Lantern Sam and the Blue Streak Bandits (21 page)

At the mention of Nantucket, a blond woman—a real hot tamale, by the way—who had been standing nearby, shrieked and then hurried over uninvited to join their conversation. “I apologize for eavesdropping, but I can’t help myself. I just
love
Nantucket. In fact, I bought this hat there. Isn’t it wonderful?”

I’m no expert on hats, but trust me, it
wasn’t
wonderful, and if that jumble of ruffles and ribbons had ever been within a hundred miles of Nantucket, I’m the King of Siam.

The woman in the hat was so doggone chipper that the Grayfields couldn’t help smiling politely as she yammered on
and on and on, even though I’m quite sure that they wished they could disappear. From my perch, all I wanted was to knock the phony smile off her face and that even phonier hat off the top of her head.

And that’s when it hit me. The hat! I’d seen it before; I was sure of it! The girl was different (or maybe she dyed her hair), but the hat was definitely the same one I had seen a few weeks earlier in the same car, not five feet from Poughkeepsie Pete.

After that, everything changed. Once I knew what I was looking for, I watched, fascinated, as Mr. Grayfield’s pocket watch, cuff links, fountain pen, and a money clip holding a substantial wad of cash all found their way into the bottomless pit of that horrible hat. While one hand distracted Mr. Grayfield with a friendly pat on the back, or pretended to brush lint off his jacket, the long, thin fingers of the other crept into every pocket they could find and removed the contents with astonishing ease. Then, in a perfectly choreographed dance, the tamale would come closer to Pete, and all the goodies went into the hat. Sure, Pete was a crook, but watching him reminded me of the time I saw Vladimir Horowitz play the piano at Carnegie Hall, his fingers flying up and down the keyboard in a frenzy. Like Horowitz, Poughkeepsie Pete was a genius.

Of course, that didn’t stop me from wanting to see him
and his pretty sidekick behind bars. A crook is a crook, and I had my own reputation to worry about. And so, when Miss Tamale started to make noises about going back to her room, I knew it was time for me to make my move.

I coiled myself like a spring and pounced, scattering that bonnet and Mr. Grayfield’s possessions from one end of the car to the other. The tamale screamed as everyone else in the car froze, staring openmouthed at her.

“I … I … how did all that stuff get in there?” she asked.

“A
very
good question,” said Clarence, who had walked in just in time to witness my flight and perfect landing. “I would love to hear your explanation. Come with me, miss. And you, too,” he added with a look in Pete’s direction.

“Me? What did I do?” Pete asked, his palms turned to the ceiling.

“Perhaps nothing,” Clarence said. “But let’s find out for sure.” He led them away to the mail room, where he locked them up until we got to the next station.

I wasn’t in the room for that interrogation, but Clarence told me later that the girl spilled her guts immediately. Pete admitted to nothing, uttering just five words: “I’m gonna kill that cat.”

When we arrived in Cleveland, the police were waiting at the station to take custody of Poughkeepsie Pete and Miss Tamale, but Pete had one final parting gift for me. The
Shoreliner’s engineer traveled with his dog, a behemoth named Peaches who was known far and wide for his hatred of all cats. I quickly learned to stay on the train while we were in the station in Cleveland, because the engineer would let Peaches out for a quick run outside before departing. I did not have a plan, however, if Peaches decided to come into the dormitory car, where I was minding my own business and trying to catch up on some much-deserved sleep.

As the police slapped the handcuffs on Pete and led him onto the platform, he shouted, “Come here, boy! Get the kitty!”

Every hair on my body stood on end, and in a flash, Peaches roared through the car like a tornado, twisting and howling as he sought me out. I bolted to the other end of the car, out the door, and into the maze of tracks, switches, and slow-moving trains, some arriving, some departing. Glancing over my shoulder, I saw Peaches burst through the open door after me, so I took a chance and ran between the wheels of a moving boxcar, hoping that he wouldn’t be foolish enough to follow. As I came out the other side, I found myself in the middle of another set of tracks with an accelerating locomotive bearing down on me from one direction and Peaches, who was even more persistent than I thought, galloping toward me from the other. I hesitated for a split second, then leaped to the far side of the tracks, away from Peaches.

For a few moments, we stared at each other through the wheels of the train as it
clackety-clacked
its way out of the rail yard. Lucky for me, it was a long train; I had time to catch my breath before figuring out how to get back aboard the Shoreliner and not get left behind. I was pretty sure that the engineer wouldn’t leave without Peaches, so all I had to do was get back before him.

I waited about one second too long. The section of rail that I was leaning against shifted suddenly, and before I knew what was happening, my tail felt as if it were being squeezed in a vise. I couldn’t move; I was trapped in the switching mechanism that makes it possible for trains to move from one set of tracks to another.

Peaches, meanwhile, paced back and forth on the other side of the moving train, whose caboose was getting closer and closer. As if that situation wasn’t quite bad enough, in the rail yard behind me, the engineer of yet
another
train sounded its horn, warning me to get off his track.

It didn’t look good for ol’ Lantern Sam. Heaven knows I’ve had my share of close calls and near misses (along with, let’s face it, a few direct hits), but it looked like my luck had finally run out. The only thing left to the Fates to decide was whether Peaches or the 5:15 from Akron would reach me first.

Heading in opposite directions, the two trains rumbled on
for an eternity, it seemed. Finally, the caboose of the departing train went by, its wheels squeaking noisily. With no train between us, Peaches threw himself into action, sending dirt and gravel flying in all directions as his giant paws tore into the ground.

Behind me, the 5:15 from Akron drew closer, horn blaring and brakes squealing. Fifteen feet … ten feet … five feet …

Peaches covered the short distance in no time, lunging at me with teeth bared and a look on his face that would have scared his own mother.

I squeezed my eyes shut and waited.

And then, nothing.

No Peaches tearing me limb from limb. No 5:15 from Akron squashing me like an insect.

I was still alive, and not only that, my tail was free again. At the crucial moment, the switch had opened, sending the train hurtling harmlessly past me and directly into the path of Peaches. Lucky for him, the cowcatcher did its job and tossed him to the side of the tracks without a scratch. He would live to fight another day.

And once again, we found ourselves on opposite sides of a moving train. This time, though, I was on the side closest to the Shoreliner, and I hightailed it back to the dormitory car. (Technically, I suppose I
bent
-tailed it. The top four inches of
my tail were permanently kinked, with the tip pointing to the left.)

Clarence was waiting for me. “Where have you been? I was starting to worry that you wouldn’t make it back in time.”

“Just out getting a little fresh air and exercise,” I said.

“What’s wrong with your tail? Somebody slam a door on it?”

“Something like that.”

“Well, be careful. I know you cats have nine lives and all, but that’s no excuse for carelessness. After that little incident with the lantern, I think you’re down to eight.”

I didn’t have the heart to tell him that, by my count, he was off by seven.

“I’ll take that, if you don’t mind,” said Ty calmly, his revolver pointed right at Ellie’s heart.

Women screamed. Men rushed forward, stopping when Ty waved the gun in their faces.

“Don’t nobody do nothing stupid,” he said, sneering. “Just stay where you are, everybody. I ain’t afraid to use Roscoe here.” He turned the gun back to Ellie and held out his other hand. “Hand over the necklace, little lady, and nobody gets hurt.”

Ellie narrowed her eyes and stuck her chin out. “Maybe I will and maybe I won’t.”

“Oh, I think you will,” said Connie, pulling her own gun and pointing it at Mrs. Strasbourg. “Tell your little princess to drop the rocks.”

The next thirty seconds lasted an eternity, and to this day, seventy-five years later, the events still play in extra-slow motion in my dreams, exactly the way I remember it all happening.

“Give him the necklace, Ellie,” said Clarence in a calm voice. “You heard what she said. They’re just
rocks
. Not worth anybody getting hurt over.”

Mrs. Strasbourg smiled at her. “He’s right, sweetheart. They don’t mean a thing.”

Ellie looked at Sam, still sitting up straight on Clarence’s shoulder. He nodded at her, and I looked around the room to see if anyone else had seen him do it. I guess no one expects a kid to be asking a cat for advice, though, because nobody seemed to notice anything out of the ordinary.

“Get ready, Henry,”
said Sam.
“There’s an emergency brake cord right behind you—do you see it? Good. When I give the signal, I want you to grab that cord and pull with everything you’ve got.”

“Are you sure?” I whispered. “What if—”

“Clarence, tell him it’s okay,”
said Sam. The sound of the train under our feet changed pitch as we started across a trestle bridge, high over Chautauqua Creek.

Clarence scratched his head, took a deep breath, and nodded. “Okay. I’m going to trust you, Sam. Do what he says, Henry.”

Ty moved a step closer to Ellie, his gun still trained on her. “C’mon, kid. Time’s up.”

“Get ready, Henry,”
said Sam.
“Remember, pull like your life depends on it. Because it does.”

I edged back to the side of the car and felt around until I found the emergency brake cord.

Ellie’s hand—the one not handcuffed to me, that is—remained tightly wrapped around the Blue Streak. “You’re going to jail, mister. And so are you,” she added with a sneer in Connie’s direction. “And
I’m
going to help put you there. Here—take it.”

She held the necklace out to Ty, who rudely snatched it from her fingers and then held it up to the light to admire it. For a few precious seconds, he was spellbound—utterly
hypnotized
—by the dazzling blue sapphire. That moment of hesitation would cost him dearly.

From his perch on Clarence’s shoulder, Sam shouted at me,
“NOW, Henry!”

I held my breath and pulled with all my might. Sam, meanwhile, launched himself toward Ty, a good six or eight feet away. The image of that calico missile flying through the air with all seventeen claws extended and teeth bared while screaming
“Mrrrraaaaa!”
is one that no one in that dining car will ever forget. Nor are they likely to forget the
look on Ty’s face, or his girlish, high-pitched scream as the majority of those skillfully sharpened claws dug into the skin of his neck and back.

As the train’s brakes took hold, screeching and squealing (
almost
as loud as Ty), everyone lurched forward, and a stumbling, sliding, careening, cursing mob hurtled toward the front of the car—with Sam and Ty leading the way. In desperation, Connie reached out and grabbed Ellie, dragging her to the floor, and suddenly I found myself clinging to the brake cord with one hand as the steel of the handcuffs cut deeper and deeper into the wrist that was still bound to Ellie.

Everything changed in a hurry, though. As I held on for dear life, I felt a distinct “snap” inside my wrist where the cuff pressed against it, and I almost passed out from the lightning bolt of pain that shot up my arm. The next thing I knew, the three of us—Connie, Ellie, and me—were crashing into Ty, who was still screaming and thrashing about, bleeding profusely and trying to rid himself of the crazed calico fly-papered to his face.

Over the eardrum-shattering noise of the wheels, screeching and skidding along the iron rails, and through the waves of pain in my arm, I heard one final, hideous scream from Ty as Sam bit into the soft, fleshy part of his
hand—the one holding the Blue Streak. The necklace hit the floor and slid away from them, coming to rest against the doorframe at the front of the car.

Connie, seeing the necklace slipping away, let go of Ellie (and her gun) and dived after it. Her revolver slid across the floor, stopping momentarily next to the necklace and then continuing into the vestibule. The sudden, violent braking had slammed open the train’s exit doors, and the gun skittered against the wall, spinning like a top for a moment before clanking down the steps and out of the train.

And still the train kept on, skidding on and on down the tracks; stopping several hundred tons of speeding iron isn’t like stopping Grandpa’s Ford, I learned.

Seeing the gun go overboard made Connie more determined to save the necklace, and her hand swung out to grab the jewels, missing by mere inches as they shook loose from their resting spot and started to slide toward the open door.