by Crowe (epub)
“What?” Johnny asked, caught off guard by the question. “No.”
“How about Indians? Ever kill an Indian?”
“No,” Johnny said.
Behind him the conductor shouted, “Last call. All aboard.”
“Listen,” Johnny said, placing his hands on the counter and leaning in toward the window. “I need to get on that train to Richmond so I can meet up with the Major’s army.”
“Richmond?” Ackles asked, replacing his glasses and stuffing his handkerchief back into his pocket. “Why didn’t you say so? Got a train leaving for Richmond this morning. Say, you’d better hurry,” Ackles said, pulling a watch from his other vest pocket. “She’ll be leaving any minute now.”
“Yes,” Johnny sighed with relief. “One ticket to Richmond.
“All right,” Ackles said, “that’ll be ---”
“I don’t have any money,” Johnny interrupted.
“Eh? No money?” asked Ackles. It was his turn to lean toward the glass. “Now how did you plan on getting to Richmond with no money?”
“I got a mule tied up outside,” Johnny said. “I’ll trade you the mule for a ticket to Richmond.”
“Mule, huh?” asked Ackles, lifting his hat and scratching the top of his bald head as he thought.
Johnny willed Mr. Ackles to hurry.
The old man replaced his hat, looked up at Johnny and brightened. “Turns out I’ve got a need for a mule right now. Last one got caught up while we were switching trains in the yard. Not a pretty sight. I’ll tell you what, you show me this mule of yours and we’ll see if we can’t get you a ticket to Richmond.”
Johnny nodded and stepped away from the ticket window. Ackles flipped the sign in the window to read “This window closed” then hobbled his way around to the front of the counter, leaning on his cane for support. Too slow, Johnny thought. He turned and saw the conductor wave his arm, step inside the train car, and close the door behind him. “Please, Mr. Ackles,” he pleaded. “Can we please hurry?”
“Just hold on there, boy. Not as young as I used to be. Busted up my knee real bad out west… did I tell you I was in the army? Mostly killing Indians and such ---”
Johnny listen to the old man ramble on as they crossed the depot. The two stepped outside and Johnny pointed to Bart, who gave the boy a rather sheepish look. The mule had bitten more than three-quarters of the way through the rope tethering him to the post.
“There’s my mule,” Johnny said.
The old man stepped into the sunshine, pulled his glasses down on his nose, and looked over the top of them at the mule. “Not much to look at, is he?” Ackles asked, turning to walk back into the station.
The train lurched and began to roll forward.
“But…” Johnny stammered. “But you said I could trade you the mule for a ticket to Richmond!”
“Boy,” said Ackles, rounding to face Johnny. “That’s the saddest looking mule I’ve ever seen. He’s no good for switching cars. Why, there’s not even enough meat on him to make a decent meal.”
Bart’s good ear pricked up. He bellowed out his disapproval at the thought.
“No,” Ackles said. “Best thing for him would be to be put to pasture. Or put down.”
Desperate, Johnny searched for something to say. The train was starting to pick up speed, the front passenger cars clearing the loading platform.
“Take the wagon, too,” Johnny cried. “Do what you want with the mule, but take the wagon. It’s in good shape. I only use it to go down to market and back.”
Ackles limped back out of the station and hobbled over to the wagon. He shook the sides, testing their hold, and kicked the front wheel with his good leg.
“Help me up here, boy.”
Johnny ran over and hoisted Ackles head first into the driver’s seat. The old man righted himself and took the reins, one in each hand, a smile forming on his face.
“Yes,” said Ackles. “I could use a good wagon. Tell you what, boy, I’ll take the wagon.”
“Good,” Johnny agreed. His relief turned to dread as he spun around and watched the last of the train clear the platform. “No,” he moaned.
Ackles looked after the train. “There she goes,” he said, watching it train puff out of sight. “Only train bound for Richmond today. You’d better run if you’re going to catch her.”
Johnny stared up at Ackles, confused. It’s gone, he thought. How am I gonna catch it now?
Reading Johnny’s face, Ackles explained, “She curves around up ahead and passes back by here before she heads out of the yard. If you start running now you might be able to catch her.”
Johnny looked in the direction that Ackles had nodded and saw the second set of tracks. “What about my ticket?”
“You don’t need a ticket,” said Ackles. “Just run up there and catch that train. Find the baggage car and settle in. If the boss asks, just tell him you and me made a deal. You’ll have to switch trains a time or two, but you’ll get to Richmond all right, if that’s where you want to go.”
Johnny thanked the old man and ran toward the tracks. The train had looped around like Mr. Ackles said it would and was headed back past the yard, picking up speed. Johnny judged the distance and raced across the yard toward the point where he planned to intercept the locomotive. He felt the thundering of the train shaking the ground as he closed in on it. Rope-like muscles stood out in his neck. Still, he strained to go faster. It was going to be close.
“You’re never going to make it, boy,” Ackles shouted after Johnny. “You’re not fast enough!”
Johnny heard Mr. Ackles’ words and knew that the old fella was right. Approaching the tracks, Johnny reached out and leaped for the ladder that ran up the side of the caboose. His arms pinwheeled through the air as he leaned forward, his body overbalanced, searching for any hold he could find.
He missed.
Johnny landed hard on his belly, knocking the wind out of himself. He raised his head, and through the dust saw the train turn a corner and disappear behind a line of trees.
“Better hop up here,” Ackles called from behind.
Johnny turned his head and saw Bart barreling toward him. Ackles held the reins in one hand, the other holding his hat on his head. Ackles pulled hard on the reins and Bart dug his hooves into the soil, stopping the cart next to Johnny.
Johnny got to his feet, uncertain what Mr. Ackles was playing at. He had ran across the yard like the old man had told him to and missed the train. It was gone. Was this all a big joke to him?
“Come on,” Ackles urged. “Gimme your hand.”
Johnny reached out and took the old man’s hand. All at once, Johnny was hauled off the ground and into the back of the wagon.
“I might have a bum leg, but there ain’t nothing wrong with my arms,” Ackles cackled over his shoulder at Johnny. The old man snapped the reins and the cart jolted forward. Johnny was tossed about in the back.
“Hold on!” Ackles shouted, “Train don’t wait for no one. You say this is a good mule? Let’s see what he’s got left in him.”
The cart rumbled alongside the tracks. Ackles laughed like a maniac, pulling hard to the left and causing Bart to swerve. Johnny grabbed onto the sides of the cart as it tipped, the wheels on the right side leaving the ground altogether.
“Where are you goin’?” Johnny asked.
“Faster! Faster!” Ackles shouted, snapping the reins. Johnny looked up ahead at the approaching tree line. Between the pin oaks, something big and dark was charging along. “Is that the train?”
“That’s right.”
Ackles drove the cart parallel to the thin belt of trees, bouncing along over the uneven ground. Where the tree line broke, the train burst into full view. Ackles edged the cart closer until they were only a foot or so away from
the iron tracks, even with the baggage car.
“Okay,” Ackles called over his shoulder. “Jump.”
“What?”
“Jump!”
Johnny stared in disbelief, first at Ackles, then at the train.
“Come on,” Ackles called. “Used to do this all the time when I was out west.” The old man reached back and helped Johnny into the driver’s seat.
Johnny put a hand onto Mr. Ackles’ head for balance, mashing his cap down over the old man’s eyes. Ackles had to let up enough to remove Johnny’s hand and right his hat. Doing so had cost them some of their speed. The train started to pull away from them.
“Better go soon,” Ackles called. “I don’t think your mule’s gonna be able to take much more of this.”
Johnny saw the caboose come rushing up to meet them from behind. He picked out a rung on the ladder and reached for it as the ladder moved up to meet him. “You sure you used to do this?” he asked over his shoulder.
“You bet. That’s how I bummed up my knee.”
“You ---”
Johnny started to pull back from the train, uncertain about making the jump, when a hand landed hard in the middle of his back and shoved him forward. Johnny teetered on the edge, knew there was no way to correct himself now, and lunged forward. He grabbed at the air, came up with nothing, then felt the cold metal in his hands. Johnny pulled himself up, planted his feet on the bottom rung of the ladder, and looked back. The cart had stopped. Johnny saw Bart wobble, then collapse, landing in a heap. Ackles stood in the driver’s seat, waving his hat and hollering. Johnny waved back.
I need to get faster, Johnny thought, ‘cause I sure don’t want to have to do that again.
The conductor stormed his way through the train cars, careful to put on a smiling face when he passed the passengers despite the vein that was throbbing at his temple. When he reached the caboose, the conductor threw open the back door and looked around. No one was there.
Must’ve missed, the conductor thought, starting to swing the door shut. Serves him right. That was a damned fool thing to try and ---
“Help,” a weak voice called out.
The conductor stopped, his hand on the door latch. He opened the door again, stepped onto the deck, and leaned over the railing. The young man that the conductor had watched jump from the mule-lead wagon clung to the ladder that run up to the roof of the caboose. The fella’s eyes were closed tight and his arms were wrapped tight around the ladder. His shaggy hair blew in the wind, his face pale with fright.
The conductor grabbed the boy by the scruff of the neck and hoisted him off of the ladder and over the railing, dropping him on the back deck. His initial shock at seeing the boy jump to catch the train had infuriated the conductor because it had surprised him. There was no room for surprise in the railroad business. He stood watching the color return to the young man’s face, the conductor’s temper ebbed a little. Still, he thought, this boy needs to be taught a lesson.
The young man looked up at the conductor and opened his mouth to speak when the conductor shot out a hand to grab the boy by the ear. The young man let out a squeal of pain and surprise as the conductor raised the boy to his feet and led him back into the train and through the adjoining cars.
“I’ve got half a mind to just toss ya off of here right now,” the conductor scolded. The conductor hopped over the coupling between two of the cars, dragging the young man along behind him. He slid open the door with his free hand, jerked the boy forward, and pushed him inside. Dust motes swirled through the air where the boy landed on his hands and knees, dancing in the shafts of light that poured into the car between the cracks in the walls. The boy sat back and rubbed his throbbing ear when the conductor slammed the door closed.
“In all my years…” the conductor muttered to himself, righting his cap and checking his pocket watch. “At least we’re still on schedule.”
Once his ear had settled down to a dull throb and his eyes had become accustomed to the dim light, Johnny realized that he wasn’t alone in the car. Trunks, boxes, and bags were strewn around the baggage car, casting odd shadows in the shifting light. Tucked into these shadows were some rough looking characters, sitting with their backs against the walls or lying in the dark spaces. Johnny felt their hungry eyes upon him, staring out of lean, dirty faces. He crossed the car, careful to step around the haggard fellas, and picked out a spot for himself. Johnny sat with his back propped against a large trunk; if any of the stowaways tried to approach him, Johnny would see him coming. He hugged his knees to his chest and scanned the faces of the men around him. It was going to be a long ride to Richmond.
Johnny was jostled awake when the train pulled into the station at Alexandria. He scolded himself for having fallen asleep while he looked around. All over the baggage car, others were waking up as well, standing and scratching their stubbled cheeks or digging at the seat of their pants. Johnny stood and stretched. His neck was stiff, but was otherwise he felt all right. One of the stowaways chuckled and Johnny spun around to find that the largest, grizzliest man that he had ever seen was watching him. Even in the poor light, Johnny could see that the fella was as big as a small giant, though he couldn’t make out the details of the man’s features. All Johnny had time to register was the man’s woolly, black beard before the car door flew open and sunlight poured in, blinding him. From the moaning and groaning of the others, Johnny knew that they were also stunned by the light.
“Up and at ‘em, boys,” called the head porter. “Time to earn your freight.”
The stowaways farthest from the door began to sling the baggage forward to those who were closest to the door to pass down to the porters below. While the passengers changed trains at the station platform, the yard was full of activity as men hurried to make sure that their goods made it to the next train with those passengers. It was an efficient system, one that allowed for the stowaways to catch a free ride to wherever the rails led them, provided that they worked to keep the trains running on time.
Johnny stood, brushed the dust from the seat of his britches, and looked for something to haul. He wiped his hands on the sides of his pants, bent at the knees, and grabbed the handle on either side of the trunk that he had been sitting against. He tried to stand up straight again, but the trunk held fast to the floor of the baggage car. It was too heavy.
A couple of the stowaways whistled and made catcalls at Johnny. He went around to the back of the trunk, planted his feet against the wall of the baggage car, and plowed into the trunk, hoping to push it to the door. It still wouldn’t budge.
Wiping his brow with his shirtsleeve, Johnny gave the trunk a long, hard look. It wasn’t all that big; some of the men were hoisting trunks and bags much bigger than this one all by themselves. Why couldn’t he get this one to move? Johnny went to the side closest to the open door, grabbed the handle with both hands, and lifted. His thighs burned and his back popped, but Johnny thought that he felt the trunk lift, if only a little.
“Put yer back into it,” yelled the conductor, who had come over to check that things were running on time. “What’s wrong? Aren’t ya strong enough?”
It seemed to Johnny that the trunk got even heavier. He tried to hold his grip on the handle, but his fingers pulled open and the trunk settled back onto the floor with a thud.
“I knew you’d be trouble,” grumbled the conductor as he strode over. He pushed the boy aside and grabbed the handle on either side of the trunk, just like Johnny had. “See now,” he said, “it ain’t that big.”
The conductor grunted and strained, but the result was the same. The trunk held fast to the floor, as if it had been nailed down. He tried again, huffing and puffing while he pulled, but it was no use. He dropped the handles, pulled his pocket watch, and checked the time.
“We don’t have time for this. You three,” the conductor pointed, “h
elp this boy move this trunk outta here. Hurry it up. We’ve got a schedule to keep.”
“Infernal thing,” the conductor cursed, giving the trunk a mighty kick.
Wide-eyed, Johnny watched something inside the trunk kick back, causing it to buck to the side. Johnny looked up at the conductor to see whether he had noticed the trunk move, but he was already halfway across the baggage car
Johnny and the three stowaways squatted down and each grabbed a corner of the trunk. At the count of three they stood and lifted. To Johnny’s disbelief, the trunk moved, weighing no more than some of the larger stones he had loaded into his cart all by himself back home. The four of them crossed the car and lowered the trunk to the porters below, who carried it to the waiting train and loaded it with the rest of the baggage.
With the baggage car cleared out, Johnny and the stowaways boarded the next train. The others were still laughing at him when the door slid closed and they pulled away from the station. He sat in front of the trunk and ran a hand over its smooth surface. I know I saw it kick, he thought. He had expected to feel something shift inside the trunk when they had lifted it, but he hadn’t felt anything of the sort. Johnny looked around to make sure that no one was watching him, then he drummed his fingers on the side of the trunk. Nothing happened. There was no response from inside the trunk. If there was something alive in there, it was still now.
Johnny found the closure on the front of the trunk. A large lock hung from the clasp. He tugged on the padlock, but it held tight. To keep people out, he thought. Or to keep somethin’ in. A shudder ran down his spine, raising the hairs on the back of his neck, causing his flesh to break out in goosebumps. He ran his fingers up the lock along the brass plate where it fastened, tracing lines in the dust that covered the metal. His fingers felt thin lines etched into the cold brass. Johnny blew the dust from the front of the trunk, then used his shirtsleeve to rub the dirt from the faceplate. What he saw caused him to gasp. Two letters were inscribed on the plate --- JC.
