No Traveller Returns (Lost Treasures) Read online

  “Hi, kid! Coolin’ off the dogs, are you?” he commented. “Hoofin’ it don’t never pay. Better to grab yourself an armful of boxcars. Ain’t that right, boys?”

  “That’s right. This hitchhiking ain’t so hot. I don’t mind the hitches, but the hiking gets my goat. It’s too hard on shoe leather, and The Sally don’t have so many to offer anymore.”

  “ ‘The Sally’?” Davy was puzzled.

  “Yeah, the Salvation Army. The guys and dames that stand on the corners at night singin’. You know, ‘Throw a nickel on the drum an’ you’ll be saved.’ Good people usually, but some of their flophouses are so crummy a guy can’t sleep for fear the blankets’ll walk away.”

  The third man sat down on the bank and pulled off his brogans and heavy woolen socks. He lowered his big feet into the water. Then, rolling up his trousers, he began washing them with thick work-coarsened hands.

  “Going far?” David asked.

  “West Coast for me,” Flat-Nose answered agreeably. “I keep lookin’ for the Rock Candy Mountains, but they sure are hard to find. I been huntin’ between jobs for twenty years now.

  “Tommy and The Polack,” he added, “were talkin’ about heading north to Portland. Me, I ain’t going a bit farther north than I am right now. A guy’s got to have web feet to live up along that coast, it rains so much.”

  Tommy began collecting sticks for a fire, and slipping on his shoes and socks, David helped him. He felt better, and only when he stopped to look back toward the road did he remember Morningside. The hours since he had seen his mother buried seemed like years.

  “Come on, kid,” Tommy said. “Might as well string along with us. We’ll show you the ropes, an’ it’ll save you some walkin’.”

  The big man returned with four tin cans and a half-gallon pail; they had been stashed back in the trees, Davy realized in amazement. Left behind for the communal use of other men…other hoboes. He filled the small pail from water upstream, and Tommy added coffee from a small paper sack. Dusk had settled over the countryside. Somewhere in the distance he could hear a cowbell. David looked up at the stars just appearing through the tops of the trees, and then back at the faces of the men near the fire. The Polack had come up and was tying his shoes. In the flicker of the flame their faces softened, and David moved nearer to the fire, pushing a handful of sticks closer.

  “Say, Jack,” Tommy said, looking at the big man. “I asked the kid here to string along with us. That okay by you?”

  “Sure thing. Glad to have you, kid. The more the merrier.”

  The hum of talk hung over the fire, friendly, cheerful. The coffee tasted good. Davy’s new friends used a slang he could barely understand: “red-ball freights,” “shacks,” “Gandy Dancers,” and “manifests.” It was a different world. But he felt somehow that he had always been a part of this, a world where men without money lived, searched for work, and traveled by night. These were the hoboes he had heard of—not toughs, but men with restless feet who had no trade, or only an outmoded one.

  He was dozing against a tree when the whistle sounded. The three scrambled to their feet and kicked out the fire, and David got up, alert and ready. The coals hissed as they spilled coffee over them, and a thick, acrid smoke lifted to his nostrils. Then they were racing up the railroad embankment to crouch in the shadows away from the bright glare of the headlight. The huge engine thundered by, the cars rumbling after it. Suddenly he was afraid. The train seemed to be going too fast.

  “Stick with me, kid,” Jack yelled. “You stick with me!”

  Then they were running beside an empty boxcar. Tommy swung in easily, and Jack after him. The Polack suddenly seemed to shed his lumbering awkwardness and heaved himself into the door with ease. Running desperately, David found himself panic-stricken at the thought of climbing into that speeding doorway, of what would happen if he tripped over some obstruction in the dark and took a header under those grinding wheels. But then, with a lunge, he grabbed at the sill and lifted himself up. For an agonizing moment he felt himself slipping, but a couple of strong hands grabbed him, and he was inside.

  The train rumbled through the darkness, and the car creaked and groaned as they rounded a curve. Ahead, David could see the bright glow of the firebox as the locomotive pulled up a long curving grade. The wheels bumped monotonously, and once the headlights of a car at a crossing threw the boxcar door into broad relief.

  The long freight rushed along into the night, thundering through little villages and past lonely farmhouse lights. Once they passed a farm where someone stood alone in the dark, lantern in hand, watching the train go by.

  David sat in the doorway thinking of Morningside and Ruth. In the distance the lights of a town hung a wreath of stars against the dark. Finally, he lay flat on his back and stared up into the rumbling jolting darkness, until his eyelids grew heavy and then closed.

  * * *

  —

  He was startled into wakefulness by a rough hand on his shoulder, and in the dim light of early morning he saw Jack’s hard, flat face looming above him. “Come on, kid, make it snappy! We overslept, an’ this damned town has a couple of bad bulls. We got to unload toot sweet. Get up, fer Christ’s sake!”

  David sprang to his feet and was just in time to see the “Yard Limit” sign flash past. The Polack, obviously frightened, leaped from the door and hit the ground rolling. A gunshot bit through the clear air. But the big Polack was on his feet, and plunged into the brush just as another bullet whipped by him.

  Rough hands pulled David away from the door of the car. “What’s the matter? Why did they shoot at him?” he exclaimed, his face white.

  “We’re in a spot, kid. This railroad bull is a bad egg. He’s killed twenty ’boes, maybe more. He’d kill you just as quick as look at you. There’s two of ’em here. The Diamond-Back an’ a big guy who’s even worse. The guy’s name is Hans Wolfe, but they call him the Big Bad Wolfe.”

  “But we haven’t done anything!” David protested.

  Jack shrugged. “We rode the train. Look, nobody gives a damn what happens to a hobo. The Wolfe has killed plenty. When he asks you questions, talk nice, see? No matter what he does. Just talk careful and keep your trap shut unless he asks you something.”

  They waited silently. There was something in the faces of Jack and Tommy that frightened David. He had heard stories of murderous railroad detectives from a farmhand who worked with him during harvest once, but had thought them just stories.

  The train screeched and groaned to a stop, the cars bumped several times, and before they could drop to the ground a big man with a heavy, round face thrust his head into the door.

  “All right, bums, on the ground! An’ no funny stuff! I’m goin’ to blast the first guy that makes a wrong move!”

  They crawled out. Tommy’s coat got caught on a nail in the door, but when one of the men grabbed him and jerked, he said nothing, although the coat ripped and Tommy almost fell. They stood in a line, waiting. The smaller man, his black eyes glittering, searched them.

  The Diamond-Back went over Jack swiftly, while Wolfe loafed against the car. A Bull Durham sack, half-empty, a stubby pocketknife, some matches, a piece of leather string.

  Tommy showed little more. A half-pack of tailor-mades, a stub of pencil, an extra pair of socks, and a few odds and ends. Wolfe snorted and turned to David, taking in his quiet face and general neatness.

  “What you got on you?”

  “Not very much, sir.”

  “Where you from, an’ what’s your name?”

  “I’m David Jones, from Morningside.”

  “Jones, huh?” He turned to Diamond-Back. “Here’s another Jones! Why the hell don’t these punks find another name? That Old Man Jones sure must have got around!” He turned back to David. “Just one of the Jones boys, huh?”

  “My name is Jones. I’m from Mornin
gside. You can write there and find out if you want.”

  “What the devil do I care? You’re just a bum, I don’t give a damn where you’re from!”

  Wolfe searched him casually, finding the four dollars and twenty cents left of the five Miss Hazelton had made him take before he left. There was a note from Ruth, sent the day he left, and a snapshot of her: a frail, sweet girl with tranquil eyes.

  “We’ll keep this dough,” Wolfe said. “That’ll pay part of the fare for the ride you had.”

  The Diamond-Back stepped closer, craning his neck for a better look at the picture. “Let’s see the dame, Chief,” he said. Taking the picture, he studied it a moment in silence. “Hot-looking skirt, ain’t she?” He grinned at David. “You should’ve brought her along, kid, I’d like to have taken her out in the bushes for a while!”

  “She’s a decent girl!” David said, his face set. Jack wet his lips and swallowed, watching Wolfe warily.

  “That’s what they all think!” the Diamond-Back laughed. “Bet she’s been sleepin’ with the butcher all the time!”

  David’s fist swung, hard. But Wolfe was watching and grabbed the boy’s arm, spinning him around. Roughly, he slammed him back against the side of the car. With one hand on Davy’s throat, he drove his big fist three times into the boy’s face, slowly and methodically. “Smart kind, huh? I’ll show you who’s smart!” Wolfe whipped a hard right into the boy’s groin, and as Davy tumbled forward, kneed him in the face.

  Blind with pain, David tried to strike back, but fell forward to the ground, his face a smear of blood. Wolfe drew back his foot to kick, but Jack struck down the Diamond-Back’s gun and swung a powerful fist to Wolfe’s chin. The big detective fell back against the car, but then as Jack closed in, he pulled him into a clinch.

  Tommy grabbed the Diamond-Back and swung him around. Before the shorter detective could raise his gun, the two fell to the ground, grappling desperately.

  Tottering, David crawled to his feet. He was just in time to see Jack knocked staggering and Hans Wolfe fumble for his pistol. David caught up a chunk of coal, and stepping in, he smashed it against the base of the big detective’s neck. The man dropped to the cinders, his body limp.

  Jack regained his balance, and stooped over Wolfe. When he looked up his face was white and strained. “Tom,” he said, “leave that guy! The kid’s killed Wolfe an’ we got to scram.”

  “I’m getting our stuff back. All right. Let’s go!”

  Crashing through a fringe of brush, they reached the narrow road, running hard. Then they took a path through a stretch of timber, and not until their breath was coming in gasps did they slow or take time to think. Frightened, scarcely able to realize what had happened, David walked beside the others, his throat tight.

  Jack stopped, wiping the sweat from his forehead with a dirty bandanna. “Listen,” he said, “those guys will be after us anytime now. It ain’t sixty miles to the state line. But—”

  “Hold on,” Tommy said, “there’s a car back there by that farmhouse!”

  They waited beside the road, watching Tommy, afraid to talk. David felt sick, and suddenly he was very tired. Jack’s big shoulders drooped. “Don’t take it too hard, kid. That guy’s had it coming for a long time. He’s killed a lot of ’boes. It was lousy, him making those cracks. Anybody can see that girl’s decent. When you been on the bum as long as I have, you find out there’s lots of guys like Wolfe. Some of them get known all over the country, guys like Maricopa Slim and the Gila Monster, Yermo Red, and some others. Sometimes I don’t know which is worse, the fat-cat bosses or the murderin’ so-and-sos they hire to do their dirty work.”

  Almost before they realized it the car skidded to a halt. They piled in, Tommy shifted gears quickly, and they were off.

  * * *

  —

  All day they kept to country roads and narrow lanes. Over devious routes they made it to the state line, and some miles beyond. At dark, out of gas, they abandoned the car in a lonely grove.

  “We got to watch our step,” Tommy said suddenly. “They’ll have the word out. The longer we can stay clear of towns and people the better. But we got to eat, somehow. I got three bucks from Wolfe’s pocket. Probably some of yours, kid.”

  Twice they ducked into the brush and hid. Once a truck passed them with three men carrying shotguns. All of them saw it, but they said nothing. It was a moonless, starless night. Lying in the brush waiting for the truck to pass, David thought of Ruth. All of that seemed so far away now. Soon they would have the news back in Morningside, the news that David Jones was a killer and a fugitive. Tears welled in his eyes, and a lump came to his throat. He tried to see Tommy’s and Jack’s faces in the dark, but could not.

  There was a light ahead of them: a filling station where the country road they were walking crossed a paved highway. “Listen,” Jack said. “We ain’t going to get far without grub. Give me some of the dough. I’ll go up to that joint and buy something to eat. Most of these stations have a few groceries. You guys stay out of sight.”

  Two large signboards made a V at the crossroads, and the two waited, watching the road through the latticework beneath the signs. One view commanded the highway, the other the lane.

  “Gee, Tommy, Jack’s a swell guy, isn’t he?”

  “They don’t make ’em any better. Used t’ be a pug, a long time ago, an he’s still pretty good in a fight. I met him back in Chi. We come through together.”

  “You’ve both been mighty square with me. I don’t know what I’d have done if—”

  “Nuts! You wouldn’t have been on that freight if we hadn’t come along. We’re all in it together, kid. If any one of us gets caught, he swings, see? Me an’ him just as much as you!”

  Suddenly Tommy gripped his shoulder. “Look!”

  A big open car was swinging into the filling station from the highway. As it stopped, several men with rifles and shotguns got out. One man, tall and quite fat, walked toward them and stopped, looking down the lane. He carried a double-barreled shotgun in the hollow of his arm.

  Inside the filling station there was silence, while they watched, helpless. Somewhere down there was Jack, cornered like a rat in a trap, and they could do nothing.

  There was a sudden crash of glass and a shot, several men yelled, and then they saw a dark figure dash from the rear of the station with an armful of groceries. He leaped a ditch and came rushing on, running parallel to their hiding place. An avalanche of men poured from the station, and there was a crash of shots. Jack staggered, and pitched over on his face, spilling cans onto the road. Then he was on his feet again, stumbling forward. Tommy and David ran from behind the signs and dragged him into the brush. The posse spread out and came on, walking fast. Several of the men had flashlights.

  “They got me, guys. Beat it, quick!”

  “Nuts t’ you, sailor! Grab an’ arm, kid, an’ let’s go.”

  David grabbed Jack’s arm, and then a thought struck him. “Say, let’s duck around and grab their car!”

  For a fleeting instant, Tommy hesitated. Then: “Well, I’ll be damned! Let’s try!”

  Warily, they circled the station. The posse was hunting for them, but carefully because of the darkness. Most of them were family men, brave in numbers but with too much to lose and hesitant when spread out.

  Half-dragging, half-carrying Jack, the boys slipped through a vacant garden plot and hunkered down at the edge of the road.

  “You wait,” David said. “I’ll get the car!”

  A bewildered station attendant in overalls and a greasy shirt stood staring after the posse, who were stumbling and swearing in the thick brush.

  David slipped behind the wheel silently. It wasn’t until he pressed on the starter that the attendant whirled about, his face pale. But the big car leaped forward, and the man sprang back, barely escaping its sudden lunge. A hundred
yards farther on, David braked hard, stopping for Tommy to heave Jack in behind, then he let out the clutch and accelerated. Several men rushed into the road and fired futile shots after the car.

  “We got to make time. They’ll be phoning ahead.”

  “Not from that station they won’t!” Tommy said. “I jerked down the wires!”

  All night the big car droned on. David crouched over the wheel, listening to Jack’s heavy breathing in the rear seat. The big man moaned occasionally, and David’s hands gripped the wheel harder.

  It was morning when he drove the car into a little clearing near some old straw stacks. The tank was empty.

  “Help me with him,” Tommy said. “He’s all in.”

  Together they lifted Jack out and stretched him on the ground. He had been shot three times, and when he tried to speak the blood frothed from his mouth.

  “I’ll find some water,” David said.

  Taking a bottle from the car, he walked down to a ditch. When he returned it was too late; he knew it even before he got back. Tommy was standing there, swearing softly.

  “We got to beat it,” Tommy said. “Gosh, but I hate leaving him. He was a grand guy. He never had nothing, but he could do a day’s work with any man.”

  The afternoon was hot and close. The breeze whispered itself away in the trees and vanished, leaving only heavy air, thick with the ominous heat that precedes a storm. Tommy looked up at the sky, where heavy billows of cloud were rolling up, black and threatening.

  “Looks like we’re in for a gully washer, kid. Wish we could find some shelter. We’ll look like drowned rats when that’s over. Make us too easily spotted.” They plodded on, staying under cover as much as possible. Sometimes they passed fields where farmers were working, and once they crossed a highway to hide in the tall grass beyond.

  “Say,” Tommy said suddenly, “there’s a water tank! Maybe there’ll be a freight along pretty soon. We could get under the tank if there isn’t.” David looked at the clouds. A few spatters of rain fell. “Nobody will look close when there’s a storm.”