Chapter VI: Part 6

Thus we found ourselves in the edge of a fair-sized railroad yard, the name of which we made no attempt to learn, but contented ourselves with seeking a quiet spot where we could cook a meal and rest. The back of my head, neck and shoulders was bruised black from the hours of pommelling, and I was glad to snatch a few hours of restless sleep. Dan prepared and packed a box of food, filled the canteen and made ready for the night’s adventures.

Just at dark we entered the railroad yard as a freight rolled in from the east. Dan told me to wait while he reconnoitred. Hardly had he gone when a man appeared at my side as though he had risen out of the ground. He held a pocket flash in one hand and a club in the other.

“What are you doing here?” he demanded sternly.

“Waiting for my husband,” I said.

Lifting the flash, he examined me from head to foot. Reaching forward, he tapped the box of lunch under my arm with his billy.

“What have you got in that box?” he inquired.

“Grub,” I replied.

“So ho! A box of grub and a roll of blankets. You look like a woman hobo.”

I admitted the charge and declared my intention of taking the west-bound freight. “And I suppose you are a detective hired to prevent that very thing,” I concluded.

“You’ve struck it,” he answered. “That’s....”

He leaned forward and stiffened like a pointer dog in the presence of a flock of quail. With wonderful dexterity he slipped the flash in his pocket and drew a revolver, then moved forward with the sinuous grace of a panther and as silently as a shadow. I heard the footsteps of several men approaching across the yard.

“Halt!” barked the detective. “Throw up your hands. Keep ’em high now, and face the east. Now, beat it.”

I heard the sound of running feet, punctuated by dull thuds as the detective belaboured the heads and shoulders of the fleeing men with his billy.

“Fo Gawd’s sake, don’t, Boss. Oh, Gawd. You’re killin’ me.” It was the pleading voice of a negro, who seemed to be bearing the brunt of the clubbing.

In a few minutes the detective came back, panting. My blood was boiling.

“You great big brute, you,” I began. “Why don’t you jump somebody who has a decent chance, if you must act like a devil?”

“You’ve got your nerve, young lady, talking to me like that. Don’t you know I can run you and your old man in if I want to?”

“Oh, I suppose you could. But what makes you want to be so cruel? You don’t look like a brute.”

“Well, maybe I am too rough, though that is what I’m hired to be. Besides, some yeggs broke into a building in a little town up the line about a year ago, and when me and my mate tried to run them in, they shot my pal dead and winged me in the shoulder. Since then I club all hoboes on general principles.”

Just then I recognised Dan’s step as he came up the yard. The detective made a forward movement, but I seized him by the arm.

“That’s my husband coming, and you better let him alone. If you start clubbing him, I’ll fix you, pistol or no pistol.”

“Let go. I’ll not hurt him.”

He bounded forward, and intercepting Dan, questioned him closely. Then ordering him to remain where he was, he returned and questioned me. Then he summoned Dan.

“Well, people,” he said, as Dan came up. “I guess I’ll take a chance on you. If the conductor don’t get wise and make a kick, I’ll not see you when you get aboard that cattle car yonder. So long.”

Hurrying over, we climbed in just as the train pulled out. As I peered through the slats in the front of the car, I saw a hobo make a running leap into the gondola immediately in front of us. A soft footfall sounded on the roof of our car and the detective leaped down beside the hobo, who scrambled madly up the end of the boxcar ahead. The men reached the roof almost together and for a moment seemed etched against the sky. The officer made a mighty swing with his billy at the tramp’s head. There was a crack like a revolver shot, and the hobo pitched from the top of the rapidly moving car and rolled head over heels down the twenty foot embankment. Sickened, I clung to the bars while the train rushed on.

The floor of the car was covered with filth, so that sitting or reclining was out of the question. To add to our discomfort a storm blew up and the cold wind and rain beat between the slats and chilled us to the bone. As we slowed at a siding a low, mournful sound came to our ears, and we found ourselves beside a great cattle train. The poor animals moaned and bellowed in the sleety blast. Some were down, and I could easily picture their experiences of long hours without food and water, exposure to the broiling heat of the noonday sun in the crowded cars, followed by the night’s cold wind and rain.

We were completely exhausted when morning came, and crawled weakly out when a brakeman ordered us off the train. Throwing ourselves in the shade of boxcars that stood on a lonely siding, we were instantly asleep. The sound of voices wakened me and, sitting up, I saw a dozen hoboes scattered about. Some were east and some west-bound, but all agreed that this particular division was the deuce to cross.

A freight rolled in and some boarded her, but did not linger long. With shouts and curses, the train crew plied pick handles and chains, and every man was beaten off.

Some two hours later another freight hove in sight and we concealed ourselves in the high brush beside the track. The crew united to drive the crowd of hoboes down the line, and as the chase swept past, we hastened to examine the unguarded cars. In the middle of the train stood three cattle cars loaded with ninety-pound steel rails. These were piled in sloping tiers on each side, leaving a runway down the centre of the car.

“Here’s a good place, Dan. We’ll lie down in there.”

“Good heavens, girl,” he cried aghast. “If those heavy rails should shift in swinging around these mountain curves, there wouldn’t be enough of us left to hold a funeral over.”

“I’m not particular about my funeral, if it should come to that. I’d rather trust the rails than the detectives. Come on, I’m going in.”

Opening the end door, I piled in and lay down in the little runway. On either side the sloping heaps of rails rose high above my head. Dan closed the door and lay down also.

The trainmen were too busy with the hoboes to disturb us, or they considered the rail cars too dangerous for the most daring adventurer, for we were left in peace.

The rails grated and chafed as we rocked along. I took a look at Dan, who grew a trifle white about the lips when the rails shifted a little. I was full of content as I realised that we were making good progress, and laid my head on the bundle and slept.

It was night and Dan was shaking me and whispering in my ear when I wakened. Staggering up, I gazed about, bewildered. Taking my hand, Dan led me out of the car, which stood on a siding, and across the tracks away from the lighted street of a town.

“This is an awfully tough town,” he said softly. “The rail cars were cut out here, and I went for fresh water. I never saw so much drunkenness or so many toughs in my life. We must get away before morning if we possibly can.”

A distant whistle announced the approach of an engine. A long train of tank cars clanked to a standstill. We advanced hopefully, but not a car was open. The yard was dark and we chose a tank car close behind the engine. A narrow ledge projected in front, and on this we perched—feet dangling and backs close pressed against the end of the great cylinder. The engineer and brakeman sauntered up and paused close by. The brakie carried a lantern in one hand and rested the other not two feet from my side. There they stood and talked while we almost ceased breathing. But the deep shadow of the tank concealed us, and they separated, leaving us undiscovered.

Then began the wildest ride of my career. That engineer seemed speeding to the bedside of a dying friend, or perchance, to some sweetheart who awaited his coming. The crest of the mountain range was past and the train shot like a meteor round shouldering hills and through the steep ravines. The tank car leaped and plunged like a thing of life, threatening to leave the rails at each sharp turn of the road. Balancing perilously, we clung like limpets to the narrow shelf, while a wild thrill, born of the rapid motion through the mountain fastnesses with the night wind fanning my face, drove all fear from my mind. I could have shouted with pure delight and felt that I need only will it and my soul would part company with all material things to soar to meet the stars that blazed overhead.

The first flush of dawn brightened the sky as the lights of a good sized town appeared ahead. We gathered ourselves up for the leap. The train slowed and entered a long railroad yard. A group of men, lanterns in hand, stood at one side of the track, and as they caught sight of us, they set up a shout and raced for the train. A dozen cars swept past before they were able to board it, and we saw them moving forward around the awkward tank cars. A single glance identified them.

“We’ll have to jump quick before the brutes get any nearer,” I cried.

The train was still moving at a lively clip as we leaped off. Catching our stride, we raced for the sagebrush on the right. The officers set up another racket, but apparently considered a chase hopeless.

Circling widely, we came to a squat building on the outskirts of town. From within rose a hum of machinery and in the doorway stood the stalwart figure of a young man. He hailed us merrily.

“Hello, there! Where are you going in such a hurry?”

We explained our plight, and he was good enough to come to our aid.

We entered the power plant and watched the youth fetch out water, soap and towels for our convenience. Catching sight of myself in a mirror, I uttered a cry of surprise. Coated with dust as I was from the long ride so close to the engine, I more nearly resembled a negress than a white woman. While we removed the stains of travel, the boy placed coffee pot and frying pan on a small stove in a corner and soon spread a savoury meal on the pine table. While we ate, he explained that he had the night shift at the plant and slept in the building during the day. He had a reputation for feeding every hobo who came along. Consequently, the officers might come there to look for us. Besides, the day man was not so charitable, so it would be well for us to be out of sight before he arrived.

Leading the way to his little cubby hole of a room, he pulled the bed out from the wall so that it stood almost across the doorway, and spread some quilts on the floor behind it. Tossing our bundles out of sight, he suggested that we lie down and remain as quiet as possible.

We were scarcely hidden when the day man arrived. Our friend complained of a sick headache and said he had moved his bed to get more fresh air. He had darkened the room as much as possible and now threw himself down and feigned sleep. Three men approached the door.

“Say, Frank,” one began, “a couple of hoboes came up this way and we want ’em. You better come across now and tell us where they went. We’re getting tired of the way you run a tramp roost up here.”

“Well, you’ve got your nerve, I must say. Can’t a fellow get any rest from you fee-chasing scavengers? Here I go to bed with a sick headache, and no sooner do I fall asleep than you come chasing hoboes and wake me up again. If you want any information, why in hell don’t you talk to Harry? Ask him if he’s seen any tramps.”

“Sorry if you’re sick, old man,” answered one of the officers soothingly. “We didn’t mean to disturb you.”

“Cut the bunk,” growled another. “I want to know if you saw these bums?”

“No, I haven’t seen any bums,” shouted Frank savagely. “Furthermore, I want you pussy-footed bulls to clear out of here. I’m sick, and I want to sleep.”

He whirled over with his back to the door. The officers stood about uncertainly for a few minutes and then we heard them tramping about the building. When all was quiet, Frank thrust his head over the edge of the bed.

“How was that for a stiff bluff?” he chuckled. “Your uncle Ezra is right there with the goods, ain’t he, what? See any bums? No, of course not. The only bums I ever see are those bulls that hang around the station. And now that the fly cops have flitted, tell us the sad story of your young lives.”

So I took up the familiar tale and the lad listened with bated breath and sparkling eyes while I led him step by step across the country. On conclusion he told me of himself. He was a student in a technical school, utilising his vacation to gain practical experience in his specialty of electricity and earn money for the coming term.

As I lay prone on the floor, the intense pain of my bruised spine eased a trifle, and lulled by the hum of the generators, I fell asleep. Night had fallen when I awoke and both men were gone. I found them chatting busily, while Dan repacked our bundles for the journey and Frank broiled a large steak over the coals.

“Fill up, sweet friends, fill up,” quoth he, carving a huge slab of meat. “Ways are long, the steak is fleeting, and the jail is not your goal. At least, we hope that it doesn’t prove to be. So eat and be merry, for to-morrow you may be in Granger.”

Nothing loath, we fell to with great gusto, and while we ate, discussed the best method of getting out of town. We decided to take a passenger to the first stop, as at Laramie.

As we started to the train, our host seized his hat and made ready to accompany us.

“I’ll just let the buzzers look after themselves while I give you the benefit of my powerful protection up town. Those bulls won’t be so liable to run you in because you’re walking the streets without a thousand dollars in your pockets if I am by to testify to your noble characters. Then I know most of the boys who run out of here and I may be able to fix it so the freight crew will pick you up without any trouble.”

Thus we bought our tickets and said good-bye to our young friend while the officers glowered from a distance.

Once more we got out at a barren flag station, but we hadn’t long to wait. As the freight stopped, a brakeman leaped down and came directly to us.

“All right, folks, we’ll give you a lift and pass you over the next division if we can. Get in that boxcar over there.”

In we crawled and rode in comfort the night through. Early next morning, as the train sped through a desolate wilderness, another brakeman climbed into the car.

“How do you do?” he began. “We heard about you from the boys back there, and we’ll see you as close to Ogden as we can. But you’ll have to leave this car, as it’ll be dropped next stop, and the only place for you is in an empty fruit car way up near the head of the train. You’ll have to go over the top while she’s spinning. Do you think you can make it?” looking at me anxiously.

“Sure,” I answered boldly, my tone implying that I had walked the tops of moving freights since the age of three.

Strapping our bundles to our backs, we started. I confess to a peculiar sensation in the pit of my stomach as I trod the narrow plank nailed along the apex of the roofs, and jumped from car to car, while the train rocked heavily along, lurching around the curves, and the wild landscape rotated past on either side. But after the first few minutes the feeling passed and I was able to conclude the journey with all the sang-froid of an old hand.

“After to-day, I’ll be expecting to meet women brakies most any time. You’d make a swell member of the Union,” volunteered our guide, as we settled ourselves in the fruit car.

The day passed and the night. About four in the morning another brakeman appeared and roused us.

“We will stop at Uintah about sunrise,” he said. “You will have to go back to the rear of the train, and be ready to drop off as the train slows down for the station. Get away as quickly as you can, for if you are discovered riding on this train, the whole bunch of us may spend a month in jail.”

So I took another stroll along the swaying roofs and climbed onto the rear platform of the caboose. As the train began slowing for Uintah, we flipped off and bolted away from the track.

After many miles of wilderness the fertile valley looked very beautiful to our tired eyes. Accustomed from childhood to an abundance of fresh fruit the year round, the restricted diet of recent months has told on me. Now berry vines, fruit orchards and vineyards reminded me of home, and we determined to buy a little fruit, fresh from the garden.

Passing up a tree-bordered roadway, we came upon a long, low farmhouse, squatted at ease upon a terraced hillside, the brown of its unpainted wooden frame blending with the russet hues of tree trunks and knotted loops of trailing grape vines. A fluffy maltese kitten with arching back scampered with sidelong leaps to meet us, then frolicked up a tree. Two dogs set up a racket and a winsome, dark-eyed girl came to the door. I asked for ten cents worth of raspberries. With a charming smile she led the way to the roomy kitchen, and taking down a bright tin pail, placed it in my hands with instructions to go right into the patch and help ourselves to what we wanted. We busied ourselves among the tall, green canes, and as the scent of flowers and fruit came to my nostrils, it seemed that I had been transported to the beautiful spot where I was born.

“At last I can realise that I am nearing home,” said I, turning to Dan.

On our return to the kitchen with the luscious red berries, the laughing maid met us, and set out dishes, spoons, sugar and a great pitcher of yellow cream. And what a feast we had! Our hostess informed us that the first passenger train that stopped at their little station did not come through till nearly one o’clock, so while Dan roamed about the ranch, the little woman and I sat on the long veranda and got acquainted.

With shy head hanging and many a blush, she said she had been married but four months. Her husband, who was a Mormon, was then at one of his other ranches, where he stopped for weeks at a time. I surmised that she was not his first wife, but warned by her attitude, forbore to question. She told me of her limited opportunities and narrow horizon. With wistful eyes she listened to my descriptions of large cities. She herself had never been further than Ogden, and only twice to that metropolis. The furnishings of the house were crude in the extreme, and she confided to me her longing for curtains such as she had once seen in Ogden, and hoped to have a strip of carpet for the parlour floor some time.

Suddenly she flung herself on her knees at my side and buried her face in my lap, while great sobs shook the slender body. She was all alone she said, all, all alone, and she was afraid. Her mother had eleven children and was always too overworked to listen to her daughter’s nonsense, as she called it. I gently raised the child—she was but sixteen years of age—to my lap, and with tender words and petting calmed the storm of sobs. When she could listen I advised her as best I could, and wrote a set of instructions to guide her in the coming hours of need. Poor little wild rose. I dread to think of what the future holds for her, so sensitive, so frail.

Once more we took a train and soon landed in Ogden. Turning to the left, we crossed the river and came to a large cottonwood grove. Here we pitched camp and Dan took up the never-ending search for work. Last night he came home with a big watermelon and the welcome news that he was to start work on Monday morning. So for a few days at least I am free to rest and sew.

SEVENTEEN

_August 22nd_,
ON THE SACRAMENTO RIVER.

SEVENTEEN

_August 22nd. On the Sacramento River._

Well, little book, my entries are almost finished, for the business of building a new niche in the world with nothing but our bare hands will leave scant time for keeping a diary.

Dan had several days’ work in Ogden. Then we took a passenger to the first stop west as usual and there boarded a freight. We had not gone far when a trainman thrust his head into the car in which we were riding, and failing to see me huddled in a corner, accosted Dan.

“Hello, Jack. What are you riding on?”

“A union card,” replied Dan, following the accepted formula, and pulling the card from his pocket for inspection.

“And what else?” queried the brakeman.

“A dollar,” said Dan.

“Not enough, Jacko. It’s two dollars or nothing on this division. Cough up.”

So Dan gave him the two dollars and the train moved out.

On the edge of the Great Salt Lake the freight stopped again and another brakeman leaped into the car. He gaped in amazement at sight of me, then turned to Dan, “You’ll have to come through, old sport. This kind of baggage is worth a five spot. Come across now, or you’ll have to swim the lake.”

“Here, Dan,” I broke in sharply, as he hesitated. “Don’t you give those petty grafters another penny. Let’s get out.”

The trainman turned on us threateningly, but one good look sufficed, so we were left undisturbed beside the track. We had heard more than once of trainmen who not only took money from hoboes, but also relieved them of Ingersoll, knife, or any little trinket they happened to have about them, but this was our first experience with the breed.

With our bundles for pillows we slept through the night, and awakened at dawn when another freight stopped for a last drink before crossing the lake. We piled into a gondola just as the train gathered speed and felt that we would at least cross the lake in safety. We had not gone a mile when a trainman leaped in beside us.

“What are you riding on, friends?” he inquired.

“A union card,” said Dan.

“And what else?”

“Not another blamed thing,” Dan answered determinedly.

“Well, that don’t listen very good to me,” the fellow growled. “Where did you come from and where are you going?”

While we gave him a sketch of our experiences and reasons for riding freights, he drew a stub of a pencil from his pocket and began scrawling on the back of a time table.

“Loan me your knife a minute, old man,” he said to Dan.

Dan passed over the knife, a very fine one that I had given him the first Christmas after our marriage, and the brakeman sharpened his pencil.

“Well, so long,” said he, turning on his heel, and starting to slip Dan’s knife into his pocket.

I seized his arm like a flash and wrested the knife from his hand before he could recover from the unexpected assault.

“No, you don’t. Oh, no you don’t,” I hissed furiously. “That’s my knife and I propose to keep it.”

“Why, you little hell-cat, you.” He burst into a laugh. “I didn’t mean to steal your knife. Gee, she’s some scrapper,” turning to Dan. “Wouldn’t mind having a pal like that myself.”

With another laugh he made his way to the rear of the train.

A half hour had passed when we were amazed to see him coming over the top with a coffee pot in one hand and a pan in the other.

“Thought maybe you might be hungry,” he said with an embarrassed laugh, as he set the pan of boiled meat and doughnuts on the bottom of the car. As he bolted toward the head of the train, we attacked the food with ravenous appetites.

We were so engaged when a man leaped from the boxcar behind, landing in the gondola with a clatter. I looked up into the amazed face of the conductor.

“Good Lord!” he ejaculated. “Well, good Lord, so this is what old Tight-wad was up to. What have you done to him anyhow? Hypnotised him?”

“What are you talking about?” asked Dan.

“Why, that front brakeman of mine. He’s the meanest cuss on this division, bar none. He’ll hold up a ’bo and pry the gold out of his teeth. I noticed him skirmishing around in the caboose a while back, and he acted so blamed mysterious that I had to come up front and see what in blazes he was up to. Well, I’ll be jim swiggled if ever I expected to see old Tight-wad pulling any charitable stunts.”

The conductor proceeded to ply us with the usual questions, which we answered to his entire satisfaction.

“There’s an empty refrigerator car up ahead,” he declared, “that is billed straight through to Sacto. She’s locked all right, but the ventilator in one of the ice chests is sealed open, and you can slide in there and lie snug till you land in Sacramento.”

Swallowing the last drops of coffee, we followed him over the tops to the fruit car. Sure enough, the little door that covered the hatch at the end of the car stood open, the support bound with the lead seal, which must never be broken except by the proper officials.

Gathering my skirts closely about my ankles, I slid into the opening feet first, and catching the edges with my hands, swung inside the ice chest and let go. Dan followed, and we found ourselves in peculiar surroundings. The floor of the cubby-hole was formed of scantlings laid on their edges, with wide interstices for drainage. There was scarcely room to move and the only light entered the little opening high above our heads. As I gazed upward, I felt caught in a trap. We curled down on the grating and resigned ourselves to fate.

As the sun climbed the sky the heat increased, and it was then that we noticed that our canteen was empty. Nobody came near. We dared not show ourselves. So the day passed in great discomfort. Night fell and we slept fitfully. Morning came and again the sun blazed down on the desert wastes and the tortures of thirst became intense.

We had been twenty-four hours without food or water when Dan decided to risk a reconnoitre. Taking the canteen, he swung himself up to the hatch and thrust out his head and shoulders. A brakeman came on the run. After considerable parley he took the canteen and promised to fetch us water at the first stop. But the afternoon wore away and he failed to appear. We were almost insane from thirst and heat when at last he lowered the dripping canteen into our prison.

In Winnemucca the car was shunted back and forth for an hour, but at nightfall we were off on the long climb to the summit. I climbed hand over hand to the hatchway, and after a cautious survey of the surroundings, drew myself out and perched on the roof of the car. The Overland Limited shot past, the roof covered with the crouching forms of hoboes, thick as barnacles on an old pier. The desolate expanse of desert seemed full of mystery, as the long train, dotted here and there with lanterns, crawled like a gigantic snake up the steep grade. Far ahead two engines coughed and laboured, the black smoke rolling in great billows from their stacks. As I realised that we were nearing the boundary of California a great contentment filled my soul. Thus I revelled in thoughts of home, while the cool night wind fanned my face and the Big Dipper swung across the northern sky and the speeding wheels clanked a cheerful refrain.

Early next morning the brakeman made us a visit and said we would be in Sparks before noon, where we must make another change.

Just outside the city limits we dropped off, and as guests of the trainmen were soon eating our first restaurant meal for months. About two o’clock we wandered to the outskirts of town, for it was useless to attempt to catch a freight in daylight. We came to an irrigating ditch lined with a tall growth of weeds, and slipping off our footgear, were soon paddling about like a couple of kids in the swift running water. Late in the day we cooked and ate a meal, took a farewell wash in the stream and returned to the railroad yard. Word had gone forth not to molest us, so we boarded the night freight without difficulty. The only available place was a cattle car loaded high with lumber. The end door was unlocked and there was quite a space between the piles of boards and the roof of the car. I settled myself in a corner with back against the siding, and Dan lay at my feet.

It was pitch dark when the train clanked through the streets of Reno. As we drew slowly out of town, dim forms appeared, and hoboes began piling into the car through both doors. In the darkness I could sense the presence of a large number of men. Two lads curled down at my right, their voices proclaiming their youthfulness. On the left two hoboes lay so close that I could have touched them. They had come from a long ride on a limited passenger and were completely exhausted. A group of men in the far end of the car began smoking, and as each match flared, some face would stand out in bold relief. They talked with perfect comradeship, and though they were totally unaware of the presence of a woman, there was little to complain of in their conversation. In fact, I can truthfully say that I heard more profane language in one year’s attendance at Medical College than on this entire trip.

At the first stop out of Reno still more men came aboard. A trainman came to the far door with a lantern, but one look sufficed and he returned no more. At Truckee the car was switched to a siding.

“Beat it, boys, here come the bulls!” shouted a hobo.

Like dry peas out of a pod, the hoboes scattered out of that car and fled in all directions as officers flung open the door at our side and emptied their revolvers into the interior. We remained motionless as the bullets thudded into the wood, and in a few minutes looked out to see the detectives chasing the fleeing hoboes across the yards.

“Now is our chance,” whispered Dan. “Make for the round-house yonder.”

We dived within the yawning portal and crouched within the engine pit. The place seemed empty and we sat in silence for a time. What to do we did not know. It was impossible to remain where we were for long; discovery meant a trip to jail and a month on the chain-gang for Dan. The town lies in a mountain fastness with snowsheds protecting the tracks, so that foot travel was out of the question, and our money was almost gone. While we studied the problem, a long freight came through without stopping. We ran out to the main track and the first thing that caught my eye was the familiar old refrigerator car with the open hatch in which we had already ridden so many miles.

“Quick, quick!” I cried. “We must catch that train.”

The engine had cleared the yard and was gathering headway with each turn of the wheels. Racing madly beside the track, I made a desperate lunge and caught a hand rod. My arms seemed torn from their sockets as my body was snapped into a horizontal position by the speeding train. A moment I clung, unable to move, then with a fierce scramble, I found my footing and clambered to the top of the car. Dan had landed on the car behind and together we started for the head of the train.

A brakeman appeared on the top of a boxcar. At sight of a woman coolly parading the roof of the freight, his jaw dropped and he started so violently as to make me fear for his safety. We stopped on a flat car and gave him a brief explanation, then hurried forward and swung ourselves into the familiar ice chest, for we were nearing the snowsheds.

The trainman soon joined us. He told a long story about some division official who was death on hoboes, and who made a practice of travelling up and down the line and pouncing on the train crews at unexpected places in hope of catching them in some infraction of the rules, which would enable him to indulge in his love of discipline. This martinet took a special delight in harrying the men, and would suspend an employé for sixty days on the smallest pretext, or deprive a man of his credits for the slightest infraction of some unimportant rule.

“He’s a Company pet, who was born with the big head and then bitten by the efficiency bug,” our companion concluded, “and if he should catch a woman on this freight it would be as much as all our jobs are worth.”

At that moment a man thrust his head into the manhole and called the brakeman out. He ascended quickly and his place was taken by the other, who proved to be the conductor. Dan started to speak, but was interrupted.

“Let the woman talk. I’ll get the truth from her.”

So I began the old, old story, and after a bit secured permission to ride as close to Sacramento as we dared. We were well outside the snowsheds when the conductor left us, and I settled down with the thought that the worst was over.

As the train pulled out of a station the light was cut off abruptly and a young man in a business suit bounced into the ice chest. As he landed, I looked up and caught sight of the horrified face of the brakeman leaning over the manhole.

“Who put you in here? How much did you pay that brakeman to let you ride?” he demanded fiercely.

“Why, we haven’t paid anybody—we haven’t seen any brakeman. We just got in when the train slowed up back there a ways; and we took good care not to see any brakeman or let any brakeman see us,” I answered innocently.

“But what are you doing here, and where are you going?”

“Oh, we came up from Sacramento for a little camping trip. My husband thought he could get a little work in the mountains, but he couldn’t find any, and we spent most of our money, and then started to walk home. This old freight came crawling along, and there wasn’t anybody on the far side of the track, so just for a lark we slipped in here.”

“So, you’re sure your husband didn’t pay the brakeman for the chance, are you?”

“You bet I am. Do you suppose anybody would pay good money for riding in this old hole? Besides, we haven’t any money. I couldn’t see anything wrong about riding, exactly. But, of course, we didn’t want the trainmen to see us. I was afraid they might not like it, and I’m dead sure nobody but you knows we’re here.”

The brakeman’s face appeared for an instant in the manhole above, then disappeared from view.

“You’re not going to put us off, way out here, are you?” I asked pleadingly. “It’s awful hard to walk clear down to Sacramento this hot weather, and carry these heavy bundles. It didn’t cost the railroad company anything for us to ride here. We ain’t doing any harm.”

The young man’s face softened a trifle and he launched into a long dissertation on the evils of jumping trains, the hobo menace, and kindred topics, to all of which I listened with wide eyes and bated breath. The train drew into a station and out again, while he was thus absorbed, and he made no move to put us off. I was drawing him on with deft questions and flattering attention when the brakeman’s head appeared once more.

“What in blazes is all this?” he bawled. “Hey, you bums, come out of there.”

Our kind instructor cast a startled look aloft. “Why, hello, Condon,” he called ingratiatingly. “You are on the job, I see. But these people don’t happen to be bums. Everything is all right. I’ll assume the responsibility, so just trot along and leave us alone.”

He resumed his pompous attitude and took up the delightful task of enlightening me on the importance of his position, which he declared was extremely difficult to fill. I gathered that the destinies of the entire railroad system rested on his narrow shoulders; that he was the original efficiency expert; and that all other employés of the Company, from train boy to superintendent, were a lot of mutts, if not worse, and were it not for his constant supervision and stern discipline, the division would just naturally go to the bow-wows. The miles slipped by as I drank in this information with greedy ears. His chest expanded like a pouter pigeon and his hat band seemed to stretch visibly.

The three of us were standing in one end of the restricted space when once more the daylight was cut off and the conductor slid down beside us. Completely ignoring our existence he turned a cold and hostile eye upon our companion.

“Sir,” he began stiffly, “I have been informed by a member of my crew that a high official of this division has taken it upon himself not alone to disregard the strict rules of this company regarding the carrying of passengers on freight trains, but has arrogated to himself the control and management of those directly responsible to me. Such a situation is unprecedented, sir, and I hereby make formal protest against its continuance.”

While he was speaking I saw the shadow of a man pass the opening overhead.

“But, my dear man,” stammered the “high official,” wholly taken aback. “How can you make such statements? I had absolutely no intention—no such intentions at all. How can you make such a charge?”

“The facts, sir, speak for themselves. My brakeman discovers his superior closeted in the ice chest of a refrigerator car with a young woman and an unknown man. When he endeavours to exercise that authority with which he is vested by the rules of this company and requests the said young woman and unknown man to leave the train at once, you, my dear sir, impose the force of your superior station, and taking all responsibility upon yourself order him to ‘trot along.’ I claim that such conduct destroys efficiency and is fatal to discipline.”

Our young entertainer seemed at a loss for a reply; then he plunged into a long explanation of our presence and his intentions regarding us. The conductor listened with an air of undiminished coldness.

“Very well, sir,” he said shortly, at the close of the harangue. “Your conduct is, of course, highly irregular, but I shall make no report of it—at least not at present,” fixing the unfortunate “high official” with a piercing glance. “As to your er—guests, I shall leave the matter of their disposition entirely in your hands, since you have assumed the responsibility.”

The conductor swung himself out of the ice box while the young man turned his harassed gaze upon us.

“You better get off at Auburn,” he said weakly. “Climb out as soon as the train stops, so nobody will see you.”

As he clambered slowly out, the general impression was that of a man about three sizes smaller than the one who had entered.

We left the car the instant the train stopped at Auburn, but as we hastened away we were hailed with loud shouts by the train crew, who followed us on the run, headed by the brakeman. We stopped behind a row of boxcars as they joined us. With whoops and howls they slapped one another on the back, danced about, doubled up and fairly rolled on the ground in convulsions of laughter.

“Say, didn’t our old man hand that fellow some chunks of language? Say now; didn’t he?” gasped the brakeman when he could speak.

“He passed it out like a regular dictionary. Just the same kind of dope that Little Tom-tit has been feeding us on so long,” sputtered the fireman, who it seems had left the engine on the way down to join the gleeful circle about the manhole while the circus was going on within.

“Well, I guess I punctured his tire, all right,” vouchsafed the conductor. “Guess he’ll go a little easy on efficiency and discipline with this crew for a while.”

“I wouldn’t have missed that performance for five hundred dollars,” broke in the rear brakeman. “It was the richest thing I ever heard.”

“You should have heard Miss Innocence here stringing him along when he first came aboard. Her eyes kept a-glowing bigger and bigger, and his chest kept a-swelling and a-swelling, till I thought I’d bust. Oh, he was a wonderful man, all right, all right.”

“Well, boys,” remarked the conductor, whipping off his cap. “You all admit you enjoyed a good show, that would have had a very different ending if it hadn’t been for the quick wit of this gritty lady. Chip in now, and pay for your reserved seats.”

Money rattled into the cap and despite our protestations the conductor forced it into Dan’s hands. With quip and jest the men bade us good-bye, and we passed over to the main street in search of a restaurant. Our hunger appeased, we marched boldly to the station and took a passenger train to Sacramento, where we made connection with the river boat for San Francisco.

So now I sit on the deck of the steamer and watch the green and fertile country glide past. From time to time a signal flutters on the bank, the boat swings over and the crew rapidly loads great boxes of plums, luscious peaches, early pears, and crates of seedless grapes. Here comes a man with a truckload of magnificent Burbank plums. I once read of the little plum with the enormous pit, from which the California wizard evolved this beautiful fruit. He did not attempt to change the nature of the plum to that of some transcendental fruit. He simply modified the environment so that the inherent qualities of the plum might develop. Would that the environment of the little children of the slums and sweat shops, to whom the meanest cull that lies in yonder orchard would be a gracious treat, might be so modified as to give their essentially beautiful, natural qualities an opportunity for healthy, normal growth.

I give a sigh of contentment and happiness as I realise that the hazardous journey is ended. And now I realise another fact. For weeks I have been free from colds or cough; my digestion is superior to that of an ostrich; a ten-mile jaunt with twenty pounds of baggage on my back would be mere child’s play. A more healthy human specimen than myself it would be hard to find, so I feel free to dismiss the spectre of tuberculosis along with the other horrors of the slums.

But physical benefit is not the greatest gain. A change has taken place in my psychology. My belief in the inherent kindliness and unselfishness of the human heart has been strengthened. In cases of cruelty I recognise an outside influence or pressure that warps natural instincts. Toward the trainmen especially I am deeply grateful. When one realises the risks they ran to aid a couple of outcasts, and the kindness and consideration so often manifested, a wonderful appreciation of their sterling manhood is born. Never again will I think it necessary to change human nature before we can improve social conditions. I am conscious of a deeper human sympathy; a wider vision; a greater understanding of the problems of the under dog and a closer sense of fellowship with him. I feel that I am learning the divine lesson of human unity, which is rooted in the Fatherhood of God and manifests itself as the Brotherhood of Man.

------------------------------------------------------------------------

TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES

1. Table of Contents added by transcriber. 2. Silently corrected typographical errors and variations in spelling. 3. Archaic, non-standard, and uncertain spellings retained as printed. 4. Enclosed italics font in _underscores_.

End of Project Gutenberg's The Adventures of a Woman Hobo, by Ethel Lynn