Chapter 8

           Theskygrayedamongthestars,andthepale,latequarter-moonwasinsubstantialandthin.TomJoadandthepreacherwalkedquicklyalongaroadthatwasonlywheeltracksandbeatencaterpillartracksthroughacottonfield.Onlytheunbalancedskyshowedtheapproachofdawn,nohorizontothewest,andalinetotheeast.Thetwomenwalkedinsilenceandsmelledthedusttheirfeetkickedintotheair.

           "Ihopeyou’redeadsureoftheway,"JimCasysaid."I’dhatetohavethedawncomeandusbewaytohellan’gonesomewhere."Thecottonfieldscurriedwithwakinglife,thequickflutterofmorningbirdsfeedingontheground,thescamperovertheclodsofdisturbedrabbits.Thequietthuddingofthemen’sfeetinthedust,thesqueakofcrushedclodsundertheirshoes,soundedagainstthesecretnoisesofthedawn.

           Tomsaid,"Icouldshutmyeyesan’walkrightthere.On’ywayIcangowrongisthinkabouther.Jus’forgetabouther,an’I’llgorightthere.Hell,man,Iwasbornrightaroun’inhere.Iranaroun’herewhenIwasakid.They’satreeoverthere—look,youcanjus’makeitout.Well,oncemyoldmanhungupadeadcoyoteinthattree.Hungtheretillitwasallsortofmelted,an’thendroppedoff.Driedup,like.Jesus,IhopeMa’scookin’somepin.Mybelly’scaved."

           "Metoo,"saidCasy."Likealittleeatin’tobacca?Keepsyafromgettin’toohungry.Beenbetterifwedidn’tstartsodamnearly.Betterifitwaslight."Hepausedtognawoffapieceofplug."Iwassleepin’nice."