Jivan knew what Karak hinted at. “They treat all the farmers like this. Not just us,” Jivan said. “It happens to everyone.”

That evening Jivan found an envelope of cash on the bureau where the ledgers were kept. It contained the wages Jivan had paid Ram for his work during the harvest. Jivan approached him late at night, when he was lying on his cot. “What is this?” he asked. His voice was soft, but he could not hide his disgust. He thought the boy had better judgment, more pride.

“You insult me,” Jivan said, leaving the envelope on the cot beside him.

SHERIFF FIELDING ARRIVED on horseback the following week, in the midmorning. Kishen saw him first, through the window, then drew her face back quickly. Karak, Ram, and Jivan gathered around the sheriff on the porch, anxious about the reason for his visit.

“Ángel Cruz is dead,” the sheriff said.

“Who?” Karak asked.

“The Mexican you hired for the cantaloupe harvest.” He looked around at the men. They were too stunned to speak.

“You understand, Jivan, it’s my duty to inquire.”

“Of course,” Jivan said, looking away.

“We don’t usually do this just for migrants, but after the coroner’s notice, I have to file something. I know you all run a good operation here. I know you look out for people working your land. It was a hot spell of days. Poor bastard shoulda known better.”

“He needed to work,” Jivan said. “Like all of us. He needed the money.”

“Have a seat, Sheriff,” Karak said.

The sheriff sat. “Shoulda known when to stop.”

“The foreman contracts with Consolidated Fruit,” Karak said. “Nobody allowed to stop.”

“This didn’t come from me—but I can’t say you’re wrong,” the sheriff said. The Punjabis were surprised at his sympathy, but they did not show it.

“We had a bad time with Consolidated last week,” Karak said.

“No need to bother the sheriff—” Jivan said.

“They knock a carload over,” Karak kept on. “A quarter of our crop.”

Jivan shifted his weight.

“You wouldn’t be the first, I don’t reckon,” the sheriff said. “Still, it hurts. I know you boys work hard. You don’t make no trouble for me. I ’ppreciate that about you. You don’t shout about unfairness and make a ruckus neither.”

“We know our place,” Jivan said, looking at Karak, at Ram.

“You know your place,” he repeated, with a chuckle. “Goes a long way in keeping law and order. Like I said, I ’ppreciate that.” He was holding his hat casually, amiably, dangling it between his legs.

Silence.

“How’d the melon do, anyway?” the sheriff asked. “If they knocked over a quarter of your crop, sounds like you boys got caught up in that glut.”

Karak snorted. “We did,” he said. He kicked the dirt with his foot. “That’s what happened.”

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