A CHANGE OF SCENE.
For a time John could do nothing but hang on like grim death. He was
half unconscious; the noise was so great, the dust so thick, and the
motion so altogether terrifying that he was nearly stupefied. After a
while, however, he noticed that the dreadful racket did not increase,
that the clicking of the wheels over the rail joints had become regular,
and that all the sounds had a sort of humming rhythm. His nerves quieted
down somewhat, and he realized that he was still alive. His grasp on the
braking rods overhead relaxed slightly, and he began to look around
him--as much as the dust would allow. The train was moving at good
speed. The ties below seemed first to rush at the boy threateningly, and
then in a twinkling disappeared behind; the telegraph poles along the
track had the same menacing attitude and seemed bent on his destruction;
objects further off went by more leisurely. It looked as if the whole
earth, and everything on it, was trying to run away from the standing
train.
John soon found that it made him dizzy to watch the earth slip away from
under him, so he turned his eyes to his surroundings. The wheels moved
so swiftly that they would have seemed to be standing still were it not
for the side motion, alternately checked by the flanges; a spot of mud
on the rapidly turning axle looked like a white ring. Though this mode
of travelling was dangerous, dirty, and unpleasant in many ways, John
decided, in the recollection of his fatigue the day before, it was at
least better than walking.
In half an hour the wheels thudded heavily over a switch joint, the
speed of the train slackened, and the cylinder of the air brake under
the centre of the car groaned a warning. John remembered his
instructions and bent low to avoid the big iron lever. He watched it
swing slowly toward him--nearer, nearer; the rod attached to it
tightened until its vibrations sung in his ear. The train slowed up and
then stopped with a jolt. "Phew! that was close," he murmured to
himself. He did not dare to get out of his cramped position for fear he
would be run over. His eyes, nose, and mouth were filled with dust, his
back ached from his stooping posture, and the smell of grease and foul
air escaping from the released brake was overpowering.
"Come out, kid, it's all right." It was Jimmy who spoke. John crawled
out, glad of a change. A short stop was made at the station, during
which the boy and the tramp lay in hiding in a ditch.
The engine tooted, and they rushed up the embankment, but before either
man or boy could reach his perch the train had begun to move. John
managed by following Jimmy's directions to scramble under and on to his
brake-beam seat, but by the time he was safely stowed away the car was
going at a good speed. The boy feared greatly for his friend's safety.
Jimmy, however, seemed entirely unconcerned; he ran alongside and caught
one of the side rods that run under every freight car and look like the
truss of a bridge; putting his foot on the end of the brake beam, he
swung himself under and was soon sitting in state opposite John, but
half a car's length from him. This was in reality a very difficult feat,
though it seems simple. If, in jumping from the ground to the bar, his
foot should slip, it might easily get caught in the revolving wheels, or
it would be easy for him to lose his hold when swinging under--sure
death would follow in either case. John only breathed comfortably when
he saw his companion seated in comparative safety on the other braking
gear.
Before Helena was reached several such stops were made and John learned
to swing himself under to his perilous perch, when the car was in
motion, with comparative ease.
It was a long and most tiresome trip for the boy. Although he got
accustomed to this mode of travelling before long, the dirt and smells,
the constrained position, and the necessity for caution and concealment
were all very disagreeable to him. He was overjoyed when he heard one
brakeman call to another: "Well, Dick, you'll see your old woman in
three hours now."
The train came to a halt before entering the railroad yards of Helena,
and Jimmy (who seemed to consider it his duty to look after John) was
alongside in a minute. "We'll leave here, kid," he said. "There's
p'lecemen in Helena, so I hear, and they nab a man climbing from under a
car."
A collection of wooden houses huddled round the station and "yard" was
all they saw at first, and John at least was disappointed, for he had
heard much of the magnificence of the place. He learned soon that this
was but the extreme suburb and that the town itself was some two miles
away.
Jimmy was for separating there and then, each to forage for food on his
own hook, but John, mindful of his many kindnesses, insisted that they
should share the meal which he procured. The supply of ham and eggs and
steak that they put away testified not so much to the excellence of the
fare as to the keenness of their appetites.
This important business finished, they inquired about the town itself
and learned that it was reached by a trolley car. Here was a brand-new
experience right away. John had heard of electric cars, but had never
seen one, and he thought it a wonderful machine; but even more wonderful
was the fact that for a ride of two miles a fare of only five cents was
charged. He wished that he had a hundred eyes and almost as many ears,
so that he might take in all the strange sights that greeted him at
every turn. Jimmy, with transcontinental experience, explained many
things in language interlarded with strange hobo slang. When the yellow
trolley car finally reached the town, the boy opened his eyes in
wonder--here was the real city.
The companions walked along the busy street, which to John's amazement
was paved with stone blocks, the sidewalks being covered with bricks and
flags. As he saw the crowds of people he thought there must be some sort
of a celebration going on. In front of a saloon a number of men were
gathered, and among them Jimmy recognized some friends. John, however,
was not content to stand and listen to long discussions as to the best
routes to travel, the most likely places where "hand-outs" might be had,
and all the rest of the talk that tramps indulge in; so he started off
on his own hook on a tour of discovery. "Don't get lost, kid," Jimmy
shouted, as the boy went off.
All his life he had been accustomed to almost unlimited space, to nearly
perfect quiet, except the noise of the elements, the voices of wild
things and of the few human beings. All at once he was thrown into the
midst of a bustling Western city, packed solid with business buildings
and dwellings, the surface of the earth shod with iron and stone, the
very sky stained with smoke, and the air filled with the roar of
traffic, the whistle of locomotives, the clang of the electric-car
bells, and the shouts of street hucksters. He was almost stupefied with
wonder. Then natural boyish curiosity took possession of him, and he
began to notice things separately and in detail. He walked along with
eyes, ears, and mouth wide open; his head turning constantly as some
strange object caught his gaze. The frequent big "saloon" sign did not
surprise him, nor did the "Licensed Gambling House" placard cause him
to wonder; he knew them of yore, they were all a matter of course to a
Western boy. But when he came to a building six or seven stories high he
stopped short in the human tide, like a spile in a rushing stream, and
stood with mouth agape in amazement. The plate-glass windows and the gay
display behind them, the brilliant signs and elaborate decorations
delighted him.
He was walking along slowly, when he caught sight of the most wonderful
"outfit" he had ever seen, and stood still in his tracks to take it in.
It was a closed carriage with a fine big pair of horses whose trappings
were decorated in bright silver. His fresh young eyes took these details
in at once, but what caused him to stare was the big man on the box.
Perfectly motionless, a stony stare on his smoothly shaven face, John
wondered if he was made of wood. His whip, held at just the proper angle
in heavy tan gloves, white trousers painfully tight, high top boots, and
green coat shining with brass buttons, the whole get-up topped by a big,
shining silk hat. For several minutes he watched him, but not a sign of
life did he betray. Then a woman, richly dressed, came out of a nearby
store and entered the carriage, saying as she did so, "Drive home,
James." The dummy made a motion with his hand toward his hat, flicked
the whip over the horses' flanks, and the carriage moved off.
John's awesome gaze gave way to a laugh: "Why, he isn't an English
lord," he said to himself, "he's only a teamster," and he laughed again.
A boy with a package stopped to look at him. "Whatcher laughin' at?"
said he.
"Didn't you see that outfit?" said the other, between chuckles.
"Mean the kerrige?" John nodded. "That's Fleischman's rig. Never seen
one before?"
"I've seen 'em in pictures, but I never thought they were true," and
John laughed again. "I suppose people _do_ go down to dinner at six
o'clock as I've read they do," he said at last, a puzzle that had long
baffled him clearing away.
"Sure. Whatjer think they did, go up to dinner?" returned the other boy
scornfully.
"Why, I didn't see how they could go down 'less they ate in a cellar,"
said John in explanation. "Who ever heard of people eating dinner at
night, anyway?"
From this talk and the big white felt hat that he wore, the boy with the
parcel gathered that the other was a stranger to the town and town ways.
He felt quite superior and determined to make the most of it. "Come on
down the street with me," he said, and John followed, elbowing his way
among the people as he saw the other boy do. They went along together,
Charley Braton (John soon learned his name) pointing out the principal
buildings, grandiloquently. Charley, who was an errand boy in a
dry-goods store, reached his destination and invited his new-found
friend to come up, so both stepped into the hallway and then through an
iron doorway into a sort of cage, where several other people were
already standing. John wondered what it was all about, and was just
framing a question when a man slammed the gate and grasped a wire rope
that ran through floor and ceiling of the cage. Of a sudden the floor
began to rise, not smoothly, but with a jerk that drove the boy's heels
into the floor. John's breath caught and he clutched Charley's arm.
"Seven," called out the latter, and the car stopped with a jar.
"Elevator?" inquired John.
"Yep. 'Fraid?" questioned the other with a grin.
"Nah. Little bit surprised though; never rode on one before."
"Lots of people get scared, though," said Charley, and began a long
account of how an old ranchman and Indian fighter lost his nerve
completely during his first elevator ride, and finally pulled his pistol
on the elevator man to make him "stop the thing."
Charley's errand done, they entered the elevator again, which descended
so suddenly that John felt as if the bottom had dropped out of his
stomach. Both stairs and elevators were new to our country boy, and he
concluded that he did not care for either, but he was far too proud to
show any trepidation before his new acquaintance.
The boys separated, Charley returning to the store and John to the group
of tramps at the saloon. It was not an attractive circle round the beer
keg that the boy joined, and even he realized that they were more dirty
and shiftless than any men he had known. But one at least of them had
been kind to him, and he was grateful.
"Well, kid, wha'd'ye see?" shouted Jimmy as he drew near.
John told the story with gusto of all the wonders he had seen, and
especially his view of the "carriage teamster."
"That's nothin'," said one man. "You see them on every corner in
N'York." Immediately there arose an animated discussion as to the
possessions of this or that millionaire, and there was not one of the
tramps who did not know some one in the household of a plutocrat. The
talk grew apace, and each narrator put forth all his available knowledge
of the traits and habits of millionaires. All referred familiarly to
individuals of seven-figure fame as "Tom" or "Joe" or "George."
John and Jimmy meanwhile withdrew unnoticed, and the latter evidently
had some definite destination in view, for he started off at a brisk
pace along the street, commanding the boy to come on. John did so
without question, and soon they reached an office building, which Jimmy
entered. They finally stopped before a door bearing the sign "Doctor
Hamilton," and at this the tramp knocked. A boy opened the door and
ushered in the two rough-looking specimens. "Doctor in?" asked Jimmy,
hat in hand. The doctor, a mild old gentleman, approached, and John's
protector spoke up: "Doctor, beg yer pardin for comin' in, but this here
kid has a pretty bad hand," and he held up the boy's swollen member.
"There ain't nobody to look after it and it needs a good washin' at
least."
"Let me see it," and the doctor unwound the dirty rags, handling the
wounded hand ever so tenderly. It was treatment to which the boy was
entirely unaccustomed, and he did not know just what to make of it.
Jimmy warned the physician that neither had any money, but nevertheless
he proceeded to attend to the sore hand, washing it first, then dressing
it and bandaging the whole in clean white linen. John was ordered to
come next day. And so, with a kindly smile on his benevolent face, he
bade them good day.
The grateful patient tried hard to thank the doctor and harder to thank
Jimmy, but he did not succeed very well with either.
"Now, kid, you've got to sleep in a bed till that hand heals up," said
the latter, when John tried to voice his gratitude. "I've got a stable
full of hay that I'm goin' to sleep in; but you hunt up a lodgin' house
and save your money all you can."
John followed the advice at once and found a place where he could sleep
in a bed for twenty-five cents a night.
A week passed, Jimmy had taken to the road again, and the boy was left
alone for the first time in a great town. He had been lonely before, but
it was as nothing compared to the feeling that now possessed him. To be
surrounded with people, all of whom were strangers, seemed to him more
depressing than to be absolutely alone with rugged nature.
By this time John's hand had nearly healed, but his money had about
given out, and he was looking for work. It wasn't hard for a man in
those booming days to find work, but the boy was in the awkward stage of
growth when he was too small for a man's work and too big for a
boy's--though he had a full-grown appetite and clothes to pay for.
He hunted diligently for a job; day after day he tramped the streets in
search of one; he looked into thousands of faces for one he knew. He
asked continually for work, and at last, after a particularly trying
day, heard of a restaurant where a dish-washer was wanted. He went there
at once, but was told that the boss would not be there till evening;
later he called again and was told that it was still too early. The
restaurant was set back of a saloon, which also bore the legend,
"Licensed Gambling House." Instead of going away to return again, John
determined to wait. He loitered around the bar-room, sick at heart. It
was not a pleasant place to wait in; it had no attractions for the boy,
accustomed as he was to open-air life. Several tables were scattered
about, and at these sat the gamblers, their faces stony and
expressionless, perfectly calm, no matter how luck turned--the result of
long and severe discipline. It seemed as if "the boss" would never
come, and John was about to give up when he chanced to look at a table
in a far corner and saw, he thought, a familiar face. He was all
alertness in an instant, and went over to make sure. Yes, it was Tom
Malloy, John's instructor in "the noble art of self-defence." How glad
he was to see him! Yet he must not interrupt, for Tom was playing cards
for a considerable stake. He must wait and watch his chance to speak.
Tom won steadily, and soon the boy became so absorbed in the game that
he forgot all about the dish-washing; a friend was involved, so he "took
sides" at once. One by one Malloy's opponents dropped out, remarking
that it was "Malloy's night," till he alone remained at the table.
Raking the chips into his hat he went over to the bar to turn them into
the money they represented; John followed, and when the currency was
being counted out he approached:
"Hello, Tom," he said.
"Why, hello, kid," answered the man carelessly.
"Don't you know me?" said John, rather hurt at this reception. "I'm John
Worth; you worked for my father down in Dakota."
"The deuce you say! You little John Worth? Not so little, either," said
Tom in a breath. "Where'd yer come from? What you doin' round a
gamblin' house? It's no place for you."
John remembered his mission and explained.
"Job? Well, I'm just the man to get you one," said Tom cordially. He
went back to the restaurant door and called a waiter to him. "Tell
Albert I want to see him," he ordered. Albert, the restaurant keeper,
soon appeared. "I hear you want a man," Malloy began. "Here's a boy
who's as good as any man and an old friend of mine; if you've got a good
job, give it to him."
Malloy was a leading character among the gamblers of the town; he won
freely and spent freely, and was therefore to be propitiated. Albert
graciously admitted that he had a job and that John might have it; he
even went so far as to say that "sure he would make a place for a friend
of Mr. Malloy's." So it was arranged that the boy was to begin work the
next day.
The two passed out together, and Tom noticed the condition of the boy's
clothes; they were dusty, torn in many places, and generally
disreputable-looking.
"Those all the clothes you have?"
John nodded.
"Well, I'll see if I can't get you fixed up to-morrow."
True to his word, John's friend in need took him to a clothing store
and saw to it that he was supplied with a complete outfit.
John was togged out as he had never been before in all his life; he
looked at himself in the glass, feeling awkward and clumsy and wishing
his face wasn't so big and red under the small derby hat. He couldn't
get used to that hat, so he slyly rolled up his big, old felt one and
tucked it under his arm when they left the store. Before Malloy parted
from him he made him promise that he would call on him if he had any
trouble or did not get along well with Albert.
John began work at once. He yanked off his new coat, rolled up his shirt
sleeves, and started in washing dishes as if his life depended on it. It
was a way he had when anything had to be accomplished.
For several months the boy stuck to his job, working steadily and well.
The town, or at least the meaner part of it, became very familiar to
him. Schools, churches, concerts, and society events abounded, but they
might have been in another planet so far as John was concerned. The
saloon, the "Licensed Gambling House," the cheap theatre, and the back
streets were his haunts. The rough teamsters, miners, and gamblers were
his associates. Tom Malloy was his hero; the man's generosity and kindly
spirit won the boy's heart, but the former kept a strict watch over him
for all that, and it is doubtful if John could have got into very bad
habits if he had desired. The boy soon learned to know all the
celebrities of the under-world in which he lived: Peter Aston, or Poker
Pete, "handy with his gun"; Charley, or Snoozer, Johnson, also known as
"Gain," who played a "close, hard game"; Tom Malloy, with the widespread
reputation of being a man "hard to lick."
[Illustration: THE MEN BROKE UP INTO LITTLE GROUPS. (_Page 276._)]
The class John associated with was a restless lot, seldom staying long
in one place, and soon the same spirit infected him. He longed for the
open air and open country; the interminable walls of the city oppressed
him. It was with great interest therefore that he listened to a chance
acquaintance who told of a new job on railroad construction he had
secured. John asked several questions and learned that many men were
needed, and that there might be a chance for him.
"Where's the contractor?" he asked suddenly, his mind made up. "I'm
goin' to ask him for a job."
"I met him half an hour ago at the 'Bucket of Blood,'" answered his new
friend. "I'll go along with you; perhaps we'll find him there."
They soon reached the saloon with the sanguinary name, and luckily found
the contractor. John stated his errand and stood while the man looked
him over. "Perhaps you might work in the cook house," he said at length.
"You're too light to drive a scraper."
"Yes, I could do that, but I don't want to. I want out-of-door work.
Have you got a horse-wrangler yet?"
As luck would have it, the job John wanted was not given out, and, after
telling of his experience, he was appointed night horse-wrangler.
To get a saddle and riding outfit was the next thing necessary, and this
Tom Malloy lent him from the store of such things he had won at cards.
John found that to part from the man who had befriended him in his need
was the only really trying thing in connection with leaving Helena.
Squalid as were most of his associations with the place, he was really
sorry to go away from Tom Malloy. The thought of being once more in the
saddle, however, delighted him, and it was with a preponderance of joy
rather than sorrow, therefore, that he clambered early one morning into
the rough wagon that was to convey his party to the scene of operations
and saw the city disappear in the distance.
Soon he would be astride of a horse, out in the open. No walls to
encompass him, no roofs to shut out the sky--what a glorious and
inspiring thought it was!