Vern limped toward the road, his bad ankle throbbing. He knew he ought to be using a cane to walk, but he hated canes. Old men used canes. Vern wasn’t ready to get old. A limp was better than a cane. Besides, to potential employers, a cane was as good as a wheelchair.

Vern stood in the highway, hitching his thumbs in his overall straps. Louisville wagged her tail and sat beside him. She watched Vern with big eyes.

“You hear that grinding?” said Vern.

“I hear it,” said Paul. “But I’m surprised you can hear it.”

“Need new bearings in their wheels. That’s what making the sound. Their bearings is shot.”

When the car reached them, the grinding noise was so loud it sounded like a rusty water pump handle. It was a Model T, covered in mud. It rolled to a stop only a few feet from Vern.

Vern put on his friendly face and looked into the windshield. A woman was driving. In the passenger seat, a boy. The child was wearing a wide-brimmed cattleman’s hat a few sizes too big for his head, with a little girl on his lap.

“Morning, ma’am,” said Vern. “Just wanted to tell you your bearings is shot.”

Paul appeared behind Vern. “Morning, miss.” Paul tipped his hat and passed the baby to Vern. “What my friend’s trying to say is, you need your tires worked on or you’ll be in big trouble.”

The woman gave no response but kept a hard face. The boy in the seat next to her didn’t make much expression either. He looked young, Vern guessed maybe seven or eight. The little girl sitting on his lap was sucking her thumb. The woman glanced at the boy, then at Paul and Vern. Her eyes were serious ones.

“You don’t have to be so friendly,” said Paul. “Nobody likes a chatterbox.”

The woman said nothing.

Vern could see right away that these weren’t people who trusted others. They were scared. The woman wore an old cotton skirt. She had dirty skin. The children next to her were even dirtier.

The little girl shouted, “Look! A doggie!”

“Hush,” said the boy.

“But it’s a doggie! Mama, can we see the doggie?”

“Hush,” said the boy in the big hat. Vern could see the kid resting one hand on the wood handle of a large handgun that was tucked between the seats in the car.

“Easy, Tex,” said Paul. “I ain’t the one you gotta worry about. I’m the one who’s gonna fix your bearings before your car goes and catches fire.”

“What do you mean?” said the woman. “What bearings?”

Vern kept his eyes on the kid’s handgun. He felt afraid of what the kid might do. He held the baby against his shoulder, then gave her a kiss on the cheek to make himself feel better.