once more having someone

“I’ll send you to Tara tonight,” she said finally. “Now Sam, I’ve got to drive out the road a piece, but I ought to be back here before sundown. You be waiting here for me when I come back. Don’t tell anyone where you are going and if you’ve got a hat, bring it along to hide your face.” 　“Ah ain’ got no hat.” 　“Well, here’s a quarter. You buy a hat from one of those shanty darkies and meet me here.” 　“Yas’m.” His face glowed with relief at once more having someone to tell him what to do. 　Scarlett drove on thoughtfully. Will would certainly welcome a good field hand at Tara. Pork had never been any good in the fields and never would be any good. With Sam on the place, Pork could come to Atlanta and join Dilcey as she had promised him when Gerald died. 　When she reached the mill the sun was setting and it was later than she cared to be out. Johnnie Gallegher was standing in the doorway of the miserable shack that served as cook room for the little lumber camp. Sitting on a log in front of the slab-sided shack that was their sleeping quarters were four of the five convicts Scarlett had apportioned to Johnnie’s mill. Their convict uniforms were dirty and foul with sweat, shackles clanked between their ankles when they moved tiredly, and there was an air of apathy and despair about them. They were a thin, unwholesome lot, Scarlett thought, peering sharply at them, and when she had leased them, so short a time before, they were an upstanding crew. They did not even raise their eyes as she dismounted from the buggy but Johnnie turned toward her, carelessly dragging off his hat. His little brown face was as hard as a nut as he greeted her. 　“I don’t like the look of the men,” she said abruptly. “They don’t look well. Where’s the other one?” 　“Says he’s sick,” said Johnnie laconically. “He’s in the bunk house.” 　“What ails him?” 　“Laziness, mostly.” 　“I’ll go see him.” 　“Don’t do that. He’s probably nekkid. I’ll tend to him. He’ll be back at work tomorrow.” 　Scarlett hesitated and saw one of the convicts raise a weary head and give Johnnie a stare of intense hatred before he looked at the ground again. 　“Have you been whipping these men?”