James stood in the open boxcar door watching the bright landscape slide by faster and faster as the freight gained speed. When the wheels were clicking at a rapid rate, he picked his bedroll from the floor and turned to search the dark corners for a place to recline. As his eyes adjusted, he distinguished the figures of two men. Even sitting down, with legs sprawled in front, they looked big. His initial surprise at not finding himself alone evaporated quickly when he noticed their ragged appearance and unshaven faces. Typical hobos, he thought. He was about to ignore them when the larger of the two nudged the smaller and spoke.
"Lookee here, Bo. We got nice clean company. Ain't he a cute one? Curly black hair young slender like a girl, ain't he? He's purr . . .ty."
Bo grinned a missing-tooth smile. "Sure is, Stretch." His giggle sounded like the gobble of a turkey.
"Bet he's got money on 'im, too, "Stretch said. He rubbed a big dirty hand around the stubble on his chin and eyed James as though he were appraising a prize hog. He beckoned James with his hand to approach them. James let his eyes rest on the one who was Bo for a moment, wondering if there was any help from him, or just more of the same.
Bo ran a heavy knuckled forefinger under his nose, wiped away dripping mucus and cleaned his finger on his pants. His eyes pierced James as though in anticipation.
James sized up the situation and made a decision. He stepped closer to the open door and looked out. The ground was moving by in a blur. The train must be traveling forty-five or fifty miles an hour, he thought. To jump would be to die. He gazed back at the two tramps, a sinking feeling of despair galled his insides.
Stretch beckoned him again. "Might's well come and be comfortable," he patted the bare floor beside him, as though offering a special seat. "No matter what. We aim to have your cooperation."
Bo got up and pushed the door shut.
The cars rolled for two days, stopping for short periods, but always going on. James was used. He fought at first, but he was no match for either one, let alone both. After the second time for each, he submitted meekly, one eye puffed shut from the blows, his lips split and crusted with scabs that never had the chance to heal, his body sore and bruised. The taste never left his mouth and one torn ear pained with incredible tensity.
Bo and Stretch shared their dry food and stale water with him. He ate sparingly. They denied him his clothes. He was cold, got little sleep.
When the train finally began to slow. Stretch snarled, "Get dressed!"
Bo threw Willis' torn clothing at him. "You're lucky they're too small for either of us or you'd find yourself off this car bare ass with no place to go."
Bo walked to the sliding door, slipped it open on a narrow crack. As though talking to himself, he said, "We'll be stopping here while they switch us over. Only gonna be to be a minute."
Stretch waved James toward the opening. "This is where you get off, sweetheart. It's 'bout three miles this side of El Paso. Freight's going on, but you ain't. Don't want you hollering and screaming for the yard bulls when the train pulls in, so you jump when Bo tell you, or he'll kick your ass off and it won't be easy on you."
Numb with relief at the thought of escape, James only nodded inanely. "What about my bedroll?"
"Forget it!" Stretch said.
"My money," James ran his hands through the pockets of the trousers he'd just donned.
Stretch laughed.
Bo's turkey gobbler giggle sounded above the diminishing noise of the slowing wheels. "He sho is a tender one, eh, Stretch?" He looked quickly out the partially opened door. "Get closer to the edge," he ordered and pointed.
James moved to where the toes of his shoes hung over the ledge of the door opening.
The train slowed more.
"Jump!" Bo hissed close to James's ear.
James hesitated. It was black outside and he couldn't see the ground. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Bo hauling back a clublike arm. He leaped.
It seemed like forever before his feet hit the uneven side of the elevated roadbed. The right leg took the brunt of his weight and hot pain seared the thigh muscle and hip joint. He pitched forward, rolled and came to a painful stop in what he knew was heavy brush. He lay there dazed, the universe whirling about him. His head cleared and he struggled to his feet. Somewhere, not too far ahead, he heard the freight cars grind to a halt, then the release of air brakes, as it pull slowly away again. Then the sound of it receding into the night.
Oriented, and eyes accustomed to the night light, he ignored his pain, scrambled and picked his way up the steep slope to the rail-bed. He stepped into the middle of the track, shook his fists at the disappearing red lights on the caboose. "You rotten son-of-ah-bitches!" he screamed. "Someday, you'll pay for what you did to me." Then he raised his other clenched hand and lifted his head, as though making a vow to heaven. "The whole world will pay!"
He sank to his knees and wept for the first time in his life. When he was done sobbing and had composed himself. He vowed never to have a reason to weep again.
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