Sanford tended to the farm and its stock. He was physically violated so often and with so many foul things that nothing was right with him down in his rear end. There was blood all the time, no matter what. His back still ached from the burn Uncle Stewart had inflicted on him. The petroleum jelly that he smeared on it every few days hadn’t helped at all; in fact, it seemed to make it worse. Every once in a while, Uncle Stewart would force him to write another letter home, and he complied to save himself another beating. Every few weeks, Uncle Stewart would disappear for a while and then return with a new Mexican boy. Each new boy lasted for a week or so before Uncle Stewart began to regard him as a liability. By then, they had always seen too much of him. Sanford had long since lost track of the number of boys Uncle Stewart had brought to the ranch, but he felt that he somehow gained an extra bit of weight with every one of them. The first few boys packed on the most weight, of course, but there was less each time.
