Fire and Steel, Volume 6

by Gerald N. Lund

“And possibly a third,” Alemann said with a sly smile. “It is a big project.”

  Hans was stunned. It was a brilliant plan. Dean Eberhardt would jump on that kind of prestigious assignment like a cat on a gopher.

  “However,” Alemann said, grinning like a little boy, “that’s only a month or six weeks of the summer. Wouldn’t want to come back early and have old Eberhardt asking questions.”

  “Which brings us to a proposal, and a possible solution to your problem,” Richelle said.

  “Our problem?” Hans and Emilee said together.

  “Yes,” Alemann drawled. “We are thinking that maybe after Boston, we might go on to Utah and see Zion Canyon for ourselves.”

  They both gasped. “Oh, Alemann, you are a rogue,” Hans exclaimed. “It’s perfect.”

  “Well, not quite perfect,” Alemann drawled. “There’s one piece missing.”

  “Your daughters,” Richelle said happily.

  Hans shot to his feet. “Our daughters?”

  “Yes, we want them to come with us as traveling companions for our daughters.”

  “No! That is out of the question. ”

  “Hans!” Alemann snapped. “Sit down and shut up. Swallow that stubborn pride long enough to at least listen.”

  Hans stared at him. “Did you just tell me to shut up?”

  Richelle was shocked. “I believe that he did, Hans. And I apologize for him. Let me put it another way. Would you please sit down and shut up until we tell you what we are thinking?”

  9:36 p.m.—Lisa and Jo’s Bedroom

  “We’re going to America!” Jo gasped as she threw herself on the bed.

  Lisa clamped her hand over her sister’s mouth. “Quiet!” she hissed. “They’ll hear you.”

  “Oh, Lisa. Do you really think Mama and Papa will agree?”

  She considered that and then nodded. “You heard Papa. He said he’d think about it. That means yes. I can’t believe it.” Lisa took Jo by the shoulders and shook her gently as she looked deeply into her eyes. “Jolanda Elfriede Eckhardt,” she murmured breathlessly, “we—you and I—are going to America.”

  Jo was crying as she threw her arms around her sister. “And you’ll finally get to see Benji after all these years.”

  June 10, 1934, 7:45 p.m.—Union Pacific Railroad Yards, Sparks, Nevada

  Mose and Benji stopped at the edge of the willows that lined the creek and scanned the switching yards very slowly. There was lots of activity going on—switch engines shuttling cars back and forth, brakemen hopping on and off the cars to control their movement; switchmen pulling levers back and forth to direct them onto the right siding. But that was pretty normal for a large yard. But even as Benji had that thought, two men stepped across one of the tracks after a switch engine rumbled past them. One had a rifle crooked in his arm. The other wore a holster and pistol around his waist. Mose and Benji instinctively dropped to the ground. “They’re bulls, all right,” Mose grunted. “No question about that.” Bulls were guards hired by the railroads to keep transients off the trains.

  “Yeah,” Benji agreed, pulling back deeper into the willows. They didn’t speak again until the two men had gone another fifty yards east of their position and disappeared. Benji pointed to where a long freight train was on the siding next to the main line. Tendrils of steam were coming out from beneath the locomotive. “Looks like they’re about ready to put a caboose on that westbound train,” he said. “If the bulls don’t come back, I say we make a dash for it once it starts moving. Shouldn’t be rolling too fast by the time we reach it.”

  Mose gave him a sharp look. “You said we were gonna find a phone so you could call your mama and your daddy and tell ’em where we are.”

  “We’ve got a train ready to go and it’s headed in the right direction. It could be hours before we have another one. I’ll call them once we find work in California. No sense calling them when we don’t have news. And we don’t have any cash money, either.”

  “Yeah, I’m sure that’s it. Has nothing to do with you being afraid they’ll ask you to come home.”

  Benji eyed him for several seconds and then said, “You through now?”

  Mose eyed him back. “If you say so.”

  “Good. Look, there’s an empty boxcar about fifteen cars back. Be nice to ride inside for a change.”

  Mose sighed. “I’m with you on that.”

  Three minutes later, with a caboose coupled and the brakeman waving a lantern, the locomotive began puffing huge clouds of black smoke out of its stack. There was a piercing blast of its whistle and it started to chug forward. Both men turned and looked east. Still no sign of the bulls. But just as they poised to spring forward, thirty or forty feet to their left, three men suddenly burst out of the willows, sprinting for the train. In less than twenty seconds they were up and into a boxcar and pulling the door mostly shut.

  “Let’s go,” Benji hissed. “Last chance.” And, tucking his bedroll under one arm, he burst out of the bushes and took off. He didn’t look back because he could hear Mose pounding right behind him.

  The train was slowly picking up speed as it began moving onto the main line, but it was still going only seven or eight miles an hour. Piece of cake. Benji changed directions, aiming for the freight car they had identified before. The three men they had seen were standing in the doorway, waving at Benji and Mose to join them.

  “Bulls!” Mose yelled.

  Whipping his head to the left, Benji saw them immediately. He also saw that the three men in the boxcar had seen them too and were quickly closing the door. “No!” Benji screamed as he sprinted forward.

  They heard a shout, then a gunshot. Though it was almost certainly a warning shot, Benji cut back and forth, running hard. At the sound of the gunshot, the three men slammed the door shut. Wanting to swear, Benji glanced down the line. There were no other boxcars with open doors until ten or fifteen cars back, and no flat cars until midway back in the train.

  Mose saw it too. “We’ll have to ride the ladders!” he shouted, and he shot forward, moving out ahead of Benji. As they approached the passing cars, they heard another shot and men yelling. Mose turned sharply right just before he reached the train, running alongside it just two feet away. As the front of the next boxcar caught up with him, he reached up and grabbed one of the steel rungs that were welded to the side. He hauled himself up, stepped around the edge of the car into the space between the two cars, and stood on the massive steel coupler. He watched as Benji grabbed the same rung and pulled himself up.

  They stood there for a moment, panting heavily as the train continued to move out onto the main line, rapidly picking up speed. Still holding on to the rung, Benji poked his head around. Now more than a hundred feet away, the two bulls had come to a stop and were shaking their fists at him and yelling something. He waved back and ducked back inside the gap. He grinned at Mose. “Still wish I’d stopped to make a phone call?”

  As usual, Mose merely grunted. Benji looked around the space as the cars rocked back and forth. “You ever done this before?”

  “Yup.” He had to holler over the noise of the accelerating train. “It ain’t pleasant.” He stepped across the gap made by the two couplers to the other car so that he was facing Benji. “Just remember to always keep one arm hooked over the rung.”

  Benji nodded. He had figured that out for himself.

  “It’s five or six hours to Sacramento,” Mose shouted. “Be sure you switch arms every now and then, or your arm will go to sleep.” And with that Mose leaned back, closed his eyes, and said nothing more.

  June 11, 1934, 2:57 a.m.—Southern Pacific Railway Line, near Sacramento, California

  As the train noticeably slowed, Mose moved a step to the right, grabbed a rung on the ladder, and leaned way out, facing forward to see where they were. Benji was doing the same on the other side of the gap be
tween the cars. “I’m not seeing much of anything on this side,” he called. “Lots of trees, a few houses off in the distance.”

  “The locomotive is just pullin’ off the main line,” Mose called back. “Lots of lights about half a mile ahead. Guessin’ that’ll be the rail yard.”

  Benji moved over and stood behind Mose, peering over his shoulder. It definitely was a railroad yard, and it was a big one. Dozens of arc lights on towering poles lit up the night, revealing sidings filled with locomotives, tenders, all kinds of freight cars, switch engines, signals glowing red or green, and lots of maintenance buildings farther back. They had been told this was a major hub for the railroad, but it was still impressive.

  Then Benji saw something else. As the train was turning onto the siding, silhouetted against the lights ahead, he saw numerous figures doing exactly what they were doing—leaning out from boxcars or hanging on to ladders between the cars, looking to see what was coming. Then he saw a flash of movement, like something had been thrown off of one of the cars. Then he saw another, and another.

  “You seeing that?” he called.

  “Yup! Not good. Remember what they told us in Sparks. The bulls here are some of the roughest in the business. Looks like others heard the same thing.”

  “Wanna jump now?”

  Mose shook his head. “I say we go as soon as we can see where we’re jumpin’. Then we walk into town real careful-like and see what the lay of the land is. Find the ’bo camp. They said it’s right on the river.”

  “I agree. The sooner we’re out of here, the better. Be nice if we could find something to eat first, though. My belly button is scraping against my backbone.”

  “I think my belly button went lookin’ for another owner,” Mose drawled.

  Laughing, Benji clapped him on the shoulder. “Just warn me when you’re about to jump.”

  6:12 a.m.—Hobo Town, beneath 1st Street Bridge, Sacramento

  The crack of a rifle and men shouting brought Benji awake with a start. He looked around wildly, not sure where he was. Dawn was lighting the sky, but here in the brush it was still dark.

  “Halt!” a man’s voice bellowed. “Stop or I’ll shoot!” Another gunshot made Benji jump. It was close. No more than thirty or forty yards away.

  Fully awake now, Benji reached across his bedroll and punched Mose on the arm. But he was already sitting up. They got to their knees to see if they could tell what was going on. Men were shouting and yelling, but the sound was not as close now, and moving away from them.

  Mose groaned. “What’s happenin’?” he whispered.

  “Not sure,” Benji said. “Bulls roustin’ out the camp, sounds like.”

  “They can’t do that!” Mose said. “They’ve got no jurisdiction outside the rail yard.”

  “Yeah, I’m sure they’re worried about that,” Benji said.

  As they quickly gathered their things, staying in a low crouch and listening intently, the sounds diminished a little and they began to relax. They had jumped off the train about a quarter of a mile out from the railroad yard and carefully made their way to the camp, which lined the north bank of a wide river. Careful not to step on anyone, they finally found a spot in a clump of high grass and collapsed where they were.

  Now it was time to get moving. See if they could find the main part of the camp and hope there was still some stew hanging over some coals. Then walk out of town before trying to jump another train.

  They both stiffened as they heard another sound that sent chills racing through them. Dogs. And not just any dogs. It was the baying of two or three bloodhounds, and it was growing louder even as they listened.

  Mose scooped up his bedroll and bag. “Gotta move,” he growled. “They’re coming straight at us.”

  CRACK! The rifle shot was so close that it made them both jump. “Hands up! Stay where you are!”

  They could hear the dogs snarling, and then someone screamed. “This way,” Benji hissed, scuttling on hands and knees as fast as he could, moving away from the sounds. All around them now men were shouting and screaming, and they could hear the pounding of running feet.

  Mose grabbed Benji’s leg as he turned left and started for the river. “No!” he whispered in a hoarse voice. “Let’s head for the yard.”

  Benji jerked around. “Are you crazy? That’s where the bulls are.”

  Mose moved up beside him and spoke into his ear. “No. Everyone’s coming here, hoping to hide in the brush. And them dogs are leading the bulls straight here.” Without waiting for Benji’s response, he scuttled forward, turning to the right and heading directly for the railroad yard.

  They both dropped flat as another shot rang out just a few feet to their left. A man screamed and went rolling. A dark shape ran past them no more than five feet away. Then another. Benji saw the silhouette of a pistol as the second man flashed by. Mose grabbed his arm, pointing frantically now in the other direction, and off they went again, slithering along, staying as close to the ground as they could. All around them was pandemonium.

  CRACK! Benji dropped flat, pressing his face in the dirt as a bullet zipped through the willows two or three feet above his head. Leaves fluttered down in front of his face. Several dark figures flashed by them. Benji let out his breath and sucked in air, the relief tangible. He and Mose were not the targets.

  “Hold it,” Mose hissed, holding up his hand. Benji looked up. He could see they were at the edge of all the undergrowth and the railroad yard opened up directly in front of them. The tracks of the first siding were visible about ten feet away.

  “Careful!” Benji called softly.

  Mose nodded. As if he had to be told, Benji thought, feeling foolish. He edged up beside him. To their surprise, there wasn’t much going on in front of them. Several tracks away, a switch engine was shuttling two tanker cars toward a line of others. Over by a large maintenance car they could see men inside beneath bright lights. And a brakeman was riding the back of a line of five cars moving to the west five or six sidings farther on. Behind them was lots of barking, shouting, and the occasional gunshot.

  Mose pointed to their left and then pressed his finger to his lips. Fifty or sixty yards away, two men with rifles were herding five or six men to the roundhouse. The men had their hands in the air.

  “Let’s go!” Mose called softly, and he started to move.

  “No!” Benji cried, one hand shooting out to grab him. “They’ll see us.”

  Mose shook free of him. “We’ve got to get out of here. We can’t go back to the camp. See that signal shack straight ahead, just to the left?”

  Benji turned. “No. Oh. Yeah.”

  “See the locomotive and tender beyond it? Third track in.”

  “Yeah, yeah. Got it.”

  “The locomotive is our goal. We’ll make a run for it. Stay low. If we’re still in the clear, then we’ll use the locomotive for cover. Once we’re past that, it’s only another hundred yards or so into the willows and out of the yard.”

  Seeing what he was saying, Benji quickly took stock. It was not good. They would be in the open for about a hundred yards, which looked like twenty miles right now. But he saw what Mose was seeing. There was no action in this direction, and the sounds of chaos behind them were growing louder with every second.

  “I’m with you,” he said, punching Mose on the rump. “Go! Go!” They were up, sprinting hard, bending low, zigzagging as they ran.

  BAM! A pistol fired from somewhere behind them and a cry went up. A bullet whined sharply as it ricocheted. Whoever had fired was not right behind them, but close enough. Ducking even lower, Mose and Benji raced for the signal shack and ducked behind it.

  Bent over and gasping for breath, they stopped for a moment. Mose moved to the corner of the small shack and peered around the corner. “Gotta go!” he cried. “Three bulls coming on the run. Two with pistols,
one with a rifle. They’ve seen us.” And he sprinted away, headed for the locomotive, which was just thirty yards farther east of their position. Not looking back, Benji raced after him.

  More shots rang out, and a bullet pinged off the steel of the locomotive as they reached its massive bulk and dove behind it. A steam locomotive with its coal tender attached can be well over a hundred feet long, so they were safe for the moment. No more shots were being fired at them. Moving slowly, crouched down, Mose spoke over his shoulder. “Once we clear the tender, we’re going to be in the open again, so stay low. And run like you’ve never run before.”

  “I’m right behind you,” Benji gasped. “Go!”

  At that precise moment, a man stepped out from behind the back of the coal tender. With the light in the eastern sky behind him, he was in silhouette, clearly showing them that he held a rifle, which was pointed straight at them. “Halt or I’ll shoot.”

  They did so.

  “Hands up high. Keep ’em where I can see them.”

  They did that, too.

  6:27 a.m.

  The four railroad bulls made a rough circle around Benji and Mose, who now stood back to back. “Lookee there,” said the man who had stopped them. “We got ourselves a tar baby.”

  “Hey, black boy,” one of the men with pistols shouted contemptuously, “what y’all doin’ in this here country? Your kind ain’t allowed in California.”

  He spoke with a deep Southern accent, which chilled Benji to the bone. On the road, Benji had learned that Southerners were often the ones who had the deepest animosity toward negroes. Mose was staring at the ground and didn’t look up. Nor did he speak. And into Benji’s head flashed a question: How many times before had this happened to his friend?

  The man with the rifle, who was now directly behind Mose, stepped forward. He stood there for a minute looking at Mose, his lips pulled back, his eyes filled with hate. Mose did not turn his head or move in any way. Rage flashed across the guard’s face. “Hey, boy! You turn around when I’m speakin’ to you.” Then, in one swift, smooth movement, he raised the rifle, turned it butt-first, and slammed it with full force between Mose’s shoulder blades. Mose hadn’t seen it coming. He screamed and dropped to his knees and then fell face-first into the dirt and cinders around the track, writhing in pain.