Beggars of Life (5 page)

An' squirt their milk all aroun'.

Where the lunches grow on the bushes,

And bump the 'boes in the eyes,

An' every night at eleven,

The sky rains down apple pies.

The sun went down while the men laughed and sang, and twilight touched the edge of the woods. It softened even the features of the men at the camp. Crickets and frogs set up a dismal singing. “I'm three sheets in the wind,” said Bill, as he twirled his broom-stick deftly in his hand.

A husky tramp lit a battered lantern and placed it on the car-door table. “If some guy gets some more wood, I'll start cookin' some chuck,” he said. “Lanky needs a rest.” Lanky was stretched out on the grass. Three hoboes started to gather wood at once. One of them could be heard singing in the woods as he picked up the pieces.

Two other men turned from the river and joined the tramps at the fire. They looked like hoboes in the indistinct light. The tramps at the fire spoke cautiously, not feeling certain of the identity of the callers. One of the men stood near Bill for a moment, and then stepped back further. Bill stepped back with him. The second man walked easily over to the other side, and stood at the far edge of the crowd near the husky hobo who had just placed a kettle of water on the fire. “Hurry up wit' that wood, you guys,” yelled the husky hobo.

The man near Bill covered the crowd with a gun and said sharply, “Up with your hands; you're pinched.” A tramp kicked the lantern over. The detective turned slightly in confusion. Bill crashed the broom-stick across the wrist of the man, and the revolver fell to the ground as he shrieked. The thudding of a heavy fist was heard across from Bill. A body fell suddenly and lay quiet.

The men returned with the wood, and instantly took in the situation and dropped it hastily. A man picked up the gun from where it had fallen, while Bill and another vagabond knocked the attempted user of it to the ground, and kicked him fiercely.

The one-armed tramp spoke up. “Search 'em. Maybe they're yeggs, an' ain't dicks.”

The men were searched and two pairs of handcuffs were found on them. Bill spoke softly to me. “This is the same guy I kicked off the rattler last night,” he said.

“I know it,” I whispered back.

“Well, what'll we do wit' 'em?” asked the husky tramp.

“Feed 'em to the fish, if they'll eat 'em,” said Lanky, who was awakened by the confusion.

The detective who had been hit by the husky tramp lay moaning on his back. “I socked 'im jist like I hits a boiler with a sledge,” said the husky man. “When I slam 'em, they fall, believe me.”

“You sure you didn't break his jaw?” asked Lanky.

The husky hobo leaned down and worked the man's jaws sideways with his hands. “Nope, they ain't broke. They just sag a little,” said he.

“Throw that gat in the river,” commanded the one-armed vagrant to the man who had picked up the gun. “Don't get caught wit' it on you.”

“I'll take a chance, an' pawn it. She's wort' twenty-five smacks.”

“All right, you're the doctor, but I don't travel wit' no guy that's got a gat, not through this hostile diggin's,” was the terse response.

“Let's handcuff 'em to the trees an' beat it,” suggested the husky individual. You're goin' to Chi, Lanky, you kin write the Chief o' p'lice a card an' tell 'em where they are. That's more'n they'd do for us.”

The two helpless officers were dragged to trees about ten inches in diameter. Unconscious still, they were seated in upright positions against the trees, with their wrists handcuffed on the other side.

When this was done, the one-armed man said, “Now let's beat it outta here. We kin get Number One west, afor' these guys come to. They'll be no one at the depot now when she pulls in. The dicks'll be detained on important business elsewhere. Ha, ha, ha.”

All left for the depot but Lanky, who walked to the eastern end of the yards and waited for a freight bound for Chicago.

An hour later seven of us rode Number One out of Clinton.

F
OUR
of the men left the mail train at Cedar Rapids. Bill and I rode on to Boone with the one-armed man. Having a small amount of money, we purchased food and took it to a hobo camp, where we remained until late afternoon before boarding a freight train for the west.

The crew saw us climb into an empty box car as the train left the yards, but did not molest us. As it rolled slowly along the tracks, we made ourselves comfortable for the one hundred and forty miles to Omaha.

We travelled about ten miles across a high viaduct that spanned a great chasm below. Standing at the door of the car, we watched the smoke from the engine curl in black clouds above the green trees that resembled bushes at the bottom of a canyon. Wind-swayed, the trees undulated like the waves of a green ocean.

The train stopped on the western end of the viaduct and the entire crew came to the box car and attempted to collect money from us. “Pay us, or hit the gravel,” snarled the conductor.

“We ain't got nothin',” said the one-armed man. “Besides, don't you guys get your wages from the road? Why take a tramp's money?”

“Never mind that. We ain't haulin' live stock,” answered a brakeman.

Realizing that an open fight would do no good because the train crew was armed, we crawled out of the car.

The conductor, in an effort to collect a smaller amount, said, “Come on, we'll let you ride for a buck apiece. Three dollars ain't too much.”

“Nope,” answered Bill, “I wouldn't give you a cent if you hauled me cheap as a letter. It's against my principles.”

“How about you, Red?” asked a brakeman.

“Do you know what the Pope told the Cardinal?” I asked in reply.

“Nope,—What?”

“To go to hell,” I answered.

The crew's quest for vagabonds' riches, ended, a brakeman stood near with a gun while the rest of the men went to their posts. Then the train slowly pulled out, and we watched it merge into distance.

We walked to a shanty at the end of the viaduct where a man sat in the door whittling a green stick of wood.

He was about thirty-three years old, with flabby face, black eyes, and flat nose. He wore an army hat, which sat jauntily on the back of his head. His shirt was open, and disclosed an American flag tattooed on his chest.

“How far's it back to Boone?” Bill asked.

The man looked up from his whittling and answered tersely,” 'Bout ten miles.”

‘How far's it to a town t'other way?” asked the one-armed man.

“'Bout twenty to where a train stops,” answered the man with the flag on his chest.

“Well,” said Bill, “let's hike across this bridge to Boone.”

“You can't do that, Mates. That's what I'm here for—to let no one cross. Train caught a guy out there in the middle one time, an' bumped him down in them trees like a dead bird,” said the flag-chested man as he resumed whittling.

We stood silent for a moment, and he continued, looking up, “A train slows up here to-night, and you might be able to make the rods out on her. She's a meat run, and travels fast as a mail train. All sealed cars. You might as well stay here, because you'd have to walk five miles so's to cross an' hit the pike for Boone, and then you'd have ten or twelve miles by road.” It was easy to be seen that the man was lonely.

The sun soon sank, and the sky faded to a dull grey. Then a blood red cloudy line appeared along the horizon, and grey clouds, resembling cement castles with turrets, rested upon it. Yellow clouds rolled above the castles, like immense butterflies unable to find a bush upon which to light.

In a short time all turned scarlet, then purple black, then mauve. At last, dark shadows crept over the earth, and all the colours merged into blue, through which the stars shone.

Fascinated by the scene, I watched silently while the three others talked of nothings.

Hoot owls began calling to each other down below in the trees. A dog could be heard barking ever so far away.

“These nights remind me of the Philippines,” said the watchman.

“You been in the Islands?” asked the one-armed man.

“I sure have,” replied the watchman. “Three years.”

“Gosh, so was I,” said the one-armed man.

“Lose your arm over there?” asked the watchman.

“Yep, but not for my country, for a girl.” No one else spoke, and the one-armed hobo continued:

“A guy don't get the right kind of girls in this country. They're all corn-fed. This little girl I knew was part Bagobo, part Filipino, and the other half Chinese. She was as purty as ham and eggs to a bum. She belonged to the Mestizoz; they're the Jews of the Island.” The watchman nodded. “This little girl was a darb, and I was nuts about her. Her dad was a Chink and owned a gamblin' house. She used to love me too, and Lordy,—how she could love. She was only sixteen, as they come women early in that country. Her mother's people were Bagobos. The Mestizoz won't fight; they're too busy collectin' interest to fight. But the Bagobos'll fight, and they can ride like Indians, and carry spears when they battle. They keep records of their horses for years, and they love them like the Arabs.

“One time this little girl's dad give her ten bucks. She bought a lot of sugar with it, and then sent a lot of servants outen the woods to gather guavas. She made the cook make the jelly and then she had the servants peddle it. She made a bunch o' dough this way, and then she went to tradin' jewellery. She got an iron safe, and put a lot of pearls and diamonds in it. She cheated like sin. I was sittin' purty on top of the world with four diamonds she give me. She sure knew how to make dough, and mind you, she was only sixteen.

“You know where the Diga river is?” asked the speaker of the watchman.

The latter answered, “Yep,” as he filled his pipe and lit it.

“Well, this was at a town called Vera. The country all around is danged purty. The women can ride horses like the men, and you ought to have seen that little blackheaded girl of mine ride. Sometimes I've a notion to go back. But maybe she's fat and ugly now. I know I am, but I didn't use to be.

“Her dad wanted to send her away to Spain to educate her, as a lot of them are sent everywhere to school. They always come back to the old life just like the Indians. It's just as good as ours at that, as all people like us do is work. I don't.

“My girl had a brother who was a priest, and darn smart. Her old man was a Christian when he was younger, then he turned to the Chink religion again. Lots of them turn Christian till they get a pile of money.

“Well, the old heathen suspicioned me likin' his girl, so one time he give a big dinner on New Year's day. It's in Feb'uary over there, and they hold a week's holiday and have roast pig and all the fixin's.

“I got stewed on some green booze that would tear the hide off a mule. So they called an old Chink doctor, and he explained a lot of junk to me, and felt my pulse on the bridge of my nose. Then someone busted me on the head and a lot of drunken Chinks and half-breeds started fightin' with me. They got me in a corner an' I had to fight like a Mick at Donnybrook Fair. My little girl kept screamin' and tryin' to get to me, but a Chink pulled her back every time. Another Chink come runnin' at me with a crooked knife and I picked up a chair and jabbed it at him. He come a tearin' in anyhow, and I uppercut him and stood him right on his wig, and he twirled around like a top. Some other Chinks got at me after I dropped a couple more. I was darn near all in myself, but I shot out my arm at a half-breed and another guy zipped it off with a long crooked knife. The blood spurted, an' my girl got away and run to me, and some other Chink grabbed her, while her old dad stood back shoutin' orders not to kill me, as that would of got him in hot water.

“I darn near bled to death, but the old Chink doctor stopped the blood, while I slept like a baby through it all.

“My three years was up in the Army in four months, and by that time my arm was all well, so they shipped me back to Frisco on a transport. The Chinks shipped the little girl away some-wheres, as I never saw her after the fight.”

He paused, and felt his empty sleeve, and resumed, “I came near gettin' the guard house, but the Captain wasn't a bad guy and I guess he thought losin' an arm was bad enough after losin' such a purty little gal. The Captain was a good judge of woman flesh, so he let me down easy. Anyhow, I think I'll beat it to Frisco and ship over there and look around.”

“She must have been a peach,” said the watchman. “I used to have a good lookin' little trick in Manila, and I often think about her. I've got a wife and three kids over in Boone now, but I wish to thunder I was a single guy again. Damned if I don't. To hell with married life.”

A yellow meat train thundered across the viaduct, as though carrying supplies to a starving army.

All four stood up. “This train'll run fifty miles without a stop,” said the watchman. “If you make her outta here, you're good for that far any-how.”

A man waved a lantern from the caboose, and then disappeared inside.

With a hasty, “So long,” to the watchman, and, “Good luck,” in return, we boarded the train.