this camp with its ugly shacks

“Now, Mrs. Kennedy, begging your pardon, who’s running this mill? You put me in charge and told me to run it. You said I’d have a free hand. You ain’t got no complaints to make of me, have you? Ain’t I making twice as much for you as Mr. Elsing did?” 　“Yes, you are,” said Scarlett, but a shiver went over her, like a goose walking across her grave. 　There was something sinister about this camp with its ugly shacks, something which had not been here when Hugh Elsing had it. There was a loneliness, an isolation, about it that chilled her. These convicts were so far away from everything, so completely at the mercy of Johnnie Gallegher, and if he chose to whip them or otherwise mistreat them, she would probably never know about it. The convicts would be afraid to complain to her for fear of worse punishment after she was gone. 　“The men look thin. Are you giving them enough to eat? God knows, I spend enough money on their food to make them fat as hogs. The flour and pork alone cost thirty dollars last month. What are you giving them for supper?” 　She stepped over to the cook shack and looked in. A fat mulatto woman, who was leaning over a rusty old stove, dropped a half curtsy as she saw Scarlett and went on stirring a pot in which black-eyed peas were cooking. Scarlett knew Johnnie Gallegher lived with her but thought it best to ignore the fact. She saw that except for the peas and a pan of corn pone there was no other food being prepared. 　“Haven’t you got anything else for these men?” 　“No’m.” 　“Haven’t you got any side meat in these peas?” 　“No’m.” 　“No boiling bacon in the peas? But black-eyed peas are no good without bacon. There’s no strength to them. Why isn’t there any bacon?” 　“Mist’ Johnnie, he say dar ain’ no use puttin’ in no side meat.” 　“You’ll put bacon in. Where do you keep your supplies?” 　The negro woman rolled frightened eyes toward the small closet that served as a pantry and Scarlett threw the door open. There was an open barrel of cornmeal on the floor, a small sack of flour, a pound of coffee, a little sugar, a gallon jug of sorghum and two hams. One of the hams sitting on the shelf had been recently cooked and only one or two slices had been cut from it, Scarlett turned in a fury on Johnnie Gallegher and met his coldly angry gaze.