The tenants cried, "Grampa killed Indians, Pa killed snakes for the land. Maybe we can kill banks—they're worse than Indians and snakes. Maybe we got to fight to keep our land, like Pa and Granpa did."
And now the owner men grew angry. "You’ll have to go."
"It's not me. There's nothing I can do. I'II lose my job if I don't do it. And look—suppose you kill me? They'll just hang you, but long before you're hung there'll be another guy on the tractor, and he'll bump the house down. You're not killing the right guy."
"That's so," the tenant said. “Who gave you orders? I'll go after him. He's the one to kill."
“You're wrong. He got his orders from the bank. The bank told him, 'Clear those people
out or it's your job.' "
"Well, there's a president of the bank. There's a board of directors. I'll fill up the magazine of the rifle and go into the bank."
“But where does it stop? Who can we shoot? I don't aim to starve to death before I kill the man that's starving me."
"I don't know. Maybe there's nobody to shoot. Maybe the thing isn't men at all. Maybe, like you said, the property's doing it. Anyway I told you my orders."