Ma’s face blackened with anger. She got slowly to her feet. She stooped to the utensil box and picked out the iron skillet. “Mister,’’ she said, “you got a tin button an’ a gun. Where I come from, you keep your voice down.’’ She advanced on him with the skillet. He loosened the gun in the holster. “Go ahead,’’ said Ma. “Scarin’ women. I’m thankful the men folks ain’t here. They’d tear ya to pieces. In my country you watch your tongue.’’ The man took two steps backward. “Well, you ain’t in your country now. You’re in California, an’ we don’t want you goddamn Okies settlin’ down.’’
