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we's younger."

The shack housing the Gray's is one of the 40 dilapidated
quarter houses furnished turpentine laborers. Situated
on old highway 17, seven miles from Lakeland, the camp is
one of the oldest in the vicinity.

Weather-beaten and almost black, the majority of these
pine-board shacks are not even equipped with shutters and
porches. They are built on the low flat lands beneath tall
pines, and the spacious yards are flooded during the rainy
season. The sandy streets of the settlement are deeply grad-
ed on either side, to aid in drainage during wet weather.

Lula showed me their three room house. The interior
was not ceiled but it was clean and neatly kept. Pretty cur-
tains hung at the few windows and the cheap furniture was well
arranged. The kitchen was also clean and I noticed a bright
oil cloth on the table.

In the backyard there were a few chickens running about.
The out-house, about thirty feet back of the house, was crude-
ly built of old lumber. Next to it was a chicken coop built
of rough pine boards. There was no fence around the place.

Rich Gray, astride a light-brwon high-stepping horse,
came toward the house through the pines. A tall, lean man
in his early fifties, he was swarmlyy dressed in heavy work
clothes, with hickory striped trousers tucked into high-top
boots. His slouch sombrero shaded his stern features. He
spied me immediately, as I cam down off the porch, and

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