The Highwayman

by F. M. Parker

  Patrick quietly sat the bucket down on the well curb and turned to leave. He stopped abruptly, jolted by the presence of a human form much larger than himself standing in the dark yard close by and silently watching him. Patrick’s guts clinched with fear. He dug his bare toes into the ground ready to spring away and run from the yard. The person must be the owner of the well and would beat him. Or maybe a worse enemy, one that would kill him.

  CHAPTER 7

  Patrick waited for the shadowy figure to make the first move and show his intentions. To Patrick’s surprise, the person spoke in a whispery, male voice, “Well, you were here first, so I guess you have first claim on them.”

  Still coiled to run, Patrick replied in the same low voice. “Claim on what?” From the tone of the voice, he believed the person was an older boy. He strained to make out his features but couldn’t in the darkness.

  “Why the clothes of course,” replied the boy and waved a hand at the laundry hung on the line. “Ain’t that why you came in here?”

  “No. I just wanted a drink of water. Why would I want someone’s clothes?”

  “For the money it all would bring,” replied the boy in a surprised voice. “You sure don’t know much. Where’re you from?”

  “Out that way,” Patrick said and pointing back the way he had run.

  “I get it. That’s mill town out there and you ran away from one of the mills. Now don’t worry about me telling on you. I did the same thing years ago. When did you get away?”

  “Just today.” Patrick fell silent and waiting for the boy to do whatever it was he was going to do.

  “What’s your name?”

  “Patrick Scanlan.” He was glad he had a last name. “What’s yours?”

  “Ben Riley. I’ll call you Pat. Are you hungry?”

  “I’m starved.”

  “Well I’m hungry too. So let’s take these clothes and sell them and share the money. They should bring enough to buy food for both of us and with some left over.”

  Ben began to jerk the clothes off the line. Patrick didn’t move.

  “Help me and hurry up about it,” Ben ordered.

  “It’s not right to steal somebody’s clothes.”

  “Damnit, help me before we’re spotted,” Ben hissed.

  At the angry order from the larger boy, Patrick hastily began to strip the clothes from the line. With the clothes rolled into tight bundles and tucked under their arms, they hurried from the yard and off along the street. At the first alley, Ben led into the narrow canyon of darkness.

  For a quarter hour, Ben led Patrick from one alley into another. Then at a closed door facing into an alley, he halted and knocked. The door opened and a short, skinny man, appeared outlined by the light from an oil lamp deeper in the room.

  “Oh, it’s you Ben. What’s that you and your partner got under your arms?”

  “What’s it look like, Tom?”

  “Something a Snow Gatherer might find.”

  “You buyin’?”

  “I reckon I’ll take a look at what you’ve got. Come inside before someone sees you.”

  Patrick stopped by the door and watched Ben and the fence discuss the quality of the clothing. He still didn’t like the idea of having stolen it. He turned his attention to examining Ben in the light of the lamp. Ben was half a foot taller than Patrick and strongly built. His hands appeared large even for his square build. He had a broad, round head. There was something odd about his face. Patrick looked more closely and saw that the left side of Ben’s face, divided by a line drawn from hairline to chin, was a shade smaller than the right side. This made his left eye seem to be squinting, and gave the left side of his mouth an upward twist. The overall result was to give Ben a slightly sinister expression.

  Ben and Tom dickered for couple of minutes more and then settled on a price. Money changed hands.

  Ben held the coins out toward Patrick and jangled them together. “Let’s go and fill out stomachs.”

  *

  For five pennies each, Ben and Patrick ate large bowls of left-over beef stew and baked bread, both cold, at a table in a restaurant that was closed, but had opened to Ben’s knock and his name which was known. Finishing the last scrap of his share of the food, Patrick shoved his chair back and smiled at his new friend. Never had Patrick felt his stomach so full. He was sure lucky to have come upon someone as friendly as Ben.

  “I bet that’s the best food you’ve had in a long time,” Ben said.

  “It sure is.”

  “I don’t suppose you got a place to sleep since you just got away from the mill.”

  “No I don’t.”

  “Then come with me. I’ve got a place where you can bed down.”

  Ben led the way half a dozen blocks to the back door of a hardware store. There he took a key from his pocket and opened the door.

  “This is where I stay nights,” he said proudly. “Better place than most other boys have.” He led inside.

  Ben struck a match and lit an oil lamp. In the light, Patrick saw the room was long and wide with a high ceiling. A multitude of items, from shovels, hoes, harnesses, plows, and saddles to nails and tin roofing filled the room, except a section near the door. In that space, a bed tick and a blanket lay upon an ancient, rusty iron frame bed and springs.

  “That’s where I sleep,” Ben said and chucked a thumb at the bed. “And it don’t cost me a thing.”

  “How’d you come to have such a good place all by yourself?” Patrick asked.

  “I keep the thieves away.” He dug a knife from a front pocket. Eying Patrick, he pressed a button on the side of the handle and a blade, nearly as long as Patrick’s hand, sprang open. Ben swished the knife back and forth with the steel blade glinting in the lampshine.

  “If this didn’t work to scare thieves off, then I’d use this.” He picked up a double bitted ax from where it leaned against the bedstead and made a chopping motion through the air with it. “For me protecting his things, the owner let’s me stay here free.”

  “You’d really hit somebody with that ax who tried to steal something?”

  “I sure would for I promised Mr. Glass the owner that while he let me sleep here nothing would be stole. So that the thieves won’t bother Mr. Glass, I’ve told it around town that I’m the guardian of this place. And don’t you take anything either, not even a bent nail. You hear me?”

  Patrick nodded solemnly. “I sure won’t.” The knife and the ax and the expression in Ben’s eyes staring out from that lopsided face gave him plenty of reason to agree.

  “Alright then. You can sleep on those saddle blankets,” Ben pointed to a pile of them. “That’ll be as good a bed as you’re used to.”

  “Thanks for everything, Ben. I owe you.”

  “Yeah. You sure do and don’t forget it. Why don’t you stay here a few days until you get your own place?”

  “Gosh, Ben, that’d be just great.” Patrick said with a quick smile of thanks. His luck was running strongly.

  “Then it’s done. Now let’s get some shut eye for the lamp is almost out of oil.”

  *

  Ben introduced Patrick to Mr. Glass, a tall bespectacled man with keen black eyes. Upon Ben’s assurance that Patrick wouldn’t steal, the store owner gave his approval for him to sleep in the store room.

  Following that pleasant outcome, Ben and Patrick bought breakfast with some of the money from the night’s foray on clothing. Then they wandered the streets crowded with men and women and throngs of children. Ben said that many of the boys and girls were orphans, made so by the last plague epidemic. He pointed out various sights, among them being a pawn shop where almost anything could be exchanged for money, the livery stable where once a week he earned honest pay for the honest labor of shoveling manure onto a wheelbarrow and wheeling it away, and a side door of a cheap hotel where, according to what Ben had heard, a woman made money by sleeping with men.

  They came upon a bigger girl with a small roll of carpet hung on a s
trap over her shoulder. To Patrick’s question about the rug, Ben explained that she was a “Rug Girl”, that she used the rug to lie upon while she whored in the alleys for money. He continued on to tell Patrick that a portion of the girls on the streets were thieves, even the littlest ones, and others were pickpockets and to watch his money. When he had some.

  Near noon they came upon a gang of six boys standing and blocking the sidewalk. They were laughing and talking, and now and again one would reach out and punch another playfully on the shoulder. Patrick could tell they were merely pretending that they didn’t see the people stepping into the street to circle around to give them the sidewalk.

  “Have you ever been in a fight, Pat?” Ben asked.

  “Three times,” Patrick said after making a quick count.

  “Did you win?”

  “I lost the first time. But won the last two after Charley showed me how to fight.”

  “Good for Charley. You’ll have to fight and prove yourself here real soon for there are some tough boys in this neighborhood. We’ll get you a knife with a long, sharp blade.”

  “I don’t want to cut somebody,” Patrick said, jarred by the thought of fighting with a knife.

  “Now that sounds just fine. But when that somebody tries to take what’s yours, are you going to just give it to him? I don’t think you’re like that. We’ll get you a knife and I’ll show you how to use it to cut a fellow’s guts out.”

  They were drawing near the boys on the sidewalk and Patrick made to step into the street. Ben caught him by the shoulder and stopped him.

  “Don’t do that. They’ll think we’re afraid of them.”

  “Well, I am,” Patrick said truthfully.

  “Don’t ever let anyone know when you’re afraid. That just causes them to give you more trouble. Now stick close to me.” Ben’s hands curl into fists and he led straight at the boys.

  A chill ran up Patrick’s back for a fight was coming with just Ben and him against six. To make it worse, the largest one was taller than Ben, thought not so broad. The remainder of them wasn’t much bigger than Patrick and that helped a little.

  To Patrick’s dismay, as Ben and he closed on the gang of boys they split in half with each portion moving back a step to allow a passageway between them. Patrick knew they were going to jump Ben and him from both sides. He imagined the blows that would strike him. His heart began to thunder.

  The boys made no move to fall upon Ben and Patrick with fists and knives. They sullenly watched as Patrick and Ben walk through them.

  Two steps past the boys, Ben pivoted to face them. He focused on the tallest boy and gave him a threatening look. “Pat here is my pal and anyone who lays a finger on him will answer to me.”

  At Ben’s threat, the tall boy’s face reddened with a flush of blood. The boys with him stirred nervously and looked at their leader.

  Ben, his feet set firmly on the sidewalk and his fists still clenched, gave the group a hard laugh. He was enjoying himself. A few long seconds passed with no move from the gang.

  Ben tapped Patrick on the shoulder. “Let’s be on our way, Pat.”

  Patrick cast a cautious look back at the gang as he and Ben moved away. They had not stirred. He felt sheltered, safe, protected by Ben’s bravery and strength.

  Once out of hearing of the gang, Patrick spoke. “Why’d they let us go through and not the other people?”

  “Those others didn’t want any trouble.”

  “But you did?”

  “I already had trouble with them. Did you see that big one’s nose and his missing front teeth? We had a brawl some time back and he knifed me here.” Ben opened his shirt and showed Patrick a long scar on his side near his belt. “Well that made me mad so I beat him right proper. I broke his nose and knocked his front teeth out and then stomped him some. Took him a week before he could walk. Since then, he and his little gang don’t bother me. I carry a knife now just to make things more even.”

  “I’d help you, Ben, if a fight comes.”

  “I know you would, Pat.”

  *

  The autumn arrived and brought with it cold rain and fog. A blanket of coal smoke accumulated over the town. Clothes were no longer hung outside to dry. Ben taught Patrick to become a “Star Glazer”. Using their sharp bladed knives, they cut panes of glass from the windows of homes and shops in the night. Flat window glass was valuable due to it being difficult to manufacture without blemishes that distorted vision. Because of this problem, the panes were of small dimensions, usually six inches square or eight inches square so that quality could be better controlled. Tom, and other fences, was always willing to pay for the glass that Ben and Patrick brought to them.

  CHAPTER 8

  Patrick remained a close companion of Ben as winter changed to spring, and onward through the following season one after the other adding to four years. They guarded Mr. Glass’s possessions from thieves, and worked for wages when they could find employment. When honest money could not be earned, they stole to eat. Both young males grew rapidly. Ben added but a couple more inches to his height. His growth showed mostly in the broad expanse of shoulders and thickness through the chest. A bull of a young man. Patrick’s growth was in height. He was nearly as tall as Ben, and though lean, had the bones of a fair size man.

  Patrick had discovered early in their friendship that Ben was quick to take offense when out on the street and would lash out at anyone who, in his judgment, gave the slightest hint of an insult. To Patrick, Ben was always a good-natured person, generous, and laughed often and told jokes. When relating one of his many jokes, his face would take on a comedian’s mask, which with his larger right eye opening wide and staring and the smaller one squinting, he was the true picture of a jokester. Sometimes Ben would begin to laugh before he could get the punch line out and this caused his lips to stretch and curve at different degrees and this gave him a malicious appearance. This always sent Patrick into a paroxysm of laughter. He was glad that Ben never understood just why he laughed so hard before the punch line was told.

  Ben’s personality had a dark side. He thirsted for action, and if it held danger, so much the better. Even their nighttime sojourns to steal were not sufficient to quell that thirst. He began to visit the alehouses. Patrick didn’t like for Ben to spend their money on ale. However he said nothing to Ben about how he felt. Then one night late, Ben returned drunk, his face battered and bleeding.

  “What happened to you, Ben?” Patrick asked and concerned about his friend’s injuries.

  Ben laughed and held up his fists, both of them gashed and bleeding. “The men at the pub thought because I was young that I couldn’t take care of myself. They bet that I couldn’t whip this one loud mouthed fellow that was sounding off about how tough he was. Well he wasn’t much bigger than me so I took the bet. They didn’t tell me that he fought in different pubs for money regular like and usually won. He sure knocked me about. But then you know, Pat, I saw he had a certain way of blocking and hitting. That’s when I turned the tables on him and gave him a real thrashing. I laid him out cold. After that all the others bought me drinks in celebration. The fellow that fought me sure wasn’t able to drink.” Ben laughed and staggered around the empty space of the storeroom and punching at imaginary opponents.

  “Maybe I’ll be a fighter. I could make some good money that way. If none of them were no tougher than that fellow tonight.”

  “Better go to bed,” Patrick suggested to his drunken friend.

  “Yeah. I am a little tired. Maybe a little drunk.” He gave Patrick a lopsided smile from his lopsided face and fell upon his bed.

  *

  A shipment of items to restock Glass’s hardware store arrived by freight train from London. Mr. Glass hired Ben and Patrick to unload the boxcar into a wagon and bring the goods to the store. Wanting to please Mr. Glass, Ben and Patrick worked like fiends for two days, filling the horse drawn wagon and driving it to the store where they carried everything inside, and spee
dily returned to the railroad terminal to fill the wagon again, and repeat the task over and over. As they loaded the last items onto the wagon and prepared to leave, the manager of the terminal came up to them.

  “I’ve been watching you two young fellows work. Would you want a job working for me here at the terminal?”

  “Doing what?” Ben asked.

  “Loading and unloading railroad boxcars. And this being the end of the rail line from London, helping me turn the locomotives on the turntable for the return trip east.”

  Ben looked enquiringly at Patrick. Who nodded yes and smiled broadly. Stealing, even if it was necessary at times to survive, had become distasteful to him. Now here was a job offer to perform honest labor. Better yet, he would get to help turn the locomotives around. His heart beat nicely and he felt like doing a little jig right here at the terminal in front of everybody. He restrained his feet with an effort.

  Ben spoke for both of them. “Mister, you got yourself too damn hard workers.”

  “Applegate is my name. You’re not full size men yet so I’ll pay you half wages. That’ll be a shilling each. You’ll start at sunup tomorrow. Be here on time.” Applegate walked off.

  “Pat, I can do as much work as any damn man,” Ben said angrily and stomped the ground.

  “I know you can. But let’s take the job and then we won’t have to steal.”

  “Stealing might be better. It’d sure be a hell of a lot easier.”

  “Not for me,” Patrick said firmly.

  “Alright. We’ll do it your way for now.”