When Bassett's foreman rode into the vineyard at noon to talk with the
strikers, he saw a wide brown hat moving slowly among the vine-rows.
"Who's that?" he asked, pointing with his whip.
"Em Wickersham," said one of the group sullenly.
The foreman turned his horse's head, and galloped down the furrow.
"Miss Wickersham."
Em straightened herself, and pushed back her hat.
"You don't want to give up your job?"
The girl shaded her eyes with her hand. There was an unsteady movement
of her chin before she spoke.
"I'd like to work till Friday night," she said.
"Well, I'd like to keep you; but I don't know how it will be. I won't
stand any of their nonsense,"--he jerked his head toward the camp; "I'm
going to send over to Aliso Canon for a wagon-load of pickers. I'm
pretty certain I can get them, but they'll all be men; you might find it
a little unpleasant."
"Who are they?" asked Em.
"Only a lot of ranchers picked up over the neighborhood," said the
foreman. "I think I can find enough men and boys who are through
harvesting. I'll try anyway."
"Will you be here all the time?" asked the girl.
"All of to-morrow and most of Friday," he answered, wondering a little.
"Well, I guess if you don't care, I'll stay; I guess they won't hurt
me,"--the wraith of a smile flitted across her face.
"All right." The foreman urged his horse forward.
"The Wickershams must be hard pressed," he said to himself; "the girl
looks pale. Confound those young rascals!"
Across at the camp Em could hear laughter and snatches of song. The soft
rustle of the grape-leaves in the tepid breeze seemed to emphasize the
stillness about her. Now and then a quail, tilting its queer little
crest, scurried across the furrows and whirred out of sight. Pink-footed
doves ran along the edge of the vineyard, mourning plaintively. The girl
worked on without faltering, looking down the valley now and then
through a blur that was not haze, and seeing always something there that
dulled the pain of her loneliness.
The day wore on. Em had eaten her lunch alone, in the shadow of the
cypress hedge. As the afternoon advanced and the sea-breeze wandered
over the mountains in fitful gusts, the campers trooped homeward, still
laughing and calling to each other with reckless shouts. Em straightened
her aching limbs, and watched them as they went. 'Rene's pink dress
fluttered close to the tallest form among them, loitering a little, and
standing out in silhouette against the afternoon sky at the end of the
straggling procession as it disappeared over the hilltop.