's messin' around your pups out in the barn." 
 
 "Well, he ain't doin' no harm. I give him one of them pups." 

---

 
 
 
 
 
 "Just thought I'd tell ya," said Crooks. "He's takin' 'em outs the 
nest and handlin' them. That won't do them no good." 
 
 "He won't hurt 'em," said Slim. "I'll come along with you now." 
 
 George looked up. "If that crazy bastard's foolin' around too much, 
jus' kick him out, Slim." 
 
 Slim followed the stable buck out of the room. 
 
 George dealt and Whit picked up his cards and examined them. 
"Seen the new kid yet?" he asked. 
 
 "What kid?" George asked. 
 
 "Why, Curley's new wife." 
 
 "Yeah, I seen her." 
 
 "Well, ain't she a looloo?" 
 
 "I ain't seen that much of her," said George. 
 
 Whit laid down his cards impressively. " Well, stick around an' 
keep your eyes open. You'll see plenty. She ain't concealin' 
nothing. I never seen nobody like her. She got the eye goin' all the 
time on everybody. I bet she even gives the stable buck the eye. I 
don't know what the hell she wants." 
 
 George asked casually, "Been any trouble since she got here?" 
 
 It was obvious that Whit was not interested in his cards. He laid 
his hand down and George scooped it in. George laid out his 
deliberate solitaire handseven cards, and six on top, and five on 
top of those. 
 
 Whit said, "I see what you mean. No, they ain't been nothing yet. 

---

 
 
 
 
Curley's got yella-jackets in his drawers, but that's all so far. Ever' 
time the guys is around she shows up. She's lookin' for Curley, or 
she thought she lef' sotnethin' layin' around and she's lookin' for 
it. Seems like she can't keep away from guys. An' Curley's pants is 
just crawlin' with ants, but they ain't nothing come of it yet." 
 
 George said, "She's gonna make a mess. They's gonna be a bad 
mess about her. She's a jail bait all set on the trigger. That Curley 
got his work cut out for him. Ranch with a bunch of guys on it 
ain't no place for a girl, specially like her." 
 
 Whit said, "If you got idears, you ought to come in town with us 
guys tomorra night." 
 
 "Why? What's doin'?" 
 
 "Jus' the usual thing. We go in to old Susy's place. Hell of a nice 
place. Old Susy's a laugh always crackin' jokes. Like she says 
when we come up on the front porch las' Sat'day night. Susy opens 
the door and then she yells over her shoulder, 'Get yor coats on, 
girls, here comes the sheriff.' She never talks dirty, neither. Got 
five girls there." 
 
 "What's it set you back?" George asked. 
 
 "Two an' a half. You can get a shot for two hits. Susy got nice 
chairs to set in, too. If a guy don't want a flop, why he can just set 
in the chairs and have a couple or three shots and pass the time of 
day and Susy don't give a damn. She ain't rushin' guys through 
and kickin' 'em out if they don't want a flop." 
 
 "Might go in and look the joint over," said George. 
 
 "Sure. Come along. It's a hell of a lot of fun-her crackin' jokes all 
the time. Like she says one time, she says, 'I've knew people that 
if they got a rag rug on the floor an' a kewpie doll lamp on the 
phonograph they think they're running a parlor house.' 
 

---

 
 
 
 
   
 
 That's Clara's house she's talkin' about. An' Susy says, 'I know 
what you boys want; she says. 'My girls is clean,' she says, 'an' 
there ain't no water in my whisky,' she says. 'If any you guys 
wanta look at a kewpie doll lamp an' take your own chance gettin' 
burned, why you know where to go.' An' she says, 'There's guys 
around here walkin' bow-legged 'cause they like to look at a 
kewpie doll lamp."' 
 
 George asked, "Clara runs the other house, huh?" 
 
 "Yeah," said Whit. "We don't never go there. Clara gets three 
bucks a crack and thirty-five cents a shot, and she don't crack no 
jokes. But Susy's place is clean and she got nice chairs. Don't let 
no googoos in, neither." 
 
 "Me an' Lennie's rollin' up a stake," said George. "I might go in 
an' set and have a shot, but I ain't puffin' out no two and a half." 
 
 "Well, a guy got to have some fun sometime," said Whit. 
 
 The door opened and Lennie and Carlson came in together. 
Lennie crept to his bunk and sat down, trying not to attract 
attention. Carlson reached under his bunk and brought out his 
bag. He didn't look at old Candy, who still faced the wall. Carlson 
found a little cleaning rod in the bag and a can of oil. He laid them 
on his bed and then brought out the pistol, took out the magazine 
and snapped the loaded shell from the chamber. Then he fell to 
cleaning the barrel with the little rod. When the ejector snapped, 
Candy turned over and looked for a moment at the gun before he 
turned back to the wall again. 
 
 Carlson said casually, "Curley been in yet?" 
 
   
 
 "No," said Whit. "What's eatin' on Curley?" 

---

 
 
 
 
 
 Carlson squinted down the barrel of his gun. "Lookin' for his old 
lady. I seen him going round and round outside." 
 
 Whit said sarcastically, "He spends half his time lookin' for her, 
and the rest of the time she's lookin' for him." 
 
 Curley burst into the room excitedly. "Any you guys seen my 
wife?" he demanded. 
 
 "She ain't been here," said Whit. 
 
 Curley looked threateningly about the room. "Where the hell's 
Slim?" 
 
 "Went out in the barn," said George. "He was gonna put some tar 
on a split hoof." 
 
 Curley's shoulders dropped and squared. "How long ago'd he go?" 
 
 "Five-ten minutes." 
 
 Curley jumped out the door and banged it after him. 
 
 Whit stood up. "I guess maybe I'd like to see this," he said. 
"Curley's just spoilin' or he wouldn't start for Slim. An' Curley's 
handy, God damn handy. Got in the finals for the Golden Gloves. 
He got newspaper clippings about it." He considered. "But jus' the 
same, he better leave Slim alone. Nobody don't know what Slim 
can do." 
 
 "Thinks Slim's with his wife, don't he?" said George. 
 
 "Looks like it," Whit said. "'Course Slim ain't. Least I don't think 
Slim is. But I like to see the fuss if it comes off. Come on, le's go." 
 
 George said, "I'm stayin' right here. I don't want to get mixed up 
in nothing. Lennie and me got to make a stake." 

---

 
 
 
 
 
 Carlson finished the cleaning of the gun and put it in the bag and 
pushed the bag under his bunk. "I guess I'll go out and look her 
over," he said. Old Candy lay still, and Lennie, from his bunk, 
watched George cautiously. 
 
 When Whit and Carlson were gone and the door closed after 
them, George turned to Lennie. "What you got on your mind?" 
 
 "I ain't done nothing, George. Slim says I better not pet them 
pups so much for a while. Slim says it ain't good for them; so I 
come right in. I been good, George." 
 
 "I coulda told you that," said George. 
 
 "Well, I wasn't hurtin' 'em none. I jus' had mine in my lap pettin' 
it." 
 
 George asked, "Did you see Slim out in the barn?" 
 
 "Sure I did. He tol' me I better not pet that pup no more." 
 
 "Did you see that girl?" 
 
 "You mean Curley's girl?" 
 
 "Yeah. Did she come in the barn?" 
 
 "No. Anyways I never seen her." 
 
 "You never seen Slim talkin' to her?" 
 
 "Uh-uh. She ain't been in the barn." 
 
 "O.K.," said George. "I guess them guys ain't gonna see no fight. If 
there's any fightin', Lennie, you keep out of it." 
 
 "I don't want no fights," said Lennie. He got up from his bunk and 

---

 
 
 
 
sat down at the table, across from George. Almost automatically 
George shuffled the cards and laid out his solitaire hand. He used 
a deliberate, thoughtful, slowness. 
 
 Lennie reached for a face card and studied it, then turned it 
upside down and studied it. "Both ends the same," he said. 
"George, why is it both end's the same?" 
 
 "I don't know," said George. "That's jus' the way they make 'em. 
What was Slim doin' in the barn when you seen him?" 
 
 "Slim?" 
 
 "Sure. You seen him in the barn, an' he tol' you not to pet the 
pups so much." 
 
 "Oh, yeah. He had a can a' tar an' a paint brush. I don't know 
what for." 
 
 "You sure that girl didn't come in like she come in here today?" 
 
 "No. She never come." 
 
 George sighed. "You give me a good whore house every time," he 
said. "A guy can go in an' get drunk and get ever'thing outa his 
system all at once, an' no messes. And he knows how much it's 
gonna set him back. These here jail baits is just set on the trigger 
of the hoosegow." 
 
 Lennie followed his words admiringly, and moved his lips a little 
to keep up. George continued, "You remember Andy Cushman, 
Lennie? Went to grammar school?" 
 
 "The one that his old lady used to make hot cakes for the kids?" 
Lennie asked. 
 
 "Yeah. That's the one. You can remember anything if there's 
anything to eat in it." George looked carefully at the solitaire 

---

 
 
 
 
hand. He put an ace up on his scoring rack and piled a two, three 
and four of diamonds on it. "Andy's in San Quentin right now on 
account of a tart," said George. 
 
 Lennie drummed on the table with his fingers. "George?" 
 
 "Huh?" 
 
 "George, how long's it gonna be till we get that little place an' live 
on the fatta the lan-an' rabbits?" 
 
 "I don' know," said George. "We gotta get a big stake together. I 
know a little place we can get cheap, but they ain't givin' it away." 
 
 Old Candy turned slowly over. His eyes were wide open. He 
watched George carefully. 
 
 Lennie said, "Tell about that place, George." 
 
 "I jus' tol' you, jus' las' night." 
 
 "Go on-tell again, George." 
 
 "Well, it's ten acres," said George. "Got a little win'mill. Got a 
little shack on it, an' a chicken run. Got a kitchen, orchard, 
cherries, apples, peaches, 'cots, nuts, got a few berries. They's a 
place for alfalfa and plenty water to flood it. They's a pig pen-' 
 
 "An' rabbits, George." 
 
 "No place for rabbits now, but I could easy build a few hutches 
and you could feed alfalfa to the rabbits." 
 
 "Damn right, I could," said Lennie. "You God damn right I could." 
 
 George's hands stopped working with the cards. His voice was 
growing warmer. "An' we could have a few pigs. I could build a 
smoke house like the one gran'pa had, an' when we kill a pig we 

---

 
 
 
 
can smoke the bacon and the hams, and make sausage an' all like 
that. An' when the salmon run up river we could catch a hundred 
of 'em an' salt 'em down or smoke 'em. We could have them for 
breakfast. They ain't nothing so nice as smoked salmon. When the 
fruit come in we could can it-and tomatoes, they're easy to can. 
Ever' Sunday we'd kill a chicken or a rabbit. Maybe we'd have a 
cow or a goat, and the cream is so God damn thick you got to cut it 
with a knife and take it out with a spoon." 
 
 Lennie watched him with wide eyes, and old Candy watched him 
too. Lennie said softly, "We could live offa the fatta the lan'." 
 
 "Sure," said George. "All kin's a vegetables in the garden, and if 
we want a little whisky we can sell a few eggs or something, or 
some milk. We'd jus' live there. We'd belong there. There wouldn't 
be no more runnin' round the country and gettin' fed by a Jap 
cook. No, sir, we'd have our own place where we belonged and not 
sleep in no bunt house." 
 
 "Tell about the house, George," Lennie begged. 
 
 "Sure, we'd have a little house an' a room to ourself. Little fat iron 
stove, an' in the winter we'd keep a fire goin' in it. It ain't enough 
land so we'd have to work too hard. Maybe six, seven hours a day. 
We wouldn't have to buck no barley eleven hours a day. An' when 
we put in a crop, why, we'd be there to take the crop up. We'd 
know what come of our planting." 
 
 "An' rabbits," Lennie said eagerly. "An' I'd take care of 'em. Tell 
how I'd do that, George." 
 
 "Sure, you'd go out in the alfalfa patch an' you'd have a sack. 
You'd fill up the sack and bring it in an' put it in the rabbit cages." 
 
 "They'd nibble an' they'd nibble," said Lennie, "the way they do. I 
seen'em." 
 
 "Ever' six weeks or so," George continued, "them does would 

---

 
 
 
 
throw a litter so we'd have plenty rabbits to eat an' to sell. An' 
we'd keep a few pigeons to go flyin' around the win'mill like they 
done when I was a kid." He looked raptly at the wall over Lennie's 
head. "An' it'd be our own, an 'nobody could can us. If we don't like 
a guy we can say, 'Get the hell out,' and by God he's got to do it. 
An' if a fren' come along, why we'd have an extra bunk, an' we'd 
say, 'Why don't you spen' the night?' an' by God he would. We'd 
have a setter dog and a couple stripe cats, but you gotta watch out 
them cats don't get the little rabbits." 
 
 Lennie breathed hard. "You jus' let 'em try to get the rabbits. I'll 
break their God damn necks. I'll . . . . I'll smash 'em with a stick." 
He subsided, grumbling to himself, threatening the future cats 
which might dare to disturb the future rabbits. 
 
 George sat entranced with his own picture. 
 
 When Candy spoke they both jumped as though they had been 
caught doing something reprehensible. Candy said, "You know 
where's a place like that?" 
 
 George was on guard immediately. "S'pose I do," he said. "What's 
that to you?" 
 
 "You don't need to tell me where it's at. Might be any place." 
 
   
 
 "Sure," said George. "That's right. You couldn't find it in a 
hundred years." 
 
 Candy went on excitedly, "How much they want for a place like 
that?" 
 
 George watched him suspiciously. "Well-I could get it for six 
hundred bucks. The ol' people that owns it is flat bust an' the of 
lady needs an operation. Say-what's it to you? You got nothing to 
do with us." 

---

 
 
 
 
 
 Candy said, "I ain't much good with on'y one hand. I lost my hand 
right here on this ranch. That's why they give me a job swampin'. 
An' they give me two hundred an' fifty dollars 'cause I los' my 
hand An' I got fifty more saved up right in the bank, right now. 
Tha's three hunderd, and I got fifty more comin' the end a the 
month. Tell you what-" He leaned forward eagerly. "S'pose I went 
in with you guys. Tha's three hunderd an' fifty bucks I'd put in. I 
ain't much good, but I could cook and tend the chickens and hoe 
the garden some. How'd that be?" 
 
 George half-closed his eyes. "I gotta think about that. We was 
always gonna do it by ourselves." 
 
 Candy interrupted him, "I'd make a will an' leave my share to you 
guys in case I kick off, 'cause I ain't got no relatives nor nothing. 
You guys got any money? Maybe we could do her right now?" 
 
 George spat on the floor disgustedly. "We got ten bucks between 
us." Then he said thoughtfully, "Look, if me an' Lennie work a 
month an' don't spen' nothing, we'll have a hunderd bucks. That'd 
be four fifty. I bet we could swing her for that. Then you an' 
Lennie could go get her started an' I'd get a job an' make up the 
res', an' you could sell eggs an' stuff like that." 
 
 They fell into a silence. They looked at one another, amazed. This 
thing they had never really believed in was coming true. George 
said reverently, "Jesus Christ! I bet we could swing her." His eyes 
were full of wonder. "I bet we could swing her," he repeated softly. 
 
 Candy sat on the edge of his bunk. He scratched the stump of his 
wrist nervously. "I got hurt four year ago," he said. "They'll can me 
purty soon. Jus' as soon as I can't swamp out no bunk houses 
they'll put me on the county. Maybe if I give you guys my money, 
you'll let me hoe in the garden even after I ain't no good at it. An' 
I'll wash dishes an' little chicken stuff like that. But I'll be on our 
own place, an' I'll be let to work on our own place." He said 
miserably, "You seen what they done to my dog tonight? They says 

---

 
 
 
 
he wasn't no good to himself nor nobody else. When they can me 
here I wisht somebody'd shoot me. But they won't do nothing like 
that. I won't have no place to go, an' I can't get no more jobs. I'll 
have thirty dollars more comin', time you guys is ready to quit." 
 
 George stood up. "We'll do her," he said. "We'll fix up that little 
old place an' we'll go live there." He sat down again. They all sat 
still, all bemused by the beauty of the thing, each mind was 
popped into the future when this lovely thing should come about. 
 
 George said wonderingly, "S'pose they was a carnival or a circus 
come to town, or a ball game, or any damn thing." Old Candy 
nodded in appreciation of the idea. "We'd just go to her," George 
said. "We wouldn't ask nobody if we could. Jus' say, 'We'll go to 
her,' an' we would. Jus' milk the cow and sling some grain to the 
chickens an' go to her." 
 
 "An' put some grass to the rabbits," Lennie broke in. "I wouldn't 
never forget to feed them. When we gon'ta do it, George?" 
 
 "In one month. Right squack in one month. Know what I'm gon'ta 
do? I'm gon'ta write to them old people that owns the place that 
we'll take it. An' Candy'll send a hunderd dollars to bind her." 
 
 "Sure will," said Candy. "They got a good stove there?" 
 
 "Sure, got a nice stove, burns coal or wood." 
 
 "I'm gonna take my pup," said Lennie. "I bet by Christ he likes it 
there, by Jesus." 
 
 Voices were approaching from outside. George said quickly, 
"Don't tell nobody about it. Jus' us three an' nobody else. They 
li'ble to can us so we can't make no stake. Jus' go on like we was 
gonna buck barley the rest of our lives, then all of a sudden some 
day we'll go get our pay an' scram outa here." 
 
 Lennie and Candy nodded, and they were grinning with delight. 

---

 
 
 
 
"Don't tell nobody," Lennie said to himself. 
 
 Candy said, "George." 
 
 "Huh?" 
 
 "I ought to of shot that dog myself, George. I shouldn't ought to of 
let no stranger shoot my dog." 
 
 The door opened. Slim came in, followed by Curley and Carlson 
and Whit. Slim's hands were black with tar and he was scowling. 
Curley hung close to his elbow. 
 
 Curley said, "Well, I didn't mean nothing, Slim. I just ast you." 
 
 Slim said, "Well, you been askin' me too often. I'm gettin' God 
damn sick of it. If you can't look after your own God damn wife, 
what you expect me to do about it? You lay offa me." 
 
 "I'm jus' tryin' to tell you I didn't mean nothing," said Curley. "I 
jus' thought you might of saw her." 
 
 "Why'n't you tell her to stay the hell home where she belongs?" 
said Carlson. "You let her hang around bunk houses and pretty 
soon you're gonna have som'pin on your hands and you won't be 
able to do nothing about it." 
 
 Curley whirled on Carlson. "You keep outta this les' you wanta 
step outside." 
 
 Carlson laughed. "You God damn punk," he said. "You tried to 
throw a scare into Slim, an' you couldn't make it stick. Slim 
throwed a scare inta you. You're yella as a frog belly. I don't care if 
you're the best welter in the country. You come for me, an' I'll kick 
your God damn head off." 
 
 Candy joined the attack with joy. "Glove fulla vaseline," he said 
disgustedly. Curley glared at him. His eyes slipped on past and 

---

 
 
 
 
lighted on Lennie; and Lennie was still smiling with delight at the 
memory of the ranch. 
 
 Curley stepped over to Lennie like a terrier. "What the hell you 
laughin' at?" 
 
 Lennie looked blankly at him. "Huh?" 
 
 Then Curley's rage exploded. "Come on, ya big bastard. Get up on 
your feet. No big son-of-a-bitch is gonna laugh at me. I'll show ya 
who's yella." 
 
 Lennie looked helplessly at George, and then he got up and tried 
to retreat. Curley was balanced and poised. He slashed at Lennie 
with his left, and then smashed down his nose with a right. 
Lennie gave a cry of terror. Blood welled from his nose. "George," 
he cried. "Make 'um let me alone, George." He backed until he was 
against the wall, and Curley followed, slugging him in the face. 
Lennie's hands remained at his sides; he was too frightened to 
defend himself. 
 
 George was on his feet yelling, "Get him, Lennie. Don't let him do 
it." 
 
 Lennie covered his face with his huge paws and bleated with 
terror. He cried, "Make 'um stop, George." Then Curley attacked 
his stomach and cut off his wind. 
 
 Slim jumped up. "The dirty little rat," he cried, "I'll get 'um 
myself." 
 
 George put out his hand and grabbed Slim. "Wait a minute," he 
shouted. He cupped his hands around his mouth and yelled, "Get 
'em, Lennie! " 
 
 Lennie took his hands away from his face and looked about for 
George, and Curley slashed at his eyes. The big face was covered 
with blood. George yelled again, "I said get him." 

---

 
 
 
 
 
 Curley's fist was swinging when Lennie reached for it. The next 
minute Curley was flopping like a fish on a line, and his closed fist 
was lost in Lennie's big hand. George ran down the room. "Leggo 
of him, Lennie. Let go." 
 
   
 
 But Lennie watched in terror the flopping little man whom he 
held. Blood ran down Lennie's face; one of his eyes was cut and 
closed. George slapped him in the face again and again, and still 
Lennie held on to the closed fist. Curley was white and shrunken; 
by now, and his struggling had become weak. He stood crying, his 
fist lost in Lennie's paw. 
 
 George shouted over and over, "Leggo his hand, Lennie. Leggo. 
Slim, come help me while the guy got any hand left." 
 
 Suddenly Lennie let go his hold. He crouch cowering against the 
wall. "You tol' me to, George," he said miserably. 
 
 Curley sat down on the floor, looking in wonder at his crushed 
hand. Slim and Carlson bent over him. Then Slim straightened up 
and regarded Lennie with horror. "We got to get him in to a 
doctor," he said. "Looks to me like ever' bone in his han' is bust." 
 
 "I didn't wanta," Lennie cried. "I didn't wanta hurt him." 
 
 Slim said, "Carlson, you get the candy wagon hitched up. We'll 
take 'um into Soledad an' get 'um fixed up." Carlson hurried out. 
Slim turned to the whimpering Lennie. "It ain't your fault," he sai 
"This punk sure had it comin' to him. But-Jesus! He ain't hardly 
got no han' left." Slim hurried out, and in a moment returned with 
a tin cup of water. He held it to Curley's lips. 
 
 George said, "Slim, will we get canned now? We need the stake. 
Will Curley's old man can us now?" 
 

---

 
 
 
 
 Slim smiled wryly. He knelt down beside Curley. "You got your 
senses in hand enough to listen?" he asked. Curley nodded. "Well, 
then listen," Slim went on. "I think you got your han' caught in a 
machine. If you don't tell nobody what happened, we ain't going to. 
But you jus' tell an' try to get this guy canned and we'll tell 
ever'body, an' then will you get' the laugh." 
 
 "I won't tell," said Curley. He avoided looking at Lennie. 
 
 Buggy wheels sounded outside. Slim helped Curley up. "Come on 
now. Carlson's gonna take you to a doctor." He helped Curley out 
the door. The sound of wheels drew away. In a moment Slim came 
back into the bunk house. He looked at Lennie, still crouched 
fearfully against the wall. "Le's see your hands," he asked. 
 
 Lennie stuck out his hands. 
 
 "Christ awmighty, I hate to have you mad at me," Slim said. 
 
 George broke in, "Lennie was jus' scairt," he explained. "He didn't 
know what to do. I told you nobody ought never to fight him. No, I 
guess it was Candy I told." 
 
 Candy nodded solemnly. "That's jus' what you done," he said. 
"Right this morning when Curley first lit into your fren', you says, 
'He better not fool with Lennie if he knows what's good for 'um.' 
That's jus' what you says to me." 
 
 George turned to Lennie. "It ain't your fault," he said. "You don't 
need to be scairt no more. You done jus' what I tol' you to. Maybe 
you better go in the ' wash room an' clean up your face. You look 
like' hell." 
 
 Lennie smiled with his bruised mouth. "I didn't want no trouble," 
he said. He walked toward the door, but just before he came to it, 
he turned back. "George?" 
 
 "What you want?" 

---

 
 
 
 
 
 "I can still tend the rabbits, George?" 
 
 "Sure. You ain't done nothing wrong." 
 
 "I di'n't mean no harm, George." 
 
 "Well, get the hell out and wash your face." 
 
   
 
   
 
   
 
   
 CHAPTER  4 
 
   
 
 CROOKS, the Negro stable buck, had his bunk in the harness 
room; a little shed that leaned off the wall of the barn. On one side 
of the little room there was a square four-paned window, and on 
the other, a narrow plank door leading into the barn. Crooks' bunk 
was a long box filled with straw, on which his blankets were flung. 
On the wall by the window there were pegs on which hung broken 
harness in process of being mended; strips of new leather; and 
under the window itself a little bench for leatherworking tools, 
curved knives and needles and balls of linen thread, and a small 
hand riveter. On pegs were also pieces of harness, a split collar 
with the horsehair
stuffing sticking
 out, a broken hame, and a 
trace chain with its leather covering split. Crooks had his apple 
box over his bunk, and in it a range of medicine bottles, both for 
himself and for the horses. There were cans of saddle soap and a 
drippy can of tar with its paint brush sticking over the edge. And 
scattered about the floor were a number of personal possessions; 
for, being alone, Crooks could leave his things about, and being a 
stable buck and a cripple, he was more permanent than the other 

---

 
 
 
 
men, and he had accumulated more possessions than he could 
carry on his back. 
 
 Crooks possessed several pairs of shoes, a pair of rubber boots, a 
big alarm clock and a single-barreled shotgun. And he had books, 
too; a tattered dictionary and a mauled copy of the California civil 
code for 1905. There were battered magazines and a few dirty 
books on a special shelf over his bunk. A pair of large gold-rimmed 
spectacles hung from a nail on the wall above his bed. 
 
 This room was swept and fairly neat, for Crooks was a proud, 
aloof man. He kept his distance and demanded that other people 
keep theirs. His body was bent over to the left by his crooked 
spine, and his eyes lay deep in his head, and because of their 
depth seemed to glitter with intensity. His lean face was lined 
with deep black wrinkles, and he had thin, pain-tightened lips 
which were lighter than his face. 
 
 It was Saturday night. Through the open door that led into the 
barn came the sound of moving horses, of feet stirring, of teeth 
champing on hay, of the rattle of halter chains. In the stable 
buck's room a small electric globe threw a meager yellow light. 
 
 Crooks sat on his bunk. His shirt was out of his jeans in back. In 
one hand he held a bottle of liniment, and with the other he 
rubbed his spine. Now and then he poured a few drops of the 
liniment into his pink-palmed hand and reached up under his 
shirt to rub again. He flexed his muscles against his back and 
shivered. 
 
 Noiselessly Lennie appeared in the open doorway and stood there 
looking in, his big shoulders nearly filling the opening. For a 
moment Crooks did not see him, but on raising his eyes he 
stiffened and a scowl came on his face. His hand came out from 
under his shirt. 
 
 Lennie smiled helplessly in an attempt to make friends. 
 

---

 
 
 
 
 Crooks said sharply, "You got no right to come in my room. This 
here's my room. Nobody got any right in here but me." 
 
 Lennie gulped and his smile grew more fawning. "I ain't doing 
nothing," he said. "Just come to look at my puppy. And I seen your 
light," he explained. 
 
 "Well, I got a right to have a light. You go on get outta my room. I 
ain't wanted in the bunk house, and you ain't wanted in my room." 
 
 "Why ain't you wanted?" Lennie asked. 
 
 "'Cause I'm black. They play cards in there, but I can't play 
because I'm black. They say I stink. Well, I tell you, you all of you 
stink to me." 
 
 Lennie flapped his big hands helplessly. "Ever'body went into 
town," he said. "Slim an' George an' ever'body. George says I gotta 
stay here an' not get in no trouble. I seen your light." 
 
 "Well, what do you want?" 
 
 "Nothing-I seen your light. I thought I could jus' come in an' set." 
 
 Crooks stared at Lennie, and he reached behind him and took 
down the spectacles and adjusted them over his pink ears and 
stared again. "I don't know what you're doin' in the barn anyway," 
he complained. "You ain't no skinner. They's no call for a bucker to 
come into the barn at all. You ain't no skinner. You ain't got 
nothing to do with the horses." 
 
 "The pup," Lennie repeated "I come to see my pup." 
 
 "Well, go see your pup, then. Don't come in a place where you're 
not wanted." 
 
 Lennie lost his smile. He advanced a step into the room, then 
remembered and backed to the door again. "I looked at 'em a little. 

---

 
 
 
 
Slim says I ain't to pet 'em very much." 
 
 Crooks said, "Well, you been takin' 'em out of the nest all the 
time. I wonder the old lady don't move 'em someplace else." 
 
 "Oh, she don't care. She lets me." Lennie had moved into the room 
again. 
 
 Crooks scowled, but Lennie's disarming smile defeated him. 
"Come on in and set a while," Crooks said. "'Long as you won't get 
out and leave me alone, you might as well set down." His tone was 
a little more friendly. "All the boys gone into town, huh?" 
 
 "All but old Candy. He just sets in the bunk house sharpening his 
pencil and sharpening and figuring." 
 
 Crooks adjusted his glasses. "Figuring? What's Candy figuring 
about?" 
 
 Lennie almost shouted, "'Bout the rabbits." 
 
 "You're nuts," said Crooks. "You're crazy as a wedge. What 
rabbits you talkin' about?" 
 
 "The rabbits we're gonna get, and I get to tend 'em, cut grass an' 
give 'em water, an' like that." 
 
 "Jus' nuts," said Crooks. "I don't blame the guy you travel with for 
keepin' you outa sight." 
 
 Lennie said quietly, "It ain't no lie. We're gonna do it. Gonna get a 
little place an' live on the fatta the lan'." 
 
 Crooks settled himself more comfortably on his bunk. "Set down," 
he invited. "Set down on the nail keg." 
 
 Lennie hunched down on the little barrel. "You think it's a lie," 
Lennie said, "But it ain't no lie. Ever' word's the truth, an' you can 

---

 
 
 
 
ast George." 
 
 Crooks put his dark chin into his pink palm. "You travel aroun' 
with George, don't ya?" 
 
 "Sure. Me an' him goes ever' place together." 
 
 Crooks continued. "Sometimes he talks, and you don't know what 
the hell he's talkin' about. Ain't that so?" He leaned forward, 
boring Lennie with his deep eyes. "Ain't that so?" 
 
 "Yeah . . . . sometimes." 
 
 "Jus' talks on, an' you don't know what the hell it's all about?" 
 
 "Yeah . . . . sometimes. But . . . . not always." 
 
 Crooks leaned forward over the edge of the bunk. "I ain't a 
Southern Negro," he said." I was born right bere in California. My 
old man had a chicken ranch, 'bout ten acres. The white kids come 
to play at our place, an' sometimes I event to play with them, and 
some of them was pretty nice. My of man didn't like that. I never 
knew till long later why he didn't like that. But I know now." He 
hesitated, and when he spoke again his voice was softer. "There 
wasn't another colored family for miles around. And now there 
ain't a colored man on this ranch an' there's jus' one family in 
Soledad." He laughed. "If I say something, why it's just a nigger 
sayin' it" 
 
 Lennie asked, "How long you think it'll be before them pups will 
be old enough to pet?" 
 
 Crooks laughed again. "A guy can talk to you an' be sure you 
won't go blabbin'. Couple of weeks an' them pups'll be all right. 
George knows what he's about. Jus' talks, an' you don't 
understand nothing." He leaned forward excitedly. "This is just a 
nigger talkin', an' a busted-back nigger. So it don't mean nothing, 
see? You couldn't remember it anyways. I seen it over an' over-a 

---

 
 
 
 
guy talkin' to another guy and it don't make no difference if he 
don't hear or understand. The thing is, they're talkin', or they're 
settin' still not talkin'. It don't make no difference, no difference." 
His excitement had increased until he pounded his knee with his 
hand. "George can tell you screwy things, and it don't matter. It's 
just the talking. It's just bein' with another guy. That's all." He 
paused. 
 
 His voice grew soft and persuasive. "S'pose George don't come 
back no more. S'pose he took a powder and just ain't coming back. 
What'll you do then?" 
 
 Lennie's attention came gradually to what had been said. "What?" 
he demanded. 
 
 "I said s'pose George went into town tonight and you never heard 
of him no more." Crooks pressed forward some kind of private 
victory. "Just s'pose that," he repeated. 
 
 "He won't do it," Lennie cried. "George wouldn't do nothing like 
that. I been with George a long time. He'll come back tonight-" But 
the doubt was too much for him. "Don't you think he will?" 
 
 Crooks' face lighted with pleasure in his torture. 
 
 "Nobody can't tell what a guy'll do," he observed calmly. "Le's say 
he wants to come back and can't. S'pose he gets killed or hurt so 
he can't come back." 
 
 Lennie struggled to understand. "George won't do nothing like 
that," he repeated.."George is careful. He won't get hurt. He ain't 
never been hurt, 'cause he's careful." 
 
 "Well, s'pose, jus' s'pose he don't come back. What'll you do then?" 
 
 Lennie's face wrinkled with apprehension. "I don' know. Say, 
what you doin' anyways?" he cried. "This ain't true. George ain't 
got hurt." 

---

 
 
 
 
 
 Crooks bored in on him. "Want me to tell ya what'll happen? 
They'll take ya to the booby hatch. They'll tie ya up with a collar, 
like a dog." 
 
 Suddenly Lennie's eyes. centered and grew quiet, and mad. He 
stood up and walked dangerously toward Crooks. "Who hurt 
George?" he demanded. 
 
 Crooks saw the danger as it approached him. He edged back on 
his bunk to get out of the way. "I was just supposin'," he said. 
"George ain't hurt. He's all right. He'll be back all right." 
 
 Lennie stood over him. "What you supposin' for? Ain't nobody 
goin' to suppose no hurt to George." 
 
 Crooks removed his glasses and wiped his eyes with his fingers. 
"Jus' set down," he said. "George ain't hurt." 
 
 Lennie growled back to his seat on the nail keg. "Ain't nobody 
goin' to talk no hurt to George," he grumbled. 
 
 Crooks said gently, "Maybe you can see now. You got George. 
You
know
 he's goin' to come back. S'pose you didn't have nobody. 
S'pose you couldn't go into the bunk house and play rummy 'cause 
you was black. How'd you like that? S'pose you had to sit out here 
an' read books. Sure you could play horseshoes till it got dark, but 
then you got to read books. Books ain't no good. A guy needs 
somebody -to be near him." He whined, "A guy goes nuts if he ain't 
got nobody. Don't make no difference who the guy is, long's he's 
with you. I tell ya," he cried, "I tell ya a guy gets too lonely an' he 
gets sick." 
 
 "George gonna come back," Lennie reassured himself in a 
frightened voice. "Maybe George come back already. Maybe I 
better go see." 
 
 Crooks said, "I didn't mean to scare you. He'll come back. I was 

---

 
 
 
 
talkin' about myself. A guy sets alone out here at night, maybe 
readin' books or thinkin' or stuff like that. Sometimes he gets 
thinkin', an' he got nothing to tell him what's so an' what ain't so. 
Maybe if he sees somethin', he don't know whether it's right or 
not. He can't turn to some other guy and ast him if he sees it too. 
He can't tell. He got nothing to measure by. I seen things out here. 
I wasn't drunk. I don't know if I was asleep. If some guy was with 
me, he could tell me I was asleep, an' then it would be all right. 
But I jus' don't know." Crooks was looking across the room now, 
looking toward the window. 
 
 Lennie said miserably, "George won't go away and leave me. I 
know George wun't do that." 
 
 The stable buck went on dreamily, "I remember when I was a 
little kid on my old man's chicken ranch. Had two brothers. They 
was always near me, always there. Used to sleep right in the same 
room, right in the same bed-all three. Had a strawberry patch. 
Had an alfalfa patch. Used to turn the chickens out in the alfalfa 
on a sunny morning. My brothers'd set on a fence rail an' watch 
'em-white chickens they was." 
 
 Gradually Lennie's interest came around to what was being said. 
"George says we're gonna have alfalfa for the rabbits." 
 
 "What rabbits?" 
 
 "We're gonna have rabbits an' a berry patch." 
 
 "You're nuts." 
 
 "We are too. You ast George." 
 
 "You're nuts." Crooks was scornful. "I seen hunderds of men come 
by on the road an' on the ranches, with their bindles on their back 
an' that same damn thing in their heads. Hunderds of them. They 
come, an' they quit an' go on; an' every damn one of 'em's got a 
little piece of land in his head. An' never a God damn one of 'em 

---

 
 
 
 
ever gets it. Just like heaven. Everybody wants a little piece of 
lan'. I read plenty of books out here. Nobody never gets to heaven, 
and nobody gets no land. It's just in their head. They're all the 
time talkin' about it, but it's jus' in their head." He paused and 
looked toward the open door, for the horses were moving restlessly 
and the halter chains clinked. A horse whinnied. "I guess 
somebody's out there," Crooks said. "Maybe Slim. Slim comes in 
sometimes two, three times a night. Slim's a real skinner. He 
looks out for his team." He pulled himself painfully upright and 
moved toward the door. "That you, Slim?" he called. 
 
 Candy's voice answered. "Slim went in town. Say, you seen 
Lennie?" 
 
 "Ya mean the big guy?" 
 
 "Yeah. Seen him around any place?" 
 
 "He's in here," Crooks said shortly. He went back to his bunk and 
lay down. 
 
 Candy stood in the doorway scratching his bald wrist and looking 
blindly into the lighted room. He made no attempt to enter. "Tell 
ya what, Lennie. I been figuring out about them rabbits." 
 
 Crooks said irritably, "You can come in if you want." 
 
 Candy seemed embarrassed. "I do' know. 'Course, if ya want me 
to." 
 
 "Come on in. If ever'body's comin' in, you might just as well." It 
was difficult for Crooks to conceal his pleasure with anger. 
 
 Candy came in, but he was still embarrassed. "You got a nice cozy 
little place in here," he said to Crooks. "Must be nice to have a 
room all to yourself this way." 
 
 "Sure," said Crooks. "And a manure pile under the window. Sure, 

---

 
 
 
 
it's swell." 
 
 Lennie broke in, "You said about them rabbits." 
 
 Candy leaned against the wall beside the broken collar while he 
scratched the wrist stump. "I been here a long time," he said. "An' 
Crooks been here a long time. This's the first time I ever been in 
his room." 
 
 Crooks said darkly, "Guys don't come into a colored man's room 
very much. Nobody been here but Slim. Slim an' the boss." 
 
 Candy quickly changed the subject. "Slim's as good a skinner as I 
ever seen." 
 
 Lennie leaned toward the old swamper "About them rabbits," he 
insisted. 
 
 Candy smiled. "I got it figured out. We can make some money on 
them rabbits if we go about it right." 
 
 "But I get to tend'em," Lennie broke in. "George says I get to tend 
'em. He promised." 
 
 Crooks interrupted brutally. "You guys is just kiddin' yourself. 
You'll talk about it a hell of a lot, but you won't get no land. You'll 
be a swamper here till they take you out in a box. Hell, I seen too 
many guys. Lennie here'll quit an' be on the road in two, three 
weeks. Seems like ever' guy got land in his head." 
 
 Candy rubbed his cheek angrily. "You God damn right we're 
gonna do it. George says we are. We got the money right now." 
 
 "Yeah?" said Crooks. "An' where's George now? In town in a 
whore house. That's where your money's goin'. Jesus, I seen it 
happen too many times. I seen too many guys with land in their 
head. They never get none under their hand." 
 

---

 
 
 
 
 Candy cried, "Sure they all want it. Everybody wants a little bit of 
land, not much. Jus' som'thin' that was his. Som'thin' he could live 
on and there couldn't nobody throw him off of it. I never had none. 
I planted crops for damn near ever'body in this state, but they 
wasn't my crops, and when I harvested 'em, it wasn't none of any 
harvest. But we gonna do it now, and don't you make no mistake 
about that. George ain't got the money in town. That money's in 
the bank. Me an' Lennie an' George. We gonna have a room to 
ourself. We're gonna have a dog an' rabbits an' chickens. We're 
gonna have green corn an' maybe a cow or a goat." He stopped, 
overwhelmed with his picture. 
 
 Crooks asked, "You say you got the money?" 
 
 "Damn right. We got most of it. Just a little bit more to get. Have 
it all in one month. George got the land all picked out, too." 
 
 Crooks reached around and explored his spine with his hand. "I 
never seen a guy really do it," he said. "I seen guys nearly crazy 
with loneliness for land, but ever' time a whore house or a 
blackjack game took what it takes." He hesitated. If you . . . . guys 
would want a hand to work for nothing-just his keep, why I'd come 
an' lend a hand. I ain't so crippled I can't work like a son-of-a-bitch 
if I want to." 
 
 "Any you boys seen Curley?" 
 
 They swung their heads toward the door. Looking in was Curley's 
wife. Her face was heavily made up. Her lips were slightly parted. 
She breathed strongly, as though she had been running. 
 
 "Curley ain't been here," Candy said sourly. 
 
 She stood still in the doorway, smiling a little at them, rubbing 
the nails of one hand with the thumb and forefinger of the other. 
And her eyes traveled from one face to another. "They left all the 
weak ones here," she said finally. "Think I don't know where they 
all went? Even Curley. I know where they all went." 

---

 
 
 
 
 
 Lennie watched her, fascinated; but Candy and Crooks were 
scowling down away from her eyes. Candy said, "Then if you 
know, why you want to ast us where Curley is at?" 
 
 She regarded them amusedly. "Funny thing," she said. "If I catch 
any one man, and he's alone, I get along fine with him. But just let 
two of the guys get together an' you won't talk. Jus' nothing but 
mad" She dropped her fingers and put her hands on her hips. 
"You're all scared of each other, that's what. Ever' one of you's 
scared the rest is goin' to get something on you." 
 
 After a pause Crooks said, "Maybe you better go along to your 
own house now. We don't want no trouble." 
 
 "Well, I ain't giving you no trouble. Think I don't like to talk to 
somebody ever' once in a while? Think I like to stick in that house 
afla time?" 
 
 Candy laid the stump of his wrist on his knee and rubbed it 
gently with his hand. He said accusingly, "You gotta husban'. You 
got no call foolin' aroun' with other guys, causin' trouble." 
 
 The girl flared up. "Sure I gotta husban'. You all seen him. Swell 
guy, ain't he? Spends all his time sayin' what he's gonna do to 
guys he don't like, and he don't like nobody. Think I'm gonna stay 
in that twoby-four house and listen how Curley's gonna lead with 
his left twict, and then bring in the of right cross? `One-two' he 
says. `Jus' the of one-two an' he'll go down."' She paused and her 
face lost its sullenness and grew interested. "Say-what happened 
to Curley's ban'?" 
 
 There was an embarrassed silence. Candy stole a look at Lennie. 
Then he coughed. "Why . . . . Curley . . . . he got his han' caught in 
a machine, ma'am. Butt his ban'." 
 
 She watched for a moment, and then she laughed. "Baloney! 
What you think you're sellin' me? Curley started som'pin' he didn' 

---

 
 
 
 
finish. Caught in a machine -baloney! Why, he ain't give nobody 
the good of onetwo since he got his ban' bust. Who bust him?" 
 
 Candy repeated sullenly, "Got it caught in a machine." 
 
 "Awright," she said contemptuously. "Awright, cover 'im up if ya 
wanta. Whatta I care? You bindle bums think you're so damn 
good. Whatta ya think I am, a kid? I tell ya I could of went with 
shows. Not jus' one, neither. An' a guy tol' me he could put me in 
pitchers. . . :' She was breathless with indignation. "Sat'iday night. 
Ever'body out doin' som'pin'. Ever'body! An' what am I doin'? 
Standin' here talkin' to a bunch of bindle stiffs-a nigger an' a dum-
dum and a lousy of sheep-n' Orin' it because they ain't nobody 
else." 
 
 Lennie watched her, his mouth half open. Crooks had retired into 
the terrible protective dignity of the Negro. But a change came 
over old Candy. He stood up suddenly and knocked his nail keg 
over backward. "I had enough," he said angrily. "You ain't wanted 
here. We told you you ain't. An' I tell ya, you got floozy idears 
about what us guys amounts to. You ain't got sense enough in that 
chicken head to even see that we ain't stiffs. S'pose you get us 
canned. S'pose you do. You think we'll hit the highway an' look for 
another lousy two-bit job like this. You don't know that we got our 
own ranch to go to, an' our own house. We ain't got to stay here. 
We gotta house and chickens an' fruit trees an' a place a hunderd 
time prettier than this. An' we got fren's, that's what we got. 
Maybe there was a time when we was scared of gettin' canned, but 
we ain't no more. We got our own lan', and it's ours, an' we c'n go 
to it" 
 
 Curley's wife laughed at him. "Baloney," she said. "I seen too 
many you guys. If you had two bits in the worl', why you'd be in 
gettin' two shots of corn with it and suckin' the bottom of the 
glass. I know you guys." 
 
 Candy's face had grown redder and redder, but before she was 
done speaking, he had control of himself. He was the master of the 

---

 
 
 
 
situation. "I might of knew," he said gently. "Maybe you just better 
go along an' roll your hoop. We ain't got nothing to say to you at 
all. We know what we got, and we don't care whether you know it 
or not. So maybe you better jus' scatter along now, 'cause Curley 
maybe ain't gonna like his wife out in the barn with us `bindle 
stiffs."' 
 
 She looked from one face to another, and they were all closed 
against her. And she looked longest at Lennie, until he dropped 
his eyes in embarrassment. Suddenly she said, "Where'd you get 
them bruises on your face?" 
 
 Lennie looked up guiltily. "Who-me?" 
 
 "Yeah, you." 
 
 Lennie looked to Candy for help, and then he looked at his lap 
again. "He got his han' caught in a machine," he said. 
 
 Curley's wife laughed. "O.K., Machine. I'll talk to you later. I like 
machines." 
 
 Candy broke in. "You let this guy alone. Don't you do no messing 
aroun' with him. I'm gonna tell George what you says. George 
won't have you messin' with Lennie." 
 
 "Who's George?" she asked. "The little guy you come with?" 
 
 Lennie smiled happily. "That's him," he said. "That's the guy, an' 
he's gonna let me tend the rabbits." 
 
 "Well, if that's all you want, I might get a couple rabbits myself." 
 
 Crooks stood up from his bunk and faced her. "I had enough," he 
said coldly. "You got no rights comin' in a colored man's room. You 
got no rights messing around in here at all. Now you jus' get out, 
an' get out quick. If you don't, I'm gonna ast the boss not to ever 
let you come in the barn no more." 

---

 
 
 
 
 
 She turned on him in scorn. "Listen, Nigger," she said. "You know 
what I can do to you if you open. your trap?" 
 
 Crooks stared hopelessly at her, and then he sat down on his 
bunk and drew into himself. 
 
 She closed on him. "You know what I could do?" 
 
 Crooks seemed to grow smaller, and he pressed? himself against 
the wall. "Yes, ma'am." 
 
 "Well, you keep your place then, Nigger. I could get you strung up 
on a tree so easy it ain't even funny." 
 
 Crooks had reduced himself to nothing. There was no personality, 
no ego-nothing to arouse either like or dislike. He said, "Yes, 
ma'am," and his voice was toneless. 
 
 For a moment she stood over him. as though waiting for him to 
move so that she could whip at him again; but Crooks sat perfectly 
still, his eyes averted, everything that might be hurt drawn in. 
She turned at last to the other two. 
 
 Old Candy was watching her, fascinated. "If you was to do that, 
we'd tell," he said quietly. "We'd tell about you framin' Crooks." 
 
 "Tell an' be damned," she cried. "Nobody'd listen to you, an' you 
know it. Nobody'd listen to you." 
 
 Candy subsided. "No ..." he agreed. "Nobody'd listen to us." 
 
 Lennie whined, "I wisht George was here. I wisht George was 
here." 
 
 Candy stepped over to him. "Don't you worry none," he said. "I 
jus' heard the guys comin' in. George'll be in the bunk house right 
now, I bet." He turned to Curley's wife. "You better go home now," 

---

 
 
 
 
he said quietly. "If you go right now, we won't tell Curley you was 
here." 
 
 She appraised him coolly. "I ain't sure you heard nothing." 
 
 "Better not take no chances," he said. "If you ain't sure, you better 
take the safe way." 
 
 She turned to Lennie. "I'm glad you bust up Curley a little bit. He 
got it comin' to him. Sometimes I'd like to bust him myself." She 
slipped out the door and disappeared into the dark barn. And 
while she went through the barn, the halter chains rattled, and 
some horses snorted and some stamped their feet. 
 
 Crooks seemed to come slowly out of the layers of protection he 
bad put on. "Was that the truth what you said about the guys 
come back?" he asked. 
 
 "Sure. I heard 'em." 
 
 "Well, I didn't hear nothing." 
 
 "The gate banged," Candy said, and he went on, "Jesus Christ, 
Curley's wife can move quiet. I guess she had a lot of practice, 
though." 
 
 Crooks avoided the whole subject now. "Maybe you guys better 
go," he said. "I ain't sure I want you in here no more. A colored 
man got to have some rights even if he don't like 'em." 
 
 Candy said, "That bitch didn't ought to of said that to you." 
 
 "It wasn't nothing," Crooks said dully. "You guys comin' in an' 
settin' made me forget. What she says is true." 
 
 The horses snorted out in the barn and the chains rang and a 
voice called, "Lennie. Oh, Lennie. You in the barn?" 
 

---

 
 
 
 
 "It's George," Lennie cried. And he answered, "Here, George. I'm 
right in here." 
 
 In a second George stood framed in the door, and he looked 
disapprovingly about. "What you doin' in Crooks' room? You 
hadn't ought to lie here." 
 
 Crooks nodded "I tol' 'em, but they come in anyways." 
 
 "Well, why'n't you kick'em out?" 
 
 "I di'n't care much," said Crooks. "Lennie's a nice fella." 
 
 Now Candy aroused himself. "Oh, George! I been figurin' and 
figurin'. I got it doped out how we can even make some money on 
them rabbits." 
 
 George scowled. "I thought I tol' you not to tell nobody about 
that." 
 
 Candy was crestfallen. "Didn't tell nobody but Crooks." 
 
 George said, "Well you guys get outta here. Jesus, seems like I 
can't go away for a minute." 
 
 Candy and Lennie stood up and went toward the door. Crooks 
called, "Candy!" 
 
 "Huh?" 
 
 "'Member what I said about hoein' and doin' odd jobs?" 
 
 "Yeah," said Candy. "I remember." 
 
 "Well, jus' forget it," said Crooks. "I didn' mean it. Jus' foolin'. I 
wouldn' want to go no place like that." 
 
 "Well, O.K., if you feel like that. Good-night" 

---

 
 
 
 
 
 The three men went out of the door. As they went through the 
barn the horses snorted and the halter chains rattled. 
 
 Crooks sat on his bunk and looked at the door' for a moment, and 
then he reached for the liniment bottle. He pulled out his shirt in 
back, poured a little, liniment in his pink palm and, reaching 
around, he, fell slowly to rubbing his back. 
 
   
 
   
 
   
 
   
 CHAPTER  5 
 
   
 
 ONE end of the great barn was piled high with new hay and over 
the pile hung the four-taloned jackson fork suspended from its 
pulley. The hay came down like a mountain slope to the other end 
of the barn, and there was a level place as yet unfilled with the 
new crop. At the sides the feeding racks were visible, and between 
the slats the heads of horses could be seen. 
 
 It was Sunday afternoon. The resting horses nibbled the 
remaining wisps of hay, and they stamped their feet and they bit 
the wood of the mangers and rattled the halter chains. The 
afternoon sun sliced in through the cracks of the barn walls and 
lay in bright lines on the hay. There was the buzz of flies in the 
air, the lazy afternoon humming. 
 
 From outside came the clang of horseshoes on the playing peg and 
the shouts of men, playing, encouraging, jeering. But in the barn 
it was quiet and humming and lazy and warm. 
 

---

 
 
 
 
 Only Lennie was in the barn, and Lennie sat in the hay beside a 
packing case under a manger in the end of the barn that had not 
been filled with hay. Lennie sat in the hay and looked at a little 
dead puppy that lay in front of him. Lennie looked at it for a long 
time, and then he put out his huge hand and stroked it, stroked it 
clear from one end to the other. 
 
 And Lennie said softly to the puppy, "Why do you got to get 
killed? You ain't so little as mice. I didn't bounce you hard." He 
bent the pup's head up and looked in its face, and he said to it, 
"Now maybe George ain't gonna let me tend no rabbits, if he fin's 
out you got killed." 
 
 He scooped a little hollow and laid the puppy in it and covered it 
over with hay, out of sight; but he continued to stare at the mound 
he had made. He said, "This ain't no bad thing like I got to go hide 
in the brush. Oh! no. This ain't. I'll tell George I foun' it dead." 
 
 He unburied the puppy and inspected it, and he stroked it from 
ears to tail. He went on sorrowfully, "But he'll know. George 
always knows. He'll say, 'You done it. Don't try to put nothing over 
on me.' An' he'll say, 'Now jus' for that you don't get to tend no 
rabbits!"' 
 
 Suddenly his anger arose. "God damn you," he cried. "Why do you 
got to get killed? You ain't so little as mice." He picked up the pup 
and hurled it from him. He turned his back on it. He sat bent over 
his knees and he whispered, "Now I won't get to tend the rabbits. 
Now he won't let me." He rocked himself back and forth in his 
sorrow. 
 
 From outside came the clang of horseshoes on the iron stake, and 
then a little chorus of cries. Lennie got up and brought the puppy 
back and laid it on the hay and sat down. He stroked the pup 
again. "You wasn't big enough," he said. "They tol' me and tol' me 
you wasn't. I di'n't know you'd get killed so easy." He worked his 
fingers on the pup's limp ear. "Maybe George won't care," he said. 
"This here God damn little son-of-a-bitch wasn't nothing to 

---

 
 
 
 
George." 
 
 Curley's wife came around the end of the last stall. She came very 
quietly, so that Lennie didn't see her. She wore her bright cotton 
dress and the mules with the red ostrich feathers. Her face was 
made up and the little sausage curls were all in place. She was 
quite near to him before Lennie looked up and saw her. 
 
 In a panic he shoveled hay over the puppy with his fingers. He 
looked sullenly up at her.She said, "What you got there, sonny 
boy?" 
 
 Lennie glared at her. "George says I ain't to have nothing to do 
with you-talk to you or nothing." 
 
 She laughed "George giving you orders about everything?" 
 
 Lennie looked down at the hay. "Says I can't tend no rabbits if I 
talk to you or anything." 
 
 She said quietly, "He's scared Curley'll get mad. Well, Curley got 
his arm in a sling-an' if Curley gets tough, you can break his other 
han'. You didn't put nothing over on me about gettin' it caught in 
no machine." 
 
 But Lennie was not to be drawn. "No, sir. I ain't gonna talk to you 
or nothing." 
 
 She knelt in the hay beside him. "Listen," she said "All the guys 
got a horseshoe tenement goin' on. It' on'y about four o'clock. None 
of them guys is goin to leave that tenement. Why can't I talk to 
you? I never get to talk to nobody. I get awful lonely." 
 
 Lennie said, "Well, I ain't supposed to talk to you or nothing." 
 
 "I get lonely," she said. "You can talk to people, but I can't talk to 
nobody but Curley. Else he gets mad. How'd you like not to talk to 
anybody?" 

---

 
 
 
 
 
 Lennie said, "Well, I ain't supposed to. George's scared I'll get in 
trouble." 
 
 She changed the subject. "What you got covered up there?" 
 
 Then all of Lennie's woe came back on him. "Joe my pup," he said 
sadly. "Jus' my little pup." And he swept the hay from on top of it. 
 
 "Why, he's dead," she cried. 
 
 "He was so little," said Lennie. "I was jus' playin' with him . . . . 
an' he made like he's gonna bite me . . . . an' I made like I was 
gonna smack him . . . . an' . . . . an' I done it. An' then he was 
dead." 
 
 She consoled him. "Don't you worry none. He was jus' a mutt. You 
can get another one easy. The whole country is fulla mutts." 
 
 "It ain't that so much," Lennie explained miserably. "George ain't 
gonna let me tend no rabbits now." 
 
 "Why don't he?" 
 
 "Well, he said if I done any more bad things he ain't gonna let me 
tend the rabbits." 
 
 She moved closer to him and she spoke soothingly. "Don't you 
worry about talkie' to me. Listen to the guys yell out there. They 
got four dollars bet in that tenement. None of them ain't gonna 
leave till it's over." 
 
 "If George sees me talkin' to you he'll give me hell," Lennie said 
cautiously. "He tol' me so." 
 
 Her face grew angry. "Wha's the matter with me?" she cried. 
"Ain't I got a right to talk to nobody? Whatta they think I am, 
anyways? You're a nice guy. I don't know why I can't talk to you. I 

---

 
 
 
 
ain't doin' no harm to you." 
 
 "Well, George says you'll get us in a mess." 
 
 "Aw, nuts!" she said. "What kinda harm am I doin' to you? Seems 
like they ain't none of them cares how I gotta live. I tell you I ain't 
used to livin' like this. I coulda made somethin' of myself." She 
said darkly, "Maybe I will yet." And then her words tumbled out in 
a passion of communication, as though she hurried before her 
listener could be taken away. "I lived right in Salinas," she said. 
"Come there when I was a kid. Well, a show come through, an' I 
met one of the actors. He says I could go with that show. But my of 
lady- wouldn' let me. She says because I was on'y fifteen. But the 
guy says I coulda. If I'd went, I wouldn't be livin' like this, you 
bet." 
 
 Lennie stroked the pup back and forth. "We gonna have a little 
place-an' rabbits," he explained. 
 
 She went on with her story quickly, before she should be 
interrupted. "'Nother time I met a guy, an' he was in pitchers. 
Went out to the Riverside Dance Palace with him. He says he was 
gonna put me in the movies. Says I was a natural. Soon's he got 
back to Hollywood he was gonna write to me about it." She looked 
closely at Lennie to see whether she was impressing him. "I never 
got that letter," she said. "I always thought my of lady stole it. 
Well, I wasn't gonna stay no place where I couldn't get nowhere or 
make something of myself, an' where they stole your letters. I ast 
her if she stole it, too, an' she says no. So I married Curley. Met 
him out to the Riverside Dance Palace that same night." She 
demanded, "You listenin'?" 
 
 "Me? Sure." 
 
 "Well, I ain't told this to nobody before. Maybe I ought'n to. I 
don'
like
 Curley. He ain't a nice fella." And because she had 
confided in him, she moved closer to Lennie and sat beside him. 
"Coulda been in the movies, an' had nice clothes-all them nice 

---

 
 
 
 
clothes like they wear. An' I coulda sat in them big hotels, an' had 
pitchers took of me. When they had them previews I coulda went 
to them, an' spoke in the radio, an' it wouldn'ta cost me a cent 
because I was in the pitcher. An' all them nice clothes like they 
wear. Because this guy says I was a natural." She looked up at 
Lennie, and she made a small grand gesture with her arm and 
hand to show that she could act. The fingers trailed after her 
leading wrist, and her little finger stuck out grandly from the rest. 
 
 Lennie sighed deeply. From outside came the clang of a horseshoe 
on metal, and then a chorus of cheers. "Somebody made a ringer," 
said Curley's wife. 
 
 Now the light was lifting as the sun went down, and the sun 
streaks climbed up the wall and fell over the feeding racks and 
over the heads of the horses. 
 
 Lennie said, "Maybe if I took this pup out and throwed him away 
George wouldn't never know: An' then I could tend the rabbits 
without n 
 
 trouble." 
 
 Curley's wife said angrily, "Don't you think of nothing but 
rabbits?" 
 
 "We gonna have a little place," Lennie explained patiently. "We 
gonna have a house an' a garden and a place for alfalfa, an' that 
alfalfa is for the rabbits, an' I take a sack and get it all fulla alfalfa 
and then I take it to the rabbits." 
 
 She asked, "What makes you so nuts about rabbits?" 
 
 Lennie had to think carefully before he could come to a 
conclusion. He moved cautiously close to her, until he was right 
against her. "I like to pet nice things. Once at a fair I seen some of 
them long-hair rabbits. An' they was nice, you bet. Sometimes I've 
even pet mice, but not when I could get nothing better." 

---

 
 
 
 
 
 Curley's wife moved away from him a little. "I think you're nuts," 
she said. 
 
 "No I ain't," Lennie explained earnestly. "George says I ain't. I 
like to pet nice things with my fingers, sof' things. " 
 
 She was a little bit reassured. "Well, who don't?" she said. 
"Ever'body likes that. I like to feel silk an' velvet. Do you like to 
feel velvet?" 
 
 Lennie chuckled with pleasure. "You bet, by God," he cried 
happily. "An' I had some, too. A lady give me some, an' that lady 
was--my own Aunt Clara. She give it right to me-'bout this big a 
piece. I wisht I had that velvet right now." A frown came over his 
face. "I lost it," he said. "I ain't seen it for a long time." 
 
 Curley's wife laughed at him. "You're nuts," she said. "But you're 
a kinda nice fella. Jus' like a big baby. But a person can see kinda 
what you mean. When I'm doin' my hair sometimes I jus' set an' 
stroke it 'cause it's so soft." To show how she did it, she ran her 
fingers over the top of her head. "Some people got kinda coarse 
hair," she said complacently. "Take Curley. His hair is jus' like 
wire. But mine is soft and fine. 'Course I brush it a lot. That 
makes it fine. Here-feel right here." She took Lennie's hand and 
put it on her head. "Feel right aroun' there an' see how soft it is." 
 
 Lennie's big fingers fell to stroking her hair. 
 
 "Don't you muss it up," she said. 
 
 Lennie said, "Oh! That's nice," and he stroked harder. "Oh, that's 
nice." 
 
 "Look out, now, you'll muss it." And then she cried angrily, "You 
stop it now, you'll mess it all up." She jerked her head sideways, 
and Lennie's fingers closed on her hair and hung on. "Let go," she 
cried. "You let go!" 

---

 
 
 
 
 
 Lennie was in a panic. His face was contorted. She screamed 
then, and Lennie's other hand closed over her mouth and nose. 
"Please don't," he begged. "Oh! Please don't do that. George'll be 
mad." 
 
 She struggled violently under his hands. Her feet battered on the 
hay and she writhed to be free; and from under Lennie's hand 
came a muffled screaming. Lennie began to cry with fright. "Oh! 
Please don't do none of that," he begged. "George gonna say I done 
a bad thing. He ain't gonna let me tend no rabbits." He moved his 
hand a little and her hoarse cry came out. Then Lennie grew 
angry. "Now don't," he said. "I don't want you to yell. You gonna 
get me in trouble jus' like George says you will. Now don't you do 
that." And she continued to struggle, and her eyes were wild with 
terror. He shook her then, and he was angry with her. "Don't you 
go yellin'," he said, and he shook her; and her body flopped like a 
fish. And then she was still, for Lennie had broken her neck. 
 
 He looked down at her, and carefully be removed his hand from 
over her mouth, and she lay still. "I don't want to hurt you," he 
said, "but George'll be mad if you yell." When she didn't answer 
nor move he bent closely over her. He lifted her arm and let it 
drop. For a moment he seemed bewildered. And then he whispered 
in fright, "I done a bad thing. I done another bad thing." 
 
 He pawed up the hay until it partly covered her. 
 
 From outside the barn came a cry of men and the double clang of 
shoes on metal. For the first time Lennie became conscious of the 
outside. He crouched down in the hay and listened. "I done a real 
bad thing," he said. "I shouldn't of did that. George'll be mad. An' . 
. . . he said . . . . an' hide in the brush till he come. He's gonna be 
mad. In the brush till he come. Tha's what he said." Lennie went-
back and looked at the dead girl. The puppy lay close to her. 
Lennie picked it up. "I'll throw him away," he said. "It's bad 
enough like it is." He put the pup under his coat, and he crept to 
the barn wall and peered out between the cracks, toward the 

---

 
 
 
 
horseshoe game. And then he crept around the end of the last 
manger and disappeared. 
 
 The sun streaks were high on the wall by now, and the light was 
growing soft in the barn. Curley's wife lay on her back, and she 
was half covered with hay. 
 
 It was very quiet in the barn, and the quiet of the afternoon was 
on the ranch. Even the clang of the pitched shoes, even the voices 
of the men in the game seemed to grow more quiet. The air in the 
barn was dusky in advance of the outside day. A pigeon flew in 
through the open hay door and circled and flew out again. Around 
the last stall came a shepherd bitch, lean and long, with heavy, 
hanging dugs. Halfway to the packing box where the puppies were 
she caught the dead scent of Curley's wife, and the hair arose 
along her spine. She whimpered and cringed to the packing box, 
and jumped in among the puppies. 
 
 Curley's wife lay with a half-covering of yellow hay. And the 
meanness and the plannings and the discontent and the ache for 
attention were all gone from her face. She was very pretty and 
simple, and her face was sweet and young. Now her rouged cheeks 
and her reddened lips made her seem alive and sleeping very 
lightly. The curls, tiny little sausages, were spread on the hay 
behind her head, and her lips were parted. 
 
 As happens sometimes, a moment settled and hovered and 
remained for much more than a moment. And sound stopped and 
movement stopped for much, much more than a moment. 
 
 Then gradually time awakened again and moved sluggishly on. 
The horses stamped on the other side of the feeding racks and the 
halter chains clinked. Outside, the men's voices became louder 
and clearer. 
 
 From around the end of the last stall old Candy's voice came. 
"Lennie," he called. "Oh, Lennie! You in here? 1 been figuring 
some more. Tell you what we can do, Lennie." Old Candy appeared 

---

 
 
 
 
around the end of the last stall. "Oh, Lennie!" he called again; and 
then he stopped, and his body stiffened. He rubbed his smooth 
wrist on his white stubble whiskers. "I di'n't know you was here," 
he said to Curley's wife. 
 
 When she didn't answer, he stepped nearer. "You oughten to sleep 
out here," he said disapprovingly; and then he was beside her and-
"Oh, Jesus Christ!" He looked about helplessly, and he rubbed his 
beard. And then he jumped up and went quickly out of the barn. 
 
 But the barn was alive now. The horses stamped and snorted, and 
they chewed the straw of their bedding and they clashed the 
chains of their halters. In a moment Candy came back, and 
George was with him. 
 
 George said, "What was it you wanted to see me about?" 
 
 Candy pointed at Curley's wife. George stared. "What's the 
matter with her?" he asked. He stepped closer, and then he echoed 
Candy's words. "Oh, Jesus Christ!" He was down on his knees 
beside her.He put his hand over her heart. And finally, when he 
stood up, slowly and stify, his face was as hard and tight as wood, 
and his eyes were hard. 
 
 Candy said, "What done it?" 
 
 George looked coldly at him. "Ain't you got any idear?" he asked. 
And Candy was silent. "I should of knew," George said hopelessly. 
"I guess maybe way back in my head I did." 
 
 Candy asked, "What we gonna do now, George? What we gonna 
do now?" 
 
 George was a long time in answering. "Guess . . . . we gotta tell 
the . . . . guys. I guess we gotta get 'im an' lock 'im up. We can't let 
'im get away. Why, the poor bastard'd starve." And he tried to 
reassure himself. "Maybe they'll lock 'im up an' be nice to In." 
 

---

 
 
 
 
 But Candy said excitedly, "We oughtta let'im get away. You don't 
know that Curley. Curley gon'ta wanta get 'im lynched. Curley'll 
get 'im killed." 
 
 George watched Candy's lips. "Yeah," he said at last, "that's right, 
Curley will. An' the other guys will." And he looked back at 
Curley's wife. 
 
 Now Candy spoke his greatest fear. "You an' me can get that little 
place, can't we, George? You an' me can go there an' live nice, can't 
we, George? Can't we?" 
 
 Before George answered, Candy dropped his head and looked 
down at the hay. He knew. 
 
 George said softly, "-I think I knowed from the very first I think I 
knowed we'd never do her. He usta like to hear about it so much I 
got to thinking maybe we would." 
 
 "Then-it's all off?" Candy said sulkily. 
 
 George didn't answer his question. George said, "I'll work my 
month an' I'll take my fifty bucks an' I'll stay all night in some 
lousy cat house. Or I'll set in some poolroom till ever'body goes 
home. An' then I'll come back an' work another month an! I'll have 
fifty bucks more." 
 
 Candy said, "He's such a nice fella. I didn' think he'd do nothing 
like this." 
 
 George still stared at Curley's wife. "Lennie never done it in 
meanness," he said "All the time he done bad things, but he never 
done one of 'em mean." He straightened up and looked back at 
Candy. "Now listen. We gotta tell the guys. They got to bring him 
in, I guess. They ain't no way out. Maybe they won't hurt'im." He 
said sharply, "I ain't gonna let 'em hurt Lennie. Now you listen. 
The guys might think I was in on it. I'm gonna go in the bunk 
house. Then in a minute you come out and tell the guys about her, 

---

 
 
 
 
and I'll come along and make like I never seen her. Will you do 
that? So the guys won't think I was in on it?" 
 
 Candy said, "Sure, George. Sure I'll do that." 
 
 "O.K. Give me a couple minutes then, and you come runnin' out 
an' tell like you jus' found her. I'm going now." George turned and 
went quickly out of the barn. 
 
 Old Candy watched him go. He looked helplessly back at Curley's 
wife, and gradually his sorrow and his anger grew into words. 
"You God damn tramp," be said viciously. "You done it, di'n't you? 
I s'pose you're glad. Ever'body knowed you'd mess things up. You 
wasn't no good. You ain't no good now, you lousy tart." He 
sniveled, and his voice shook. "I could of hoed in the garden and 
washed dishes for them guys." He paused, and then went on in a 
singsong. And he repeated the old words: "If they was a circus or a 
baseball game . . . . we would of went to her . . . . jus' said `ta hell 
with work,' an' went to her. Never ast nobody's say so. An' they'd 
of been a pig and chickens . . . . an' in the winter . . . . the little fat 
stove . . . . an' the rain comin' . . . . an' us jus' settin' there." His 
eyes blinded with tears and he turned and went weakly out of the 
barn, and he rubbed his bristly whiskers with his wrist stump. 
 
 Outside the noise of the game stopped. There was a rise of voices 
in question, a drum of running feet and the men burst into the 
barn. Slim and Carlson and young Whit and Curley, and Crooks 
keeping back out of attention range. Candy came after them, and 
last of all came George. George had put on his blue denim coat and 
buttoned it, and his black hat was pulled down low over his eyes. 
The men raced around the last stall. Their eyes found Curley's 
wife in the gloom, they stopped and stood still and looked. 
 
 Then Slim went quietly over to her, and he felt her wrist. One 
lean finger touched her cheek, and then his hand went under her 
slightly twisted neck and his fingers explored her neck. When he 
stood up the men crowded near and the spell was broken. 
 

---

 
 
 
 
 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 'urn, 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 AI Wilts, he's 
deputy sheriff. Le's go now." He turned suspiciously on George. 
"You're comin' with us, fella." 
 
 "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. 
 
   
 
   
 
   
 
   
 CHAPTER  6 
 
   
 
 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, twist-ing 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. 
 
 A far rush of wind sounded and a gust drove through the tops of 
the trees like a wave. The syca-more 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. 
 
 Lennie came quietly to the pool's edge. He knelt down and drank, 
barely touching his lips to the water. When a little bird skittered 
over the dry leaves behind him, his head jerked up and he 
strained toward the sound with eyes and ears until he saw the 
bird, and then he dropped his head and drank again. 
 
 When he was finished, he sat down on the bank, with his side to 
the pool, so that he could watch the trail's entrance. He embraced 
his knees and laid his chin down on his knees. 
 
 The light climbed on out of the valley, and as it went, the tops of 
the mountains seemed to blaze with increasing brightness. 
 
 Lennie said softly, "I di'n't forget, you bet, God damn. Hide in the 
brush an' wait for George." He pulled his hat down low over his 
eyes. "George gonna give me hell," he said. "George gonna wish he 
was alone an' not have me botherin' him." He turned his head and 
looked at the bright mountain tops. "I can go right off there an' 
find a cave," he said. And he continued sadly, "-an' never have no 
ketchup-but I won't care. If George don't want me . . . . I'll go 
away. I'll go away." 
 
 And then from out of Lennie's head there came a little fat old 
woman. She wore thick bull's-eye glasses and she wore a huge 

---

 
 
 
 
gingham apron with pockets, and she was starched and clean. She 
stood in front of Lennie and put her hands on her hips, and she 
frowned disapprovingly at him. 
 
 And when she spoke, it was in Lennie's voice. "I tol' you an' tol' 
you," she said. "I tol' you, `Min' George because he's such a nice 
fella an' good to you.' But you don't never take no care. You do bad 
things." 
 
 And Lennie answered her, "I tried, Aunt Clara, ma'am. I tried 
and tried. I couldn' help it." 
 
 "You never give a thought to George," she went on in Lennie's 
voice. "He been doin' nice things for you alla time. When he got a 
piece of pie you always got half or more'n half. An' if they was any 
ketchup, why he'd give it all to you." 
 
 "I know," said Lennie miserably. "I tried, Aunt Clara, ma'am. I 
tried and tried." 
 
 She interrupted him. "All the time he coulda had such a good 
time if it wasn't for you. He woulda took his pay an' raised hell in 
a whore house, and he coulda set in a poolroom an' played 
snooker. But he got to take care of you." 
 
 Lennie moaned with grief. "I know, Aunt Clara, ma'am. I'll go 
right off in the hills an' I'll fin' a cave an' I'll live there so I won't 
be no more trouble to George." 
 
 "You jus' say that," she said sharply. "You're al-ways sayin' that, 
an' you know sonofabitching well you ain't never gonna do it. 
You'll jus' stick around an' stew the b'Jesus outa George all the 
time." 
 
 Lennie said, "I might jus' as well go away. George ain't gonna let 
me tend no rabbits now." 
 
 Aunt Clara was gone, and from out of Lennie's head there came a 

---

 
 
 
 
gigantic rabbit. It sat on its haunches in front of him, and it 
waggled its ears and crinkled its nose at him. And it spoke in 
Lennie's voice too. 
 
 "Tend rabbits," it said scornfully. "You crazy bastard. You ain't fit 
to lick the boots of no rabbit. You'd forget 'em and let 'em go 
hungry. That's what you'd do. An' then what would George think?" 
 
 "I would not forget," Lennie said loudly. 
 
 "The hell you wouldn'," said the rabbit. "You ain't worth a greased 
jack-pin to ram you into hell. Christ knows George done ever'thing 
he could to jack you outa the sewer, but it don't do no good. If you 
think George gonna let you tend rabbits, you're even crazier'n 
usual. He ain't. He's gonna bear hell outa you with a stick, that's 
what he's gonna do." 
 
 Now Lennie retorted belligerently, "He ain't neither. George won't 
do nothing like that. I've knew George since-1 forget when-and he 
ain't never raised his ban' to me with a stick. He's nice to me. He 
ain't gonna be mean." 
 
 "Well, he's sick of you," said the rabbit. "He's gonna beat hell outa 
you an' then go away an' leave you." 
 
 "He won't," Lennie cried frantically. "He won't do nothing like 
that. I know George. Me an' him travels together." 
 
 But the rabbit repeated softly over and over, "He gonna leave you, 
ya crazy bastard. He gonna leave ya all alone. He gonna leave ya, 
crazy bastard." 
 
   
 
 Lennie put his hands over his ears. "He ain't, I tell ya he ain't." 
And he cried, "Oh! George-George--George!" 
 
 George came quietly out of the brush and the rabbit scuttled back 

---

 
 
 
 
into Lennie's brain. 
 
 George said quietly, "What the hell you yellin' about?" 
 
 Lennie got up on his knees. "You ain't gonna leave me, are ya, 
George? I know you ain't." 
 
 George came stiffly near and sat down beside him. 
 
 "No." 
 
 "I knowed it," Lennie cried. "You ain't that kind." 
 
 George was silent. 
 
 Lennie said, "George." 
 
 "Yeah ?" 
 
 "I done another bad thing." 
 
 "It don't make no difference," George said, and he fell silent 
again. 
 
 Only the topmost ridges were in the sun now. The shadow in the 
valley was blue and soft. From the distance came the sound of 
men shouting to one another. George turned his head and listened 
to the shouts. 
 
 Lennie said, "George." 
 
 "Yeah ?" 
 
 "Ain't you gonna give me hell?" 
 
 "Give ya hell?" 
 
 "Sure, like you always done before. Like, `If I di'n't have you I'd 

---

 
 
 
 
take my fifty bucks' " 
 
 "Jesus Christ, Lennie! You can't remember nothing that happens, 
but you remember ever' word I say.„ 
 
 "Well, ain't you gonna say it?" 
 
 George shook himself. He said woodenly, "If I was alone I could 
live so easy." His voice was mo-notonous, had no emphasis. "I 
could get a job an' not have no mess." He stopped 
 
 "Go on," said Lennie. "An' when the enda the month come-" 
 
 "An' when the end of the month come I could take my fifty bucks 
an' go to a . . . . cat house. . . ." He stopped again. 
 
 Lennie looked eagerly at him. "Go on, George. Ain't you gonna 
give me no more hell?" 
 
 "No," said George. 
 
 "Well, I can go away," said Lennie. "I'll go right off in the hills an' 
find a cave if you don' want me." 
 
 George shook himself again. "No," he said. "I want you to stay 
with me here." 
 
 Lennie said craftily- "Tell me like you done before." 
 
 "Tell you what?" 
 
 "'Bout the other guys an' about us." 
 
 George said, "Guys like us got no fambly. They make a little stake 
an' then they blow it in. They ain't got nobody in the worl' that 
gives a hoot in hell about 'em-" 
 
 "But not us," Lennie cried happily. "Tell about us now." 

---

 
 
 
 
 
 George was quiet for a moment. "But not us," he said. 
 
   
 
 "Because-" 
 
 "Because I got you an'' 
 
 "An' I got you. We got each other, that's what, that gives a hoot in 
hell about us," Lennie cried in triumph. 
 
 The little evening breeze blew over the clearing and the leaves 
rustled and the wind waves flowed up the green pool. And the 
shouts of men sounded again, this time much closer than before. 
 
 George took off his hat. He said shakily, "Take off your hat, 
Lennie. The air feels fine." 
 
 Lennie removed his hat dutifully and laid it on the ground in 
front of him. The shadow in the val-ley was bluer, and the evening 
came fast. On the wind the sound of crashing in the brush came to 
them. 
 
 Lennie said, "Tell how it's gonna be." 
 
 George had been listening to the distant sounds. For a moment he 
was business-like. "Look acrost the river, Lennie, an' I'll tell you so 
you can almost see it." 
 
 Lennie turned his head and looked off across the pool and up the 
darkening slopes of the Gabilans. "We gonna get a little place," 
George began. He reached in his side pocket and brought out 
Carlson's Luger; he snapped off the safety, and the hand and gun 
lay on the ground behind Lennie's back. He looked at the back of 
Lennie's head, at the place where the spine and skull were joined. 
 
 A man's voice called from up the river, and an-other man 

---

 
 
 
 
answered. 
 
  "Go on," said Lennie. 
 
 George raised the gun and his hands shook, and he dropped his 
hand to the ground again. 
 
 "Go on," said Lennie. "How's it gonna be. We gonna get a little 
place." 
 
 "We'll have a cow," said George. "An' we'll have maybe a pig an' 
chickens . . . . an' down the flat we'll have a . . . . little piece alfalfa-
" 
 
 "For the rabbits," Lennie shouted. 
 
 "For the rabbits," George repeated. 
 
 "And I get to tend the rabbits." 
 
 "An' you get to tend the rabbits." 
 
 Lennie giggled with happiness. "An' live on the fatta the lan'." 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 Lennie turned his head. 
 
 "No, Lennie. Look down there acrost the river, like you can 
almost see the place." 
 
 Lennie obeyed him. George looked down at the gun. 
 
 There were crashing footsteps in the brush now. George turned 
and looked toward them. 
 
 "Go on, George. When we gonna do it?" 
 

---

 
 
 
 
 "Gonna do it soon." 
 
 "Me an' you." 
 
 "You . . . . an' me. Ever'body gonna be nice to you. Ain't gonna be 
no more trouble. Nobody gon-na hurt nobody nor steal from 'em." 
 
 Lennie said, "I thought you was mad at me, George." 
 
 "No," said George. "No, Lennie. I ain't mad. I never been mad, an' 
I ain't now. That's a thing I want ya to know." 
 
 The voices came close now. George raised the gun and listened to 
the voices. 
 
 Lennie begged, "Le's do it now. Le's get that place now." 
 
 "Sure, right now. I gotta. We gotta." 
 
 And George raised the gun and steadied it, and he brought the 
muzzle of it close to the back of Lennie's head. The hand shook 
violently, but his face set and his hand steadied. He pulled the 
trigger. The crash of the shot rolled up the hills and rolled down 
again. Lennie jarred, and then settled slowly forward to the sand, 
and he lay without quivering. 
 
 George shivered and looked at the gun, and then he threw it from 
him, back up on the bank, near the pile of old ashes. 
 
 The brush seemed filled with cries and with the sound of running 
feet. Slim's voice shouted, "George. Where you at, George?" 
 
 But George sat stify on the bank and looked at his right hand 
that had thrown the gun away. The group burst into the clearing, 
and Curley was ahead. He saw Lennie lying on the sand. "Got 
him, by God." He went over and looked down at Lennie, and then 
he looked back at George. "Right in the back of the head," he said 
softly. 

---

 
 
 
 
 
 Slim came directly to George and sat down beside him, sat very 
close to him. "Never you mind," said Slim. "A guy got to 
sometimes." 
 
 But Carlson was standing over George. "How'd you do it?" he 
asked. 
 
 "I just done it," George said tiredly. 
 
 "Did he have my gun?" 
 
 "Yeah. He had your gun." 
 
 "An' you got it away from him and you took it an' you killed him?" 
 
 "Yeah. Tha's how." George's voice was almost a whisper. He 
looked steadily at his right hand that had held the gun. 
 
 Slim twitched George's elbow. "Come on, George. Me an' you'll go 
in an' get a drink." 
 
 George let himself be helped to his feet. "Yeah, a drink." 
 
 Slim said, "You hadda, George. I swear you had-da. Come on with 
me." He led George into the entrance of the trail and up toward 
the highway. 
 
 Curley and Carlson looked after them. And Carlson said, "Now 
what the hell ya suppose is eatin' them two guys?"