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The Boxcar Blues

Page 5

by Jeff Egerton


  Curly said, “So you wasn’t doing anything in particular?”

  “Nope. Name’s Norm Cashman and I’ll be glad to drive you wherever you want to go, but I’d appreciate it if’n you took that hog-leg outta my face.”

  Curly stuck the revolver back in his jeans and told the driver his story. He then added, “These guys have to be in the Klan. We’ve got to find someone who knows where they’d have a Klan meeting.”

  Slim said, “We need to find a diner. They’re usually full of talkative people.”

  As Norm cruised down Main Street in Dillard they saw two men talking under the feint glow of a street light. He pulled over and asked, “Hey, can you guys tell us if there’s an all-night diner around here.”

  One of the men pointed, “Sure, down here two blocks and turn left. It’s behind Red’s Blacksmith Shop.”

  Norm accelerated away and followed the directions. When they pulled up outside the diner, Curly saw two men sitting at the counter. He was about to get out of the car when a green Oldsmobile sedan screeched to a stop not twenty feet from him. To his amazement, and horror, he saw Alton Jones sitting in the driver’s seat.

  Curly slinked down in the seat and whispered to Slim, “That’s Deputy Jones driving that car that just pulled in here. Whatever you do don’t let him know I’m in here.”

  “OK, kid, you wait here and I’ll go smoke a cigarette, maybe make some small talk.”

  Norm stopped him with a hand on his arm and said, “They won’t let you in that diner. I’ll go.” With that he got out of the car and stretched, giving the harmless impression that he was just out for a late night cup of coffee.

  Curly took off his hat and peeked over the front seat to see what Jones was doing. The deputy got out of the Olds and stormed into the diner like a man on a mission.

  Norm followed him into the diner and took a seat at a corner table, trying to remain as inconspicuous as possible as he listened to the Deputy.

  Jones began shouting at the two men seated at the counter. He retold the story about his dangerous prisoner that had escaped, neglecting to mention the outhouse. Then, against their protests, told the two that they’d been deputized and had to join his in the search for the escapee.

  As the three men argued about their duties, it dawned on Norm that by virtue of his presence, he might also be deputized. He casually got up and walked toward the restroom. Before reaching it he turned and slipped out the front door, relieved that the deputy hadn’t seen him and wondering which one of the three men it was that badly needed a bath.

  Norm got back in the car, started it and pulled out of the parking lot without saying a word. Once they were clear of the diner, he said, “Your friend escaped.”

  To Curly this was the best news he could have heard. “Is that what Jones said, really?”

  “Yes, I heard him. He’s organizing a posse to go search for him. And he said that your friend shot the rancher lady.”

  Curly became defensive, “That’s lie! I was standing right outside the back door when Jones shot Maxine. He’s just telling people that so they’ll help him get Catwalk.”

  Slim turned around and said, “I’d have to agree with you Curly. Unfortunately, there’s nothing you can do about it, except run. Unless you can afford a good lawyer, there’s nothing else you can do.”

  The reality of this sunk in and the euphoria of hearing about Cat’s escape was overshadowed by his dismal future.

  Norm said, “I’ve got to head back to the Nelson’s pretty soon, but I’ll take you somewhere if it’s not too far.”

  Curly thought about his strategy. His instinct told him to head for the nearest railroad tracks so he could distance himself from Jones’ search party. Catwalk had mentioned going to Junction City so he’d probably go there himself, if for nothing else than to find Cat. He realized his friend would be hard to find because he knows that Jones is looking for him. Still, if they had to be on the run, they had a better chance of avoiding the law if they were traveling together. He said, “Do you know how far we are from Junction City?”

  “It’s only about ten or twelve miles. Do you want me to drive you there?”

  “Yeah, if you don’t mind. Drop me a couple miles outside of town so I walk the rest of the way and stay out of sight.”

  “OK, how about you, Slim?”

  “On your way back you can drop me by the trestle. I reckon I’ll spend the night with the boys in the jungle, then light out in the morning.”

  Twenty minutes later Curly thanked both of the men who’d helped him, then began his trek through an alfalfa field while listening for a train whistle that would tell him where the nearest railroad tracks were. By now he was sleepy and wanted to lay down for a few hours rest, but he felt like his first priority was to find Catwalk so he could help him as he ran from the incredible injustice that they faced.

  CHAPTER NINE

  Curly had been walking for an hour when he heard the welcomed wail of a train whistle. Maxine had told him that to get to the hay farm he had to follow the tracks until they rounded a bend outside of Junction City and then to take the next road for three miles north to the farm. He also realized that Jones knew that he and Cat were used to traveling by rail so he’d be conducting his search along the rail lines. Because of this Curly followed the tracks from a distance, about half a mile or so south of them.

  He suspected that Catwalk would be avoiding the tracks, to dodge anyone searching for him, but he also thought he’d make his way to the hay farm because that was his best bet for getting out of the area without being seen.

  In the moonlight Curly saw the silhouette of a water tank in the distance. Because these were gathering places for men hopping trains, it would also be a focal point for a search party. He decided he’d best stay away from the water tank. He saw a wooded area a mile or so away north of the tracks. He also saw two cars heading down the dirt road that paralleled the tracks. He wondered if they held people who were looking for him and Catwalk, or were they field workers getting an early start on the next day.

  He walked toward the wooded area, praying that he’d somehow find his friend there and they could make it to the hay farm without crossing paths with any of Jones’ posse.

  Alton Jones returned to the Sheriff’s Office at day break the next morning. He and the men he’d deputized had been searching the local area all night but had not seen the boys, nor had they talked to anyone who’d seen them. This wasn’t surprising since most of the search had been nothing but haphazard driving from one place to another with no real plan for the search in place. For most of the night Larry and the two men Jones had grabbed at the diner, slept in the car, with the windows wide open.

  Even though he was dead tired, his anger was still apparent when he confronted Sheriff Tyler. The sheriff listened to his deputy’s tirade, then thought about the situation. He’d learned long ago that most of what Jones said was an effort to prove his point, rather than what had actually happened. Without saying so he decided the best thing for him to do was to get Jones out of his hair so he could start his own investigation into the Puckett woman’s murder. Knowing Jones’ chances of finding the two boys were slim at best, he told Alton, “You can get some sleep if you want to, then continue your search but check in here this afternoon.”

  After Jones left to continue his search, Sheriff Wendell Tyler walked down to Doc Cooper’s house and confronted him while he was feeding his chickens, “Mornin’ Doc. Say when you’re finished feeding your flock I need you to follow me out to the Puckett place. My deputy tells me she was murdered yesterday and I’d like you to bring the body back here. We’ll use the jail as a morgue.”

  “Murdered?”

  “Yep, that’s what Alton said.”

  “Any idea who did it?”

  Sheriff Tyler stroked his chin while choosing his words. “Well, nothing definite yet.”

  “OK, give me a moment to get my bag.”

  “Take your time, Doc. She ain’t goin’ anywh
ere.”

  After Doc Cooper had left for the jail with Maxine’s body lying under a tarp in the back of his truck, Sheriff Tyler began looking around her house. It wasn’t long before he found the slug that had killed her in the wall. He dug it out and studied it. Clearly, it was a .38 caliber slug. His deputy, who carried a .38 police special, had told him the boy had shot Maxine with her Colt .45. His findings came as no great surprise.

  As he drove back to his office, he thought over the events of the past few days and didn’t like what he’d be forced to do. The sheriff and the people in the county had put up with Alton Jones because although he was a bigoted hothead, for the most part he was also harmless. True he pulled an occasional stunt like pistol whipping a drunk or forcing his attention on one of the Oriental women at the laundry, but mostly he went on his patrols when he was supposed to and kept the vagrants away because they were well aware of his gun-happy reputation.

  Now, however, it would be time to arrest Jones and charge him with the murder of Maxine Puckett. The sheriff knew how this would go down and he planned on having plenty of help around when he confronted his deputy.

  Traveling non-stop for the entire night, Catwalk had found the road to the hay farm, but hadn’t headed in that direction yet. The sun was just peeking above the eastern horizon and he realized that this would be the most dangerous time for him. For the people searching for him, he’d be easier to see if he was following a road, even if he tried to stay out of sight. Then he wondered if they’d have the dogs in their search? When he was still on the farm he’d seen packs of bloodhounds that they’d used to find escapees from chain gangs. This scared him because his only means of covering up his scent would be to travel in water where the dogs couldn’t smell him, but that would also slow him down.

  He’d found a creek where he drank his fill, then splashed some water in his face to help him stay awake. He’d thought about Curly often during the night. They’d travelled together enough that he normally knew how his friend thought about things, but this was the first time that he’d been the subject of a manhunt. He wouldn’t blame Curly if he went out on his own and avoided any contact with him. He’d heard the deputy when he told Curly that he’d cut his throat if he told anyone about Maxine’s killing. Cat suspected that the threat also might deter Curly from finding any help. This was another indication to Catwalk of just how alone he was.

  He was sitting in a patch of tall field grass near the bank of the creek, when he saw someone in the distance. He hadn’t heard any cars and this person was coming from the opposite direction of the road, so he didn’t think that they were part of the search party.

  Cat watched the person walking toward him. At first he thought there was something familiar about the guy, but just as quick he decided that this was just wishful thinking. He crept back into the field grass where he’d be out of sight when the stranger got nearer. He waited several minutes then raised his head enough to see through the tops of the grass. What he saw brought smile to his face.

  His first impression about the familiarity had been correct. It was Curly that he’d been watching. Catwalk looked around to make sure that there was no one else about then said, “Hey, Curly.”

  His friend looked toward him and yelled, “Cat!”

  “Be quiet, you idiot.”

  Curly ran toward him and slid down beside him in the tall grass. “How you doin’, man?”

  “I’m trying to stay out of sight.”

  “I heard you escaped, but Jones has a posse looking for you. I seen him last night at this diner and they’re driving a green Oldsmobile.”

  “You saw him? Did he see you?”

  Curly told Catwalk the whole story about his ride with Norm and Slim

  Catwalk shook his head at their dilemma, then asked, “Do you think we should try to make it up to that hay farm without being seen?”

  I think that’s our best bet for getting out of the area. The law is going to be watching the trains on this line, but if we can get up north to another rail line we might be able to catch out without being spotted.”

  “Yeah, I think you’re right. I could sure use some sleep but I guess we’d better keep moving.”

  The boys didn’t sleep, but cautiously made their way to the farm that Maxine had mentioned. Once there, they bedded down in a field within sight of the house, and slept in shifts. Dawn hadn’t yet broken when Catwalk saw the first light in the house.

  “They’re getting up, Curly. We’d better get in the hay, before they leave without us.”

  The boys ran to a truck loaded with loose hay and burrowed their way inside. Fifteen minutes later they heard the engine start. Soon after that they were heading toward an unknown destination, praying that Maxine had given them good information.

  Huddled together under the hay the boys said little as the truck bounced down the road for several hours. At a fuel stop, Catwalk whispered, “Do you think this is where we get off?”

  “No, I heard the driver tell someone to fill it up. They’re getting gas.”

  “Good. That means we’ll get farther away from Dillard and that deputy. He’s probably steamed about me escaping and I know he’s going to make sure that no one forgets about us.”

  Curly said, “You think we should look for work up ahead?”

  “We can’t. As soon as we get off this truck, we lay low until dark and then catch out on a west bound. My Momma told me about a place out west called New Mexico. We should try to find a red-ball that’s headed out there. It might be far enough away where no one knows about us. We’ll look for work there.”

  “Anywhere we can find work and they ain’t hunting us would be great.”

  CHAPTER TEN

  Several hours later, the truck stopped again and Curly peeked out from under the hay. “I think this is as far as we go. The driver’s going into a big barn. Let’s get out of here.”

  The boys slid out of the hay and ran into a corn field. They silently walked through the field, each with his own thoughts about their situation. Finally, Curly said, “I wish we could find something to eat before we catch out.”

  “Do you want to try some of the houses around here?”

  Curly spoke like it pained him, “No, let’s keep moving.”

  On the other side of the field they heard the distant wail of a train whistle, and instinctively headed toward the sound.

  Just after dark, Catwalk and Curly hopped onto the ladder of a refrigerated boxcar. They knew it was dangerous riding in reefer cars because you had to use the top door, where they loaded the ice, to get inside. If the door closed they were trapped until someone unloaded the car. If the train was on a long run, this might be for hours and they could freeze to death. But, because of the dangers of riding in reefers there wouldn’t be any other hoboes riding in the car, and it might be carrying fruit.

  Curly opened the top door and Catwalk jammed a stick into it to prop it open. While Catwalk watched for bulls, Curly climbed into the dark car to check out the cargo.

  A minute later Curly hollered, “We’re in luck, Cat. We got all the peaches and apples we can eat for a year, but it’s colder n’ hell down here.”

  “Bring up some peaches.” As soon as he uttered these words, Catwalk saw a swinging light in the distance—the lantern of a railroad bull. He stuck his head through the door and yelled, “Hurry up, Curly, there’s a bull coming.”

  A gun-shot pierced the darkness; a foot from Catwalk’s leg the wood splintered. He yelled, “He’s shootin’, Curly. I’m going down to ride the rods. I’ll be back to get you.”

  Catwalk closed the door, ran to the next car and scrambled down the ladder. At the very bottom of the rail car he climbed onto the two thick metal rods that ran the length of the car. This was the most dangerous place to ride a boxcar because he was barely a foot above the ties and gravel that were whizzing by at seventy miles an hour. If he fell off, it was certain death, but he hoped the bull wouldn’t look down here.

  Catwalk wait
ed for several minutes. He thought about Curly in the freezing boxcar. Did the bull find him? Most likely, if the bull knew he was in there, he’d let him freeze to death.

  Then Catwalk saw the glow of the lantern and heard the bull shouting to be heard above the noise of the train. “You ain’t getting away from me by ridin’ the rods, boy. I got ways of dealing with you.”

  Catwalk knew what was coming. The more vicious bulls carried foot-long lead weights and ropes with them. When they found someone riding the rods they tied the weight onto the rope and let the rope out under the boxcar. The five pound weight bounced off the ground until it got to the hobo, then it beat the hell out of them. Once the bull heard the hobo scream, they’d leave it there until the rider fell off, or got beat to death.

  Catwalk had also been told of a way to avoid getting killed, but it was tricky and dangerous in itself. He watched for the sparks from the weight as it made its way toward him. When it was within his reach, while balancing precariously on the rods, he caught the weight. Holding it he screamed for the bull to pull the weight in. Catwalk then untied the weight and dropped it. He let out one last agonizing scream and hoped his act was convincing.

  He waited a couple minutes then looked back toward the coupler and saw the lantern light growing dim. His ruse might have worked, but the bull could be on to him and just lulling him out where he could shoot him. Still he had to get to Curly.

  He slid to the end of the car and saw the bull walking away from him on a flat car. When the bull was out of sight he crawled out of the death trap.

  He climbed to the top of the reefer and opened the door. “Curly, c’mon, the bull’s gone, but he’ll be back.”

  Curly handed Catwalk a half a bag of peaches and climbed out the door. “Jesus Christ, you took your time. I’m freezing.”

  “I had to go down and ride the rods. The bull used a lead weight on me.”

  “No shit. How’d you survive?”

  “I’ll tell you later. We got to drop off. I want to get away from that bull.”

 

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