They woke the next morning before the sun rose. Hot gusts blew in from the west. The workers spread out in the first rows as sunlight leaked over the horizon. Adela was among them.

Across the acres of flat land, the view to the roadway was unbroken. Ram saw a cloud of dust rise behind a motorized vehicle. His gaze followed the truck as it moved past the packing shed, and the tool shed that stood near it, then turned off the roadway onto their land, doubling back to the structures on the farm’s dirt road.

“Who is that?” Karak said.

A group of men jumped from the bed of the truck like an invading army. Ram counted about twenty of them, but could not tell who they were.

“I will go see,” Karak said. Ram caught up with him and they climbed into the Model T together. By the time they arrived, the men had taken over the yard outside the packing shed, stacking crates that Ram and Karak had assembled the week before. Others moved wooden boards off the truck, taking axes to the wood to assemble more crates.

Now they could see a group of pickers that Ram did not recognize on the western edge of the field, heading down the rows with their bags. They must have accessed the field from the back path, a little-used turnoff from the roadway.

Clive stood in the packing shed with his back to them, although he must have heard them approach. He was inspecting the crates that Karak and Ram had assembled the day before.

“Clive,” Karak said. The man spun around to face them.

“Who are these people?” Karak asked.

“Who do you think they are?” Clive asked lightly.

“We are using our own pickers. You know—”

“Not this time. We gotta get it outta the ground fast.”

“Already my workers are here,” Karak said. “Tell these people to leave.”

“That ain’t how we’re doin’ it now.” Clive’s face had begun to darken, a shadow under his sunburned skin traveling from neck to cheek. There was pleading in his voice, as if he wanted Karak to agree with him, to see it his way and make things easy.

Suddenly Ram knew. “Clive, you are stealing this crop from us?” he said. Outside the packing shed, they heard an axe crash through wood.

Clive’s eyes darted between them. A large blond-haired man carried in a stack of board and knocked against Ram, and Ram stepped forward to regain his balance. “Stealin’,” Clive said, looking relieved, as if it were easier to be indignant rather than sorry. His tone grew defiant. “You callin’ me a thief?” The blond man stooped to lay the planks against the wall. When he rose, he walked past without acknowledging them. Ram felt a surge of anger. “It ain’t stealing when Consolidated Fruit owns the land,” Clive said.

“Two-thirds of crop is ours,” Karak said.

“Two-thirds!” Clive snorted.