Beggars of Life (7 page)

C
LOUDS
formed in the east and bulged upward across the sky. At first they were white and blue dots travelling in regiments of scattered wonder. The largest of them broke as it reached the moon, and trailed a foggish blue and gray mist over it. Then stars and moon seemed to travel rapidly from the clouds, until a great mountain of dark vapour appeared suddenly from the west, and spread like an ocean of ink above the inverted bowl.

An intense darkness covered the earth. Then a tiny white opening appeared in the east, through which one star shone. A swift wind blew across the corn field, and the blades rustled as though an army marched through it. Another wind followed the first one, and whistled along the track like a gale through an empty barn.

The white opening closed and blotted the star from view. The clouds above scattered, then merged together. A roar of thunder shook the earth, and streaks of lightning blazed jaggedly to the horizon.

“We'd better beat it down the track for shelter,” I suggested.

“Nope,” returned Bill, “we'll cut through the field. I don't like to walk along the tracks in a storm. The steel draws the lightnin'. I seen a bum git struck dead on a track once. It turned him blacker'n a Jew's derby. He jist threw up his hands and fell ker-flop on the ties. It burned his clothes off, too.”

We walked through an open place in the field about a hundred yards from the railroad. One gust of wind followed another, and a few large drops of rain fell. Suddenly a streak of light travelled along the fence with ripping speed. “She hit the wire fence,” said Bill. “It's a darn good thing we moved from where we were.”

As we came to the edge of the cornfield and observed a straw stack standing a few hundred yards away, Bill said, “Let's beat it for there and bore in.”

Between flashes of lightning and one thunder clap after another, we ran to the stack and succeeded in making a straw cave before a deluge of rain swept over the field.

We slept soundly.

When morning came, the sky had cleared and rain drops glistened on the wheat stubble under the early risen sun.

A black rooster scratched the ground near a house a short distance away, while several white hens scrambled after the proceeds of his labour.

“I see where we eat,” laughed Bill. “Let's go.”

As we made our way to the road, we saw a large brick building upon which was a slate roof and many lightning rods. Many smaller brick buildings surrounded the larger one. “Gosh, that looks like Pontiac, but thank the Lord it ain't,” murmured Bill, as we walked into the yard in front of the house.

An aged bull dog waddled toward us from near the corner of the house. It grumbled until I stroked its head. This act brought peace at once. We followed the dog around to the kitchen door.

A heavy German woman answered our knock. Without hesitating a second, she opened the door and invited us inside.

Seated at a table in the kitchen was a ponderous man with a bald head, a red beard, and a close-shaven upper lip. He was not to be made uneasy by the entrance of beggars, so he finished drinking the coffee out of his saucer. As the liquid disappeared, his first finger could be seen stretched in the saucer, like a log in a pond from which the water had been drained.

Neither man nor woman was loquacious. When the man did speak, he uttered half inarticulate guttural sounds that seemed to work their way painfully out of his heavy throat.

The ancient bull dog opened the screen door and waddled clumsily across to his master. The man scratched the top of its head with his fingers, while the dog stood as still as a statue. When the man withdrew his hand, the dog looked up pleadingly, and noticing the look, the farmer resumed scratching the head again.

We did most of the talking, and found the people interested listeners.

“What's that place over there?” asked Bill, pointing in the direction of the brick buildings.

“The Poor House,” answered the woman.

“I thought it might be the Reform School,” returned Bill.

“Naw, naw,” grunted the farmer.

“You boys ain't from Reform School, be you. No runaways, huh!” asked the woman.

“Nope,” replied Bill, “an' I'm darn glad of it.”

“Two boys ran ‘way 'bout month ago, an' man down the road told police on 'em. He got t'irty dollars for tellin' on 'em, an' dey go back to jail few more years.” The woman shook her head slowly. “Men do anyt'ing for money,” she continued.

“I'll say they will,” commented Bill. “I know a farmer who took a runaway kid in from the Ref. He gave him a nice flop in the best bed, an' the kid was poundin' his ear for dear life, while the farmer was drivin' to town to tell the cops on 'im. That was me.”

The farmer and his wife nodded their heads as though entertaining tramps and amateur convicts was a daily occasion.

“Well, Sir, that was funny,” chuckled Bill. “The guy was too darn kind, an' I felt leary someway, an' woke up with a scared feelin', an' put on my rags and sneaked out the front door and climbed up an old apple tree to watch things. I knew I couldn't git far away, so I just took the big chance. It wasn't long before the farmer came drivin' back with two other guys drivin' after him. I could hear 'em talkin' when they popped their heads in the bedroom. They opened the front room door after a bit, an' Mrs. Farmer came out. I could see the light shinin' on 'em all, an' I knew the one man was the Sheriff because I'd seen him at Pontiac. He was sore as he said to the farmer, ‘Why didn't you bring the kid into town with you? We'd have nabbed him there. It's like huntin' a needle'n a haystack now. Some of them kids are bad actors. He's liable to figure out that you've double-crossed him an' come back here an' burn the house down. You can't never tell.'

“I almost giggled out loud for I could see the guy look scared like a kid caught swipin' candy. ‘Which way do you reckon he went?' the farmer asked the Sheriff. ‘I don't know,' blabbed out the Sheriff. ‘He didn't even let me know he got away from Pontiac. He never told you he wouldn't flop here all night, but he let you drive to town like a boob, and here we all are, like a bunch of damn fools, over a fifteen-year-old kid.'

“Just then an apple fell from the tree and busted the Sheriff on the head. ‘What the hell, here? The kid's throwin' apples at us.' I darn near fell out of the tree. Then a darn-fool bird got excited an' started to chatter as though I was coppin' her eggs. I felt like a yegg opening a safe an' findin' a dick sittin' in there wit' a gun pointin' at him. Finally the yap and his old lady went in the house, and the Sheriff and the other guy went in after them. I had a notion to climb down and beat it, and just then they walked out in the yard again. They climbed in the rig and drove away, and the farmer beat it in the house and soon all the lights were out. Somethin' just kept sayin' to me, ‘Old boy, you lay low. You might stick your foot in a trap.' I kept quiet, and could hear the bird talkin' to itself in the nest, for birds dream just like people.

“Finally, a guy came walkin' along the road alone. I watched him walk all around the house and barn. You could of sold me for a dime, for I was so scared I darn near shivered myself out of the tree. The man walked back in the front yard again, and stood under the tree for a long time, and I kept worryin' about the bird, but she just talked low to her eggs. The fellow walked down the road, and I was about to climb from the tree and beat it the other way, when I'll be danged if he didn't walk back again.

“Being about all in, I dozed off, and dreamt I was a long ways from the Ref, and the rotten grub, and the snitches, and mean guards. I started to fall and woke up and scared the bird out of her nest, and there was the guy standin' out in the road. I made up my mind that if he left again I'd beat it out of the tree, for if I got caught up there in daylight I'd have to stay all day. He beat it down the road again, and I beat it and run around the house and back of the barn. I lay there behind a big manure pile to get my bearin's. Pretty soon I heard a rig drive in the barnyard and stop, and I dug a hole in the manure pile just like we did in that straw last night. The ammonia darn near choked me. The Sheriff and his deputy stood right near the manure pile, and I could hear him say, ‘That kid hain't gone very far, surely. I've got a hunch he's right around the barn here.'

“‘Yeah,' the other man said, ‘he's liable to be hotfootin' it ten miles from here by now.'

“‘Maybe so. Them little devils are harder to ketch than the old birds,' I heard the Sheriff say.

“I couldn't stand the ammonia in the manure any more, so I fixed a hole big enough to get my face out so's I could breathe. I kept thinkin' what a boob I was to trust that farmer, but then, I thought, ‘I was so darn hungry I had to take a chance on somebody, and if they'd of caught me stealin' they'd of soaked me a few years more.' I got dopey, and must of slept a couple of hours. When I woke, I didn't know whether the guys were there or not, but I thought, ‘The devil with 'em,' and beat it right across the fields till I came to a haystack where I flopped till about noon the next day. I woke up so hungry my belly thought my throat was cut—so I started to walk again. When I saw a guy a little ways off hoein' corn, I made up my mind I'd give him a chance to git fifteen bucks for turnin' me over to the cops. I beat it over to him.

“I felt tickled when I saw his face, for I could tell he wasn't a farmer, but an old hobo booze-hound. He was jist gettin' over a black eye, and his nose was crooked, an' his little finger was cut off. I could tell he was a bum all right, so I walked right up and told him my story, and how I was hungrier than a tramp in Texas. I kin see the old guy laughin' yet, when he said, ‘No—Gawd—you ain't that hungry.'

“The tramp told me he heard everybody talkin' how I had done the farmer out of the fifteen bucks. He said, ‘Listen, kid, I'll go in an' eat. They don't lets me eat in the house, but I'm glad of it now. You wait here an' I'll bring you a lot of grub an' a can of java. Then you kin beat it back to that haystack an' lay low till night, an' I'll fetch a lot more grub an' java over there when it's dark. I'll have a day's pay comin' an' I'll bum the apple knocker for a buck and give it to you.'

“I flopped in a fence corner till he came back.

“The old guy brought me the grub, and I beat it to the haystack. He gave me three magazines too. Two of them was farmer papers, but I read everything in 'em, how to raise hogs an' chickens an' cows. That night the old boy came again, and gave me the grub an' the buck, an' I beat it about ten o'clock when the hobo went over to flop. I made twenty miles by mornin', but got picked up in Chi, an' they took me back anyhow, but that farmer didn't get the fifteen bucks for givin' me up.”

The heavy farmer rose at the end of Bill's story and stood looking out of the window with his hands in his overalls pockets.

“You serve long time?” he finally gulped at Bill.

“Around five years,” answered Bill.

I noticed a weary look came into Bill's face as he answered with half-shut eyes. The woman busied herself making sandwiches at this moment.

“Did you learn nothin'?” asked the farmer.

“I learned more how to be a crook than anything else. A lot of things you wouldn't believe if I told you. There wasn't a kind guy in the whole joint. Lots of crooks learn the game in Reform Schools, believe me.”

In a few minutes grateful goodbyes were said to the kindhearted couple, and with sandwiches wrapped in paper, we went happily down the road.

No breeze blew on the prairie. Not a cloud was in the sky. Insects droned lazily along the road, and grasshoppers remained in one place long moments at a time. An immense butterfly with brown and white dotted wings flew along the track, and made an attempt to light on me.

“You can tell it's goin' to be a scorcher,” I said to Bill. “Nothing has any pep early in the mornin' on a hot day.”

“We walked for some miles until we came to a freight train on a sidetrack, near a little town. It was not over ten cars in length, and the heavy engine puffed slowly like a tired horse breathing at the end of a long furrow. A few whirls of smoke came from its stack and curled in the air like little lost clouds hurrying back to the sky. The train crew lounged lazily along the track and gave us no sign of greeting.

Some men worked in a yellow field, and the noise of a binder echoed through the still air. It travelled to the far end of the field, and its clicking noise subsided like the last weak strokes of a hammer on a steel rail. The music of a church bell rolled over the fields, and down the track, and on forever into silence.

Suddenly a faint rumbling was heard in the still country, like the rolling echo of thunder in a far off place. It grew more and more distinct, and then a louder and mightier rumbling was heard. The shrieking of an engine whistle split the air, and the ground vibrated. Some quails, startled, flew from a fence corner.

A cloud of dust whirled along the track and the mail train became a faint speck as it thundered toward Chicago.

“She's sure ramblin' hell bent for election,” declared Bill. “I wish I was on her. She'll be in Chi in no time.”

The freight train moved slowly off the side track. “We can't keep out of sight, as the train's too short and the country's too flat. All we kin do is take a chance on the shacks and con bein' regular guys,” said Bill.

In a few moments, we were aboard the train, and in another few moments, we were put off. We stood where a road crossed the tracks, and as the caboose rolled by we put our hands to our noses, while the conductor stood upon the rear platform and shook his fist at us.

We circled through the town, and forgot the train and its hostile crew. “Gee, it seems like a year since last night. I wonder how that dick feels. You notice they ain't hardly any bums travellin' along here. That's always a bad sign. Tough country—they get the word, and steer shy. Of course a lot of them are up in the harvest fields now,” mused Bill.

“I think that's where I'll go, Bill. I'll stay a couple of months in North and South Dakota. Why don't you come up with me?”

“Not me, 'Bo. I've got enough hoboin' for this year. Every danged thing goes wrong. I might make a trip or two between Chi and Cincy or Cleveland, but that's all.”

We loitered on the streets of the town a short time and returned to the railroad at a slight elevation of perhaps thirty feet. Beyond, the country stretched like an immense checker-board, dotted all over with squares of green and yellow. Not a tree was in sight. The corn stood as still as dead trees in a forest, while waves of heat rolled over it.

A string of box cars stood about a mile below the town on a side track. We looked back at the depot. “I wonder if that's the same freight. Gosh—, I hope not,” sighed Bill, as we walked toward it.

“It must be,” I replied, “because there ain't a clear track yet. The signal's against them.”

As we drew near the train, Bill said, “They ain't much use. You kin see a field mouse in this flat country. They'll be layin' for us, anyhow, but we'll beat it across to that cornfield, an' try an' make it when it pulls out.”

Entering the field, we walked toward the train and waited. At last a fast mail thundered through on its way to St. Louis.

Hiding at the edge of the field until the engine and a few cars passed, we made a dash for an open box car and sprang into the door as the train gathered momentum

Once safely inside, we peeked out of the door in the direction of the caboose. A man's head was seen to pop back from the window. “It's dollars to doughnuts the shack saw us,” I wagered.

“Maybe not, Red. Let's hope he's blind. Let's eat this lump, anyhow.” We ate the sandwiches which the woman had given us, and then made ourselves more at home by hanging our coats and hats on nails in the car. We closed one door and sat against it while we looked through the open door opposite.

Suddenly the noise of many feet was heard on the roof above. The door was pushed shut at once, while a hammer was heard pounding on the already closed door. We were on our feet instantly.

“They're tryin' to nail us in,” yelled Bill, as we rushed to the recently closed door so as to open it before the nails were driven in. We slammed it back with a screeching noise. The men at the top worked at a disadvantage, as they did not dare lean too far over the side for fear of diving suddenly to the ground below if the train lurched.

The man who held the hammer became enraged at the useless effort of trying to nail a door that would not stay still. He threw the hammer viciously in our direction. It struck Bill on the shoulder and fell to the floor. “Pick it up,” yelled Bill. I grabbed the hammer and cracked a man's arm that hung below the roof. Feet were heard scampering above as the train stopped suddenly with a violent jerk and threw us to the floor. We scrambled to our feet and jumped out of the door. The entire train crew awaited us outside.

I butted the engineer in his protruding stomach, and he grunted heavily and rolled on the ground. A brakeman pulled a blackjack and missed my head, but the force of the blow threw him forward on the ground. The conductor grabbed at me as I zigzagged the hammer swiftly to right and left. He missed me. Bill threw a grimy fist in his eye. The fallen brakeman had not yet regained his feet, and seemed in no hurry to do so. The fat engineer sat on the ground and thought, perhaps, of a more peaceful scene. In a sudden glance, I saw the conductor's black eye, as he lay with his head on his arm.

The two brakemen and the fireman hesitated a moment, as men will who know not whether to charge or retreat. Bill grabbed the hammer from me, and rushed fiercely at the cowardly brakeman on the ground.

“Gimme that blackjack, or I'll break your jaw in,” he yelled. The brakeman handed the black jack over as though Bill were the conductor of the train. Bill gave me the hammer again.

With hammer and blackjack we rushed at the hesitating three, working the instruments before us as a swordsman wields a sword. The fireman alone blocked our advance, and Bill made a pass at him with the blackjack as though he would drive a spike into his head. The man's eyes opened wide as Bill suddenly shifted and hit him square on the nose. The blood spurted. The man groaned and collapsed.

We rushed to the end of the train, and crossed to the opposite side, and hurried through a cornfield in the direction of the engine. “Let's beat the damned thing out on the rods,” snapped Bill. “They'll never think we've got nerve enough to ride the train out now, an' they won't look for us underneath the cars.”

Dashing across to the train again, we were soon clinging to the iron rods underneath a car.

The engineer, fireman, and head brakeman walked so close to us on their way toward the engine that we could have reached out and touched their hands.

The engineer was saying, “I don't know what the hell I mixed up in the damned fracas for. I ain't a railroad dick, an' I don't get paid for havin' my guts butted out. That damned kid's part goat.”

“Did you see that blond kid battle? Holy jumpin' turnips! I thought he hit me on the nose wit' a sledge,” said the fireman.

“The con's goin' to put the cops next when we hit G——, an' they'll come out an' git em.”

The voices died away, while we still clung to the iron rods and looked at the rails beneath.

In a few minutes the engine whistle blew two sharp blasts, the signal to leave, and the train was soon on its way. Small stones and gravel blew in our faces, and the wheels clicked monotonously as they rattled over the rails.

The train stopped for some time in G——. At last it clattered over the interlocked tracks of another railroad that crossed there. “I wish I had my coat,” I sighed.

“Me, too,” replied Bill. We had left them hanging in the box car.

Stiff and sore, we left the train at J——as dusk fell over the earth.