The rails thundered below in a blur of motion. The hard iron moving like a raging torrent that threatened to suck anything that it touched underneath the freight train. Yet for all it's motion, all the smoke, dust, and clatter of wheels, none of it seemed to bother the Jack Russel terrier that had hung his hammock up between the truss-rods of the boxcar. Dodger closed his eyes, and drew in his cigarette. Swaying in time to the train's motion.
Riding the rails was dangerous. The railroad bulls were hired to keep hoboes off trains, so you couldn't just go to a railroad yard and climb on. Most would hide along the tracks outside the yard. They'd run along the train as it gained speed, grab hold and jump into open boxcars. Sometimes, they missed. To "deck" a car was extremely dangerous, since it was easy to be thrown off the top of the train, and you where exposed to the train's brakeman. Although the young Pomeranian girl who was their crew's shack wasn't the kind to get violent, Dodger knew she was also smart enough to keep the wool from being pulled over her eyes.
Dodger was smarter then that. He knew the crews. Knew which ones where friendly and which ones weren't. Down here, as long as one could put up with the danger, he was safe and sound from discovery by the train's crew. It was a long way to Chattanooga, and the freight was well outside of civilization climbing the mountains of Appalachia.
Why should he worry, why should he care?
Keywords
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3 years, 4 months ago
18 May 2022 03:09 CEST
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