This one night I was sleepin’ in that old tin warehouse on the East end of the yards. Nothin’ but pigeons in there. Place ain’t been used in years. I’ll only sleep in there if it looks like it’s goin’ to storm up. This one night it was pouring down like the dam busted. Makin’ a racket on that tin roof like horses runnin’ around up there. I was just about to turn in ‘n I see these two people crawl in outta the rain. They hoisted their gear inside, ‘n I could see they’s soakin’ wet. They’re standin’ by the door there, ‘n they couldn’t see me back where I was, way in the corner. That place is blacker ‘n a well-hole at night ‘cept for by the door where the yard lights shine in. I called out to ‘em, but they couldn’t hear me, what with the rain comin’ down on the roof.

Next mornin’ I wake up, ‘n I’m gettin’ my gear together, rollin’ up my sleepin’ bag, ‘n them two is still asleep over by the door. Had to walk right past ‘em to get outta there, ‘n I’m bein’ quiet’s I can to slip by ‘em, ‘n them damned ol’ floorboards starts to creakin’ ‘n waked ‘em up. I sez, “Good mornin’,” ‘n they look up kinda suprized, ‘n I see one of ‘em’s a woman. ‘N she asks me if I’d been sleepin’ in there all night, ‘n I sez, “Sure didn’t sleep out in that rain.” I seen the two of ‘em a couple times since, travelin’ together. Last time was up in Sandpoint. They’s camped at the water’s edge, ‘n I come over to the fire ‘n had a cup of coffee.

There ain’t but a few women out here anymore. Not like it use’ to be. Use’ to be men, women, ‘n children, the whole caboodle, fam’ly dog ‘n all, whole families on the move. No more. No kids ridin’, ‘n damn few women. ‘N women that does ride is mostly with a man. Last year, I seen a woman ridin’ alone down in Arkansas. Said she was goin’ to pick srawberries. If I remember correctly, she was streamlinin’. Most times, though, you see a woman on the tramp ‘n she’ll be with a man. Trampin’ ain’t a life fer mos’ yer women. It’s easy to get spoilt fer livin’ indoors ‘n cookin’ on a stove ‘n the comforts a the home life. Once a woman gets use’ to havin’ a roof over her head ‘n indoor plumbin’, there ain’t no way in hell she’s gonna go ‘n live on the tramp. Now, some does it. Not many, but they’s out here. Mebbe they got kicked outta the house or somethin’ or’s travelin’ with their husband ‘cause he lost his job ‘n gotta be on the move lookin’ for work or somethin’ like that. ‘N she’d be ratherin’ on the tramp with her husband than to see him go off by himself. There’s some like that, tryin’ to make it together. Ya see ‘em once in awhile. Ya see ‘em walkin’ along, totin’ bedrolls, ‘n ya think it’s two tramps, two men, ‘n ya get a close look ‘n ye’ll see one of ‘em got some trimmin’s, rings or a bow or somethin’. A woman likes somethin’ fancy showin’ she ain’t lost sight a what she is. There’s one, carries a suitcase. Got some a them little perfume bottles in there. I run into her ‘n ol’ man las’ year in Nevada. They was livin’ in a little squat shack in the willas. The two of ‘em ‘n their two dogs livin’ in a four by six shack, not big enough to stand up in. I was over talkin’ to ‘em one day ‘n she pulls out one a them bottles of perfume ‘n starts dabbin’ it on her neck. Her ol’ man sez, “Ain’t there enough flies around here already.” She didn’t pay no attention. Women ain’t gonna give up their trimmin’s.

96.