A few miles south of Soledad, the Salinas River drops in close to the hillside
bank and runs deep and green. The water is warm too, for it has slipped
twinkling over the yellow sands in the sunlight before reaching the narrow pool.
On one side of the river the golden foothill slopes curve up to the strong and
rocky Gabilan Mountains, but on the valley side the water is lined with trees—
willows fresh and green with every spring, carrying in their lower leaf junctures
the debris of the winter’s flooding; and sycamores with mottled, white,
recumbent limbs and branches that arch over the pool. On the sandy bank under
the trees the leaves lie deep and so crisp that a lizard makes a great skittering if
he runs among them. Rabbits come out of the brush to sit on the sand in the
evening, and the damp flats are covered with the night tracks of ‘coons, and
with the spreadpads of dogs from the ranches, and with the split-wedge tracks of deer that come to drink in the dark.
There is a path through the willows and among the sycamores, a path beaten
hard by boys coming down from the ranches to swim in the deep pool, and
beaten hard by tramps who come wearily down from the highway in the evening
to jungle-up near water. In front of the low horizontal limb of a giant sycamore
there is an ash pile made by many fires; the limb is worn smooth by men who
have sat on it.
Evening of a hot day started the little wind to moving among the leaves. The
shade climbed up the hills toward the top. On the sand banks the rabbits sat as
quietly as little gray sculptured stones. And then from the direction of the state
highway came the sound of footsteps on crisp sycamore leaves. The rabbits
hurried noiselessly for cover. A stilted heron labored up into the air and
pounded down river. For a moment the place was lifeless, and then two men
emerged from the path and came into the opening by the green pool.
They had walked in single file down the path, and even in the open one
stayed behind the other. Both were dressed in denim trousers and in denim coats with brass buttons. Both wore black, shapeless hats and both carried tight
blanket rolls slung over their shoulders. The first man was small and quick, dark
of face, with restless eyes and sharp, strong features. Every part of him was
defined: small, strong hands, slender arms, a thin and bony nose. Behind him
walked his opposite, a huge man, shapeless of face, with large, pale eyes, and
wide, sloping shoulders; and he walked heavily, dragging his feet a little, the
way a bear drags his paws. His arms did not swing at his sides, but hung
loosely.
The first man stopped short in the clearing, and the follower nearly ran over
him. He took off his hat and wiped the sweat-band with his forefinger and
snapped the moisture off. His huge companion dropped his blankets and flung
himself down and drank from the surface of the green pool; drank with long
gulps, snorting into the water like a horse. The small man stepped nervously
beside him.
“Lennie!” he said sharply. “Lennie, for God’ sakes don’t drink so much.”
Lennie continued to snort into the pool. The small man leaned over and shook
him by the shoulder. “Lennie. You gonna be sick like you was last night.”
Lennie dipped his whole head under, hat and all, and then he sat up on the
bank and his hat dripped down on his blue coat and ran down his back. “That’s
good,” he said. “You drink some, George. You take a good big drink.” He
smiled happily.

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