“There’s no guarantees, Tony,” Peter warned.
“Sure. I know that,” Tony said airily. “But this Mr. Donner, he ain’t never heard no singin’ like-a me! I’m-a gonna go and be a star!”
Peter tried to talk sensibly to Ameche, but he saw that it was no use. The two ate spaghetti and crisp Italian bread as Tony continuously questioned Peter about New York. His friend was exuberant and full of hope in a way that Winslow had rarely seen. He sat there after the meal listening as Tony outlined his grandiose scheme, and finally when they parted, he shook Tony’s hand, saying, “I guess I won’t see you for a while.”
Ameche grew solemn. He was an emotional man, and tears came to his eyes. “If you hadn’t come into the store, I would never have had my chance. Thank you a million times, Pete!”
“Better hold off on the thanks until you’re a star,” Peter grinned. He reached over and gave the pudgy shoulders of the young man a hug and said, “Leave your address with Priscilla. I don’t think I’ll be around here long. I’ll write to you.”
“I’ll do that. When you come to New York, I’ll get you tickets up on the front row of my show.”
“All right. It’s a deal. Good luck, Tony.”
“Good luck, Pete.” Peter did not see Ameche again, but he did write a short letter to Priscilla. He dated it October 5, 1904.
Dear Priscilla,
I don’t know if you and I have done Tony Ameche a favor. He sounds great to me, but what do I know about singing? In any case, he’s leaving for New York to meet with Mr. Donner. It was a little rash of you to do this, not having heard him sing, but it’s like you.
I’ve been making table legs, and I hope I never see another one again. I’ll have to keep on trying for a job in a machine shop or an auto plant, but if it doesn’t work out here in Detroit, I may have to go somewhere else. I’ve got a good recommendation from Mr. Ford, and it ought to help a lot.
I’ve thought a lot about you lately, sis. I know you had a rough time in New York, but now that you’re there in Los Angeles with some family, I feel better about you. I hope you and Serena and Cass and the kids are all doing well. Give my best to Jason. Tell him never to take up making table legs in a factory for a vocation. Better to ride a horse like he’s doing.
Putting the pen down, he considered what he had written so far. He tried to think of something cheerful to write but could not. After putting on the stamp and sticking it in his pocket, he rose and went out to mail it.
The job at the furniture factory grew more agonizing each day, and two weeks after Ameche left, Peter had become desperate with frustration. He quit the job and threw all of his energies into finding a better one. Although he had a few opportunities, none seemed to be much of an improvement over making table legs. Finally his money ran low, and he had only enough to pay another week’s rent.
After a discouraging day of job hunting, he returned to his room and his landlady met him at the door. “Any luck?”
“Not today, Mrs. Stephens.”
“Well, don’t be discouraged. A fine young man like you. There’s got to be a good job out there for you.” She fished in the pocket of her apron and came up with a letter. “This came for you this afternoon.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Stephens.”
Peter went to his room, sat down on the bed, and opened the letter after seeing on the envelope that it was from Jason. He read,
Dear Pete,
Priscilla told me that you got a job that’s not much. Sorry to hear about your bad luck with the Ford plant.
Pete, I don’t know if this means anything, but if things get too rough there, you can always come out and work for Imperial Pictures. I’ve got a job that amounts to being a foreman of a ranch. We have to keep a herd of cattle and move ’em in front of the cameras, and there’s always room for another good rider. It won’t pay much, but it might be a good place for you to tread water while you’re finding your place racing cars. It would be great for me. I’d like mighty well to have you here. Come out anytime. There’s always a place.
The letter was simply signed Jason, and Peter stared at it for a long time. The room was dark, but he did not bother to get up and light the gas lamp. He was tired and discouraged at how his luck had run out and nothing promising had happened lately. He looked down at the letter, squinting his eyes to read it again in the growing darkness. As he did so a sudden certainty came to him. “All right, I’ll do it! I’m sick of this place,” he said aloud. He got up and took several steps around the room, growing more certain that a move to Los Angeles was better than what he had. There was nothing for him in Detroit. He had tried everything he knew. He longed to see Jason, Priscilla, and his brother, Cass, and his family. The more he thought about it, the more the assurance grew within him that he must go.
He slept little that night, and when he rose the next morning, he dressed, packed his suitcase, then went down and met his landlady. “I’m leaving town, Mrs. Stephens.”
“Leaving? Where are you going?” the woman asked. She was short and plump with a motherly air about her and had been a good landlady, often feeding Peter some of her excellent cooking.
“I’m going to Los Angeles. I’ve got a brother and a sister there, and things haven’t worked out too well here.”
“Well, I hate to see you go, but the good Lord will take care of you.”
“I’m sure He will,” Peter smiled. “I wonder if I could leave my tools with you. I’ll need them sometime, but I don’t want to take them with me now. I’ll send you enough money to mail them, if you don’t mind.”
“I’ll be glad to, Pete. And I’ll be expecting to hear good things from you.”
Peter left the house carrying the small suitcase with his few belongings in it. He thought of how his sister and brother were already successful, and here he had done nothing. A great determination rose in him, and his lips grew thin as he thought, I’ll make it! One way or another I’ll make it!
****
The November wind had a sharp bite in it, and as Peter trudged along the highway of the dirt road, he pulled his coat tighter about him. Though it was getting colder, he had no money to spare on a heavier garment. He left Detroit hoping to make good time, but the only rides he had been able to catch were in wagons driven by farmers. A few cars sped by, but none of them stopped to offer him a ride. He had walked all morning and was hungry, and when he saw a bridge up ahead spanning a small river, he paused and then turned aside and made his way under the arch.
“Hello. How you doin’, bud?” The speaker was an undersized man of about thirty-five with a thin pale face and sandy hair. He had a hooked nose, and his sharp brown eyes seemed weary as he waved a hand toward a small fire that sent up a curling wreath of white smoke. “Just about to start dinner. Sit down and rest yourself a bit.”
“Don’t mind if I do,” Peter said. He put the suitcase down and advanced to the small fire and held his hands over it. As the heat soaked into him, he shivered and said, “I think we’re in for worse weather.”
“Probably are,” the smaller man shrugged. He had gathered stones and built a small fire inside them and had rigged a stick that now pulled out a small frying pan and a small saucepan. “Beans and bacon sound okay?”
“Yes. Sounds great. I’ve got some bread and some peaches.”
“Just what we need. My name’s Easy Devlin.”
“Pete Winslow.”
“Good to know you, Pete. You come far?”
“All the way from Detroit.” He opened his suitcase and pulled out two cans of peaches and half a loaf of bread wrapped in brown paper. Opening the bread, he began to slice it with his pocketknife, saying, “I’m headed for Los Angeles, but I don’t think I’m going to get there this year.”
“Bad time to be on the road,” Devlin said. He began to cough, turning his head aside. The cough seemed to come from deep inside his chest.
“That’s a bad cough. Have you had it long?”
“Oh, off and on,” Devli
n shrugged. He produced some bacon and put it in the frying pan, and it began to sizzle, sending up a delicious aroma. Then he opened two cans of beans and poured them into the saucepan.
“Let me borrow that can opener,” Peter said. Taking the instrument, he opened the peaches and set them down carefully, then pulled out a spoon, a knife, and a fork. He had been camping out along the way, for it cost too much to eat at a cafe, and he was practically broke. “You come far?” he asked.
“All the way from the coast.” There was a paleness about Devlin’s face that spoke either of illness or some sort of indoor confinement. As he stirred the beans and turned the bacon over, he spoke about the conditions of the road in a rather despondent voice. “It’s pretty hard this time of the year to get a ride. I been on the road for two weeks now all the way from New York.”
“Where are you headed, Easy?”
“Well, somewhere where the sun shines. Get out of the cold. I thought about Florida, then I decided maybe Arizona.”
“I hear it’s hot enough there, even in the winter.”
Each man produced a tin plate, and Devlin dumped the contents of one can into Peter’s, then added four slices of bacon. He did the same for himself, then took the bread that Peter offered, and the two men began to eat hungrily. “We’ll make some coffee after we get this down,” Devlin said, stuffing his mouth eagerly. “Have to make it in the saucepan. I don’t have a coffeepot.”
“I’ve got one. Got to have my coffee,” Peter grinned. He ate the beans and bacon quickly, then began fishing the peaches out of the open can with a spoon. When they had finished eating he made coffee, and the two men sat drinking it.
“Listen to that. The wind’s picking up.” He sniffed the air and said, “I don’t know this part of the country, but it looks like we might get snow.”
“I think so,” Peter said. He broke off some more sticks from the small pile that Devlin had gathered and fed them into the fire. “I’ve never been on the road before. Not like this.”
“I have. Not much fun in it,” Easy said. He gave Peter a sharp look and said, “What’s for you in California?”
“I’ve got a friend there. We knew each other in Wyoming. He was foreman for my folks on a ranch there.”
“You’re a cowboy, right?”
“Well, I used to be. I left the ranch to learn about cars.”
A light flickered in Easy Devlin’s face. “You know about cars? Where have you been working?” He sat back and listened, sipping the coffee as Peter sketched his history. Finally when Peter had finished, Easy said, “I like machinery. Don’t know much about cars. I’ve been out of circulation for a while. You say you couldn’t get a job in Detroit?”
“No, not even with a recommendation from Henry Ford.”
“That’s pretty tough. So now what will you do in Los Angeles?” He listened again as Peter described his sister’s profession and the new development of motion pictures.
“My friend, Jason Ballard, he runs the stock and keeps the cowboys in line. I guess I’ll ride herd on those critters,” he said quietly, draining the last of his coffee. “If I ever get there, that is.”
The wind was rising now with a keening sound, and a tense expression crossed Easy’s thin face. “Tell you what,” he said. “We’ll never make it on the road. I made up my mind to hop a freight.”
“You mean a train?”
“That’s it. There’s one of the Union Pacific lines goes across here about a mile away. It’s headed west all the way into Arizona—all the way to California, I guess.”
“Do you know how to get on one of those things? My uncle works for the Union Pacific, and I know they’ve gotten pretty tough on people bumming rides.”
“I’ve been a bummer before,” Easy shrugged. “You have to be careful of the bulls.”
“The bulls?”
“Yeah, the railroad hires men to patrol the cars to throw us bummers off.” He grinned then and looked somewhat younger. “They have to catch us first, and if they do, all they do is put us off and we catch the next one.”
“How do we get on one?”
“It’s not too hard. All we have to do is find a water stop. When the train stops either for coal or water, we find an open boxcar and climb into it. There’s always one or two open. Just have to be careful we’re not seen.”
“Mind if I tag along?”
“This is my lucky day,” Easy said. “Always better for two guys than one. That’s what the Bible says. Two are better than one.”
“You know the Bible?” Peter inquired with interest.
“Know it—don’t do it.”
“I guess that describes me pretty well,” Peter sobered. “When is the best time?”
“As soon as this grub settles, we’ll make our way over to Perryville. Union Pacific’s tracks go right through there. My guess is they’ll have to stop for water. We’ll find a place to keep out of sight, and when it stops we’ll get on.”
****
The wheels of the freight train made a pleasant clickety-clacking sound, and Peter leaned back against the corrugated side of the freight car. “It wasn’t too hard,” he said, looking over at Easy, who was breathing a little harder. They had hidden behind a shack close to the tracks, and as Easy had prophesied, when the train made a water stop, they had made a run for it. It was not a long run, but it had exhausted the smaller man, and Peter had had to boost him up into the open door of the freight car.
Easy gasped to catch his breath and straightened up, saying, “I’m not much of a runner, but we made it.”
“Think I better close the door?”
“Naw. Sometimes they leave a door open a bit and mark the car, then when they see it closed, they know somebody’s got on. Just leave it open.”
The train made its clacking sound, and Peter stared out the open door. “This sure beats begging rides on a wagon,” he said. “And it’s starting to snow.”
The two men were tired and soon rolled up in their blankets.
Savoring the warmth, Peter spoke in the gloomy darkness that enveloped most of the inside of the car. “Be glad to get away from here.”
“Me too,” Devlin said.
“What have you been doing, Easy? What’s your work?”
A long silence followed, and Peter thought at first that the man had gone to sleep, then the answer came in a thin voice.
“I’ve been in the lockup.”
“You mean . . . in jail?”
“That’s right. That scare you to be travelin’ with a criminal?”
“Not much. Where were you in jail?”
“Sing Sing.”
Peter rolled over and peered through the darkness at his companion. “I’ve heard that’s a rough place.”
“It’s not a place to spend a vacation,” Easy said, a bitterness in his voice. After a while, he went on. “I got out a few months ago and headed straight for New York City. Was in for eight years. It’s a long time to be in a grave. That’s what Sing Sing is—a big concrete and steel grave.”
“They treat you pretty rough there?”
“They treat everybody rough, but three years ago the warden found out I was good with machinery. He had just bought one of these horseless carriages. He called me out and told me I was in charge of it. He said that if it didn’t run like a sewing machine, he would put me in the hole. You better believe I kept that thing running.”
“Tell me about the automobile,” Peter said. “What kind was it?”
“It was an Oldsmobile. I took that thing apart and put it together so many times, I could do it in the dark. He never let me drive it, though.”
The two men had a common ground in automobiles and talked for some time about engines and cars. Finally an idea came to Peter. “Look, you need someplace that’s warm. Why don’t you go with me to California?”
“What would I do there?”
“I could get you a job with the pictures riding a horse.”
“Riding a horse? I’ve never even
been on a horse. I don’t know anything about horses.”
“You must know something about horses, don’t you?”
“Well, they’ve got four legs, don’t they?”
Peter laughed. “Don’t worry about it,” he said. “I’ll tie you in the saddle so you can’t fall off. There’s no steering wheel. All you have to do is pull on the reins right to go right, and left to go left. Haul back on both of them to stop the critter.” The silence continued for so long that finally Peter said, “What’s the matter? You don’t like the idea?”
“I like it fine, Pete. It’s just—well, nobody’s offered to give me a hand in a long time. It’ll take a bit of gettin’ used to.”
“We’ll do it, Easy. You and me. Now let’s get some sleep. We’ve got to ride this train all the way to California.”
CHAPTER FIVE
A Bit of Courage
By the time Peter and Easy reached Arizona, the weather had improved slightly. There had been no snow, but there was still a nip in the air. Just outside of Phoenix the freight veered off onto a siding, and Easy said instantly, “We’ve got to get out of here, Pete, and find an outgoing train. They’ll be loading this car, and it may be stuck here for a week.”
The two left the car, carrying their baggage, and walked out of the yards heading west.
“We’ve got to stay on the main track. Everything here goes toward California, I think. We’ll just find us another car.” Pointing to one across some tracks, Easy said, “That one ought to go all the way in, maybe to Los Angeles.”
Their food supply was low, and Peter insisted on taking Easy to a small cafe beside the track. It was used mostly by the railroad men, and it was full of brakemen and engineers. As they ate their hamburgers and French fries, Easy listened carefully to the conversation. When they left the cafe, he said, “Did you hear what that engineer said?”
“No, I didn’t catch it. What was it?”
“He said he’d be pulling into Los Angeles tomorrow. All we got to do is get on the train behind his engine. We’ll wait here until he comes out and see which way he goes.”
The Silver Star Page 7