I don't know how we managed to get by except that Pa and Buddy are rustlers and I can do more 'n a hired man.

We _never_ had enough to eat.

Stuff just wouldn't grow.

The stock got bonier and bonier and finally died, 'count of no grass and the tanks dryin' out.

And all the time the sun was a-blazin' and the dust was a-blowin and the clouds would roll up and then drift away and the sun would come out hotter 'n ever.