The Mystery of the Canebrake

by Richard Mason

  The train passed though several towns and each time we’d look out the boxcar door to see if it was Little Rock. Heck, the only thing that was easy was knowing none of them little towns was Little Rock. I guess it was ’bout three hours when we looked down the tracks at the sky that was all lit up.

  “Big town coming up, John Clayton, and we’ve already passed through Sheridan. It’s gotta be Little Rock. Better go wake Mr. Bill.”

  John Clayton came back with Mr. Bill and we looked down the tracks to see a big freight yard with hundreds of boxcars lined up on all the sidetracks. You could see the light of a big city in the distance.

  “This has got to be Little Rock,” I said. “Heck, that freight yard is huge and look at the lights. Now all we hafta do is find our way to the fairgrounds and Mr. Bill’ll be back home with the circus.”

  Mr. Bill stood up and looked out the boxcar as if he could see the circus at the fairgrounds, and for the first time in a long time, he gave us the biggest smile.

  “Boys, you are the best! I don’t know how to thank you.”

  “Heck, Mr. Bill, this has been easy, except for that crazy hobo,” I said. “Get ready to jump—the train has almost stopped.”

  The train slowly came to a halt, and we jumped outta the boxcar and headed toward the city lights. It was way after midnight and after we left the freight yard, it was gloomy on the side streets we were walking up.

  “Which way do we go, Richard?” said John Clayton.

  I really didn’t have a clue, but I figured if I acted unsure, John Clayton would get all worked up, and he’d just stand around whining.

  “Heck, just head for those lights, and we’ll see the fairgrounds pretty soon,” I said. Shoot, I didn’t have a clue where the fairgrounds were, because when me and Daddy came to the fair we drove up in our car, but, heck, I figured if I told them I didn’t know they’d get all upset, so off we went walking toward the lights in the distance.

  “Richard, it’s after midnight and the circus will be breaking down and packing up. They’ll be leaving at six heading for St Louis. We don’t have long to find them.”

  “Heck, Mr. Bill, we’ll be there with time to spare. Come on let’s get going.”

  We started trudging off up a dark street when suddenly a flash of lightening lit up the night sky. Then a thunderous boom and before we had gone another 100 yards, we were right in the middle of a thunderstorm.

  “My gosh, I can’t believe this,” complained John Clayton. “We look like three wet rats running around in the rain.”

  “Yeah, but we don’t have a choice. Heck, we can’t get under something and wait for the rain to stop. We gotta make it to the fairgrounds. It’ll be daylight soon,” I said.

  We continued toward the bright lights until we were in downtown Little Rock. Heck, I knew one thing for sure; the danged fairgrounds weren’t nowhere near downtown. There was a big hotel on the corner called the Marian Hotel and a lady came out huddled under an umbrella just as we were passing.

  I ran over to her. “Ma’am, excuse me, but could you tell me the way to the fairgrounds. I have a man with me that needs to go there.”

  “Huh? Young man, what are you doing in downtown Little Rock at three o’clock in the morning?”

  “We’re helping Mr. Bill find his way back to the circus. He works for them and he’s gotta get there before they leave at six o’clock.”

  The lady, who was really dressed up and had a lot of makeup on, studied me for a minute and glance over to where John Clayton and Mr. Bill were standing. She shook her head, but finally she said, “Go over to Broadway Street, turn left and go till you see a sign pointing to the fairgrounds. It’s a mile or so. Broadway Street is three blocks in that direction.”

  “Thanks, ma’am,” I yelled, running back over to Mr. Bill and John Clayton. “Come on, we gotta just go up to Broadway Street, and we be there in no time.”

  A few minutes later, we were turning down Broadway.

  “Shoot, this is so easy, we’ll be there in 15 minutes,” I said as we started to walk at a fast pace. The rain had slacked off some and we were in good spirits. “Look, look, that sign’s pointing to the fairgrounds,” I yelled, and sure enough there was a street sign in big black letters that said, “Fairgrounds” pointing to the left. We’d just gotten to the sign and were about to turn down the street, when I heard a police siren behind us.

  “Hey, they must be after somebody,” said John Clayton.

  “Yeah, they’re comin’ right down this street,” I said.

  We stopped and looked back to see a police car heading our way, and then suddenly the police spotlight hit us and the car came right for us.

  “Run boys, there’re after us!” yelled Mr. Bill. “That lady must have told the police about us!”

  The officers jumped outta the car and we ran across the street with them yelling for us to stop. We dashed down the side street just as the officers got in their car and with siren screaming turned and headed after us.

  Dang, talk about being just scared outta our minds. That spotlight was hitting our backs and the policemen were yelling for us to stop, but we weren’t about to stop and get hauled into the police station and be faced with a call to our folks telling them we were in Little Rock and at a police station. I couldn’t even imagine how bad that would be.

  “Turn up this alley,” John Clayton screamed. We turned up a dark alley between two buildings, sprinted up the alley, and then across the next street, but the police were right behind us.

  “Keep running, and go behind that church,” I yelled as we approached a big church. We dashed behind the church and turned into another alley just as the police car got to the church.

  “Cross that playground and run through that back yard right ahead,” yelled John Clayton.

  That was a good move, because now the police car had to go around the playground, and we were ahead of them and gaining. A run through another back yard, and then down another alley to a grocery store put us farther ahead. When we got behind the grocery store, we hid in a pile of cardboard boxes and in a few minutes, the police, who had been circling the block, gave up and headed back uptown.

  We sat there for a few minutes trying to catch our breath before we started for the fairgrounds.

  “Dang, that was close. If we hadn’t run they would have two runaway boys and Mr. Bill down at the police station right now, and we would never have gotten Mr. Bill to the fairgrounds in time,’ I said.

  “Yeah, Richard, you’re right, but we gotta get going. It’ll be getting daylight soon and the circus’ll be leaving in ’bout an hour.”

  “Shoot, let’s go. It can’t be far,” I said. I started walking back to where I thought the police chase had started.

  “Hey, you’re going the wrong way,” said John Clayton.

  “I am not. We just need to turn left and go a couple of blocks, and then we’ll be on Broadway.”

  “No, we won’t. You’re going the exact opposite way from Broadway. Isn’t he Mr. Bill?”

  “Boys, you know I can’t see all that well. I don’t know which one of you is right, but we need to get moving or the circus is gonna be gone.”

  “Let’s draw straws, John Clayton,” I said as I reached down and picked up a couple of twigs. “Here, you go first.” John Clayton is so unlucky he always loses.

  John Clayton pulled out the short straw, I laughed, and we started walking in my direction.

  “Dang you, Richard, I think you cheat at that straw drawin’. I always loose.”

  “You’re just unlucky. Come on let get to the fairgrounds.”

  Well, I hate to admit it but John Clayton was right. I cheat at drawing straws. Thirty minutes later, we were in a neighborhood that sure didn’t look like Broadway Street.

  “We’re lost, Richard. You were wrong, and now we can’t get to the fairgrounds. We are so lost we don’t have a clue on how to get there.”

  We were wet and tired and now we were so depressed that we sat do
wn on the curb to try to come up with a way to get Mr. Bill to the fairgrounds. We had less than a half hour or the circus was gonna be gone.

  “Get up y’all. Here comes a milk truck making deliveries, and he’s stoppin’ at that house over there.”

  The milkman got out and put a couple of quarts of milk on the porch, and then I had an idea. I ran over to his truck just as he was getting in.

  “Uh, sir, could you help us?”

  “Who are you and what are you doing out here at 5:30 in the morning? Why do you need help?”

  “Well, I’m Richard Mason and that other boy is John Clayton Reed. We’re from Norphlet, way down in Union County. That’s Mr. Bill Pearson, he worked for the circus until last year when he ran away, and now he wants to go back. We’re tryin’ to help him rejoin the circus. The circus is at the fairgrounds and they are gonna leave for St. Louis in a few minutes. We’re lost and can’t find the fairgrounds. Could you give us a ride?

  “Well, boys it’s against company policy. I could lose my job.”

  “Please sir, Mr. Bill can’t go out in public. You see he worked in one of the sideshows and he looks terrible. Mr. Bill, come here.” I yelled.

  Mr. Bill walked over to the milk truck. He still had the scarf covering his head.

  “Mr. Bill,” I said, “show the man your face.”

  Mr. Bill pulled off the scarf and the milkman drew back in shock.

  “Sir, Mr. Bill just has a skin disease. They call him The Wild Man from Borneo, but he’s a real nice man.”

  “Sir, if you could help us out, I would sure appreciate it,” said Mr. Bill.

  “My god, you never know what a day will bring,” said the milkman. “Come on, hop in, the fairgrounds are just a few blocks way.”

  We piled in, standing back between the crates of milk as the milk truck headed for the fairground. We pulled in just as a long line of trucks were about to drive out. Mr. Bill jumped out and ran up to the lead truck and in a few minutes the driver was waving for someone to come up, and then in a few minutes, several people were around Mr. Bill.

  Mr. Bill walked back to the truck smiling.

  “Boys, they’re tickled to death that I came back. This is where I belong, with my friends. Thanks for everything. I gotta go—the circus is pulling out right now.”

  “Bye, Mr. Bill,” we yelled.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  The Trip Home

  We waved and waved to Mr. Bill until the truck he was riding in was outta sight.

  “Gosh, I’m gonna miss, Mr. Bill,” I said as I walked back to the milk truck, “he was a really good friend.”

  “Hop in boys, I’m running late,” yelled the milk truck driver. He pulled away from the fairgrounds and started back for town. “Boys, just how do y’all plan on getting back to Union County?”

  “We’re gonna catch the morning freight train, and it leaves ’bout nine o’clock. Could you drop us off at the freight yards?” I said.

  “Humph, we’ll see.”

  The milkman was real quiet for a few minutes, and I thought I saw the freight yards over to our right, but he turned left and soon we were almost back downtown.

  He pulled up to a building and looked over at us; “Boys, y’all sit right here, I need to go inside for something.”

  “Yes sir,” we said.

  We had sat there a few minutes when I looked over at the building the milkman had just entered.

  “Oh my good Lord, John Clayton! Look at that sign on the building. It says Little Rock Police. Come on, get outta of this truck. Run, run, or they gonna arrest us and call our folks!”

  We jumped outta the milk truck just as a police officer came out of the building with the milkman

  “There they go!” he yelled. We sprinted across the street running through yards and parking lots with a policeman running behind us yelling for us to stop, but they weren’t no way on god’s green earth we were gonna stop. Shoot, we’re pretty good runners and with the police chasing us again, we were like a couple of kids with rockets on their shoes heading down those back alleys.

  “Keep runnin’ and don’t stop for nothing,” I screamed. We ran across a bunch of parking lots, behind buildings, and then through as alley. We came out the alley just as a police car rounded the corner with its siren blasting. Down the street, we ran crossing through yards and tried to go where a car couldn’t drive. Finally, after we reached a park, where there were some woods, we managed to lose them. We sat and panted, while we talked about how to get to the freight yard.

  “Uh, Richard, don’t even say which way to go. You couldn’t find you way out of a paper bag. Heck, you can go through Flat Creek Swamp like some old Indian, but in town you’re worthless.”

  I objected, but not much. John Clayton was right. I was lost as a goose, and didn’t have a clue which way to go.

  “Okay, lets head due east, cause that’s the way the milkman brought us, and I thought I saw the freight yards in that direction,” said John Clayton.

  We walked and walked until finally we came to a railroad track.

  “Heck, Richard, now let’s just follow it down to the freight yard.”

  After about another 30-minute walk we came to the big Little Rock freight yard that was full of freight car and engines.

  “Oh my gosh, which train is going to El Dorado?”

  “Well, Richard, I’m sure we’ll pick the wrong one, and wake up in North Arkansas instead of South Arkansas. After all, everything that could possible go wrong on this trip has.”

  We were standing there looking at all the freight trains when I noticed a group of men crouched around a fire. It looked like they were cooking something.

  “Hey, let’s go ask those hobos. I bet they know,” I said.

  We walked over and the hobos looked us over as we approached the fire.

  “What you boys want?” one of them said.

  “Uh, well sir, we need to get to El Dorado. Could you tell us which of those trains is going there?”

  “You boys is too young to be ridin’ freight trains. What’s going on?” said the hobo closest to us.

  “Uh, we rode up with a friend last night on the freight train that came out of El Dorado. You see, he really needed to get to Little Rock to rejoin the circus, and he couldn’t see very good, so we came along to help him.”

  The hobos were shaking their heads and kinda laughing. They didn’t look like much help.

  “And y’all are going to head back today?” one of them said as he grinned at me.

  “Yes sir.”

  “Well, how’d you know which train to jump in El Dorado?”

  “Uh, well, we have a friend, named Mr. Perry, who comes through Norphlet ridin’ freight trains. That’s where we live, and we give him sandwiches and sometimes a Coke Cola. He told us what train to get on, but there’re so many here we don’t know which one goes back.”

  “Mr. Perry? Perry Stafford?”

  “I don’t know his last name, but he’s real old, tall, skinny cowboy, and he has red hair.”

  “Hell, that’s Perry all right. You boys been helpin’ Perry? He’s your friend?”

  “Yes sir.”

  “Well, come on over here. Perry is a good friend of ours, and any friend of Perry’s is welcome here. You boys hungry?”

  ’Course, we were starving. All we’d had to eat since last night at Mr. Bill’s place was a few Vienna Sausages.

  “Well, a little, but y’all go ahead, we’ll wait till we get home.”

  “Hell, boy, you gonna be most of the day on that freight. Better have something to eat now or y’all gonna be starvin’ ’fore you get to El Dorado.”

  We moved a little closer to the fire to see what was cooking. They were roasting corn on the cob and on a little side fire somebody had a skillet cooking something that look maybe like it was a rabbit.

  “Here boys, take one of these ears of corn and in a minute this rabbit will be done.”

  We took an ear of corn each and sat down
with the hobos around the fire to eat. That roasted corn on the cob was the best I’ve ever had. When we finished the corn, the man that had asked us over pulled the rabbit legs off and gave us each one.

  After we finished what I considered to be the best meal I’d had in a long time I asked him which train went to El Dorado.

  “Boys, it’s that train over on the far track. But let me give you a little tip. They’s got a railroad bull that checks them cars right before they pulls out, and if he finds you in one of them boxcars he’ll beat you with his stick and make you get off. Well, he probably wouldn’t beat y’all, but he shore would pull y’all off and call the cops. So, this is what you do. Wait in the bushes until the train starts to move. Then run out and grab the lever on the side of a boxcar and yank it real hard. The door will slide open and y’all jump in. Be sure and close the door behind you and hide in the back. The railroad bull in Sheridan will be checking the cars, too. If he opens your car door, jump out the other side and get in another car. You got that?”

  “Yes sir,” we said.

  “Good, now y’all better head on over there. That freight’ll be leaving in ’bout fifteen minutes.”

  “Thanks, sir, and that was the best breakfast I’ve ever had,” I said. I jumped up and started across the tracks.

  “Hey, boys, tell Perry that Sam from Tampa helped y’all out.”

  “Okay, sir, and thanks for everything,” I yelled back.

  Me and John Clayton crossed the tracks, slipped into the bushes on the other side of the train, and waited. Sure enough, the railroad man came by checking every car, and when he finished he raised his arm, dropped it, and the train started moving.

  “Get ready, John Clayton. See that red boxcar coming? Let’s run for it.”

  “Okay, ready! Run!”

  We sprinted out of the bushes and started running along side of the train.

  “Pull the lever!” I yelled.

  John Clayton reached up, grabbed the door lever, and gave it a yank. It didn’t move an inch and he yanked it harder, it slowly slid open, and he climbed in.