The Punjabis sorted through the fruit from the fourth wagon and tossed out the green melons, leaving them loose and wasted in a pile on the side of the road. Cantaloupe broke open, oozing pink. Flies buzzed around them. The next wagon in line had passed them and pulled up at the inspection station. The farmers stood in the shade, staring at the Singhs as they worked. Consolidated’s manager walked by, slowing as he passed the Punjabis. “Out of the ground too early, Singh,” he said. Jivan felt the words like a kick in the belly.

Clive approached them when the culling was nearly complete. “I got a close enough count to know how much we’re sending out,” he said. “I’ll be getting along now.” He looked down the line at the other farmers. Jivan followed his gaze. Consolidated’s agent was sharing a laugh with a farmer a few wagons away.

The Punjabis returned the wagon to the line and trundled up to the inspection shack again. Clive walked toward the shops on Main Street. The inspector opened the crates again. Jivan wished Clive had not left, but he would not have asked him to stay.

“What game you boys playing? There’s still too many green. Resort these again.” His manner was harsh now; Clive was gone.

Jivan was quiet. Karak said, “They are good.” Jivan’s eyes flashed at him.

“I’ll tell you when they’re good,” the inspector said.

The Punjabis pulled over again. They threw out more fruit.

When the Consolidated agent walked past again, Karak asked, “How many minutes to the train?”

“You missed it already. Last load been hauled.” The men could hear the engine building up steam. It rose in a cloud, gray against the desert sand. The Singhs’ fruit would have to stand in an iced car overnight, waiting for the morning train.

When they coaxed the mules back into the line, the inspector let them through. “They’re on the green side,” he said, “but they can go.”

The Punjabis watched as the cantaloupe was hauled onto the waiting refrigerator car, number 417.

“Don’t worry, Singh,” Consolidated’s agent said as he wrote Jivan a receipt. “We’re nice and early in the season. Can’t see nothing bringing the price down—not unless there’s another glut.” Jivan kept his face expressionless. He had lost a fifth of the crop by the side of the road.