Boxcar Boys

Chapter One

Author's Note: The cover and chapter one image have been redone. 

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The freight didn't come through Sutter's Creek that often, but often enough that some morons would hop it.

Those morons were us.

They call us the Boxcar Boys. They meaning the kids in town, the adults after us, the law. Saying that hopping into a boxcar and riding out of town is illegal.

But look, I ain't gonna pay a buck and fifty to hop on a bus out. It's not exciting, and that buck and fifty would be put to better use, for a Slim Jim, maybe.

So, anyway, that freight was moving pretty fast, and we were crouched behind a bush by the tracks, waiting for the right boxcar, those with the door wide open.

We chose our prey carefully, a boxcar that was painted blue, and had GOLDEN WEST SERVICE in blue letters. The door was gaping open, and it was near the back, which meant nobody would see us.

Christopher and I got up and started sprinting. We could hear George and Henry at our heels, their ragged breaths piercing the air.

Christopher rushed up to the lip of that boxcar, and heaved himself in. He rolled inside, into the darkness.

I heaved myself after him, and rolled into the darkness, where I propped myself up against a pallet of flour.

I could hear George and Henry cursing and yelling as they tried to enter. At last, Henry heaved himself in. His knee banged against the sill, and he rolled inside, wincing in agony.

George was last. He was puffing as he ran beside, and with a grunt, he heaved himself in and crashed against Henry, laughing quietly to himself.

The train was picking up speed now, rushing down the tracks. The wind sang outside.

We were all quiet, recovering from our exhilaration.

Henry crawled to the door and peeked out.

"We are rolling. Sutter's Creek gonna be a few minutes. Shall we get off there?" He said, and when nobody replied, he leaned against the door, shacking his head.

Somehow, I had that feeling that the entire train was decelerating. My fears proved true when it shuddered to a halt, we all being thrown against the steel wall.

"The bulls," Christopher whispered, "Quick, get behind the pallet!"

There was a scramble, and I was kicked in the face by George's shoes. I crouched behind all of them and waited.

There were gruff voices, and fragments of conversation. I could make out them.

"Where are them? The boys?"

"I don't know. I saw them as we passed. They ran for the end of the train. Can you help me open this door?"

I heard obscenities being shouted, and the squeak of a boxcar door being opened. Christopher shifted uncomfortably, his shoe bumping against the metal boxcar wall, producing a faint clang.

"What was that?" Someone said outside. Crunches of gravel. We all tensed.

The crunches stopped.

The door slowly slid open, and the entire space was flooded with sunlight. A man's head peaked inside. His beard was scruff and ragged, and he wore a pair of greasy overalls. His eyes scanned the boxcar quickly, and saw the pallet.

"There, behind the sack of flour. I see them. Four boys in total."

We were caught and there was no use hiding it. We all stood up, and our backs pressed against the boxcar wall.

The man motioned toward us.

"Come here kids. Get out, watch your step. You, don't you dare run!"

I saw George sprawled on the gravel. He had tried to make a run for a nearby tree line, but he tripped over a railroad tie. His face had a few small cuts, the blood trickling slowly down his face.

The man motioned to follow us, we passed the other guy. He was younger, and clad in a florescent yellow safety jacket. His golden hair flapped a bit in the wind. He turned and walked down the track to shut the boxcar door. As we passed, I noticed that he had a name tag that proclaimed Paul.

We were hustled down the tracks to the locomotive. It was a battered and rusty thing, painted a light green, with a nameplate that had the numbers 613 embossed in it.

The man pointed to the cab.

"Get in there boys, y'all hustle now, hey, HEY!"

It was George. He had taken off in the other direction, moving swiftly into the tree line. He crashed into the foliage and was gone in a instant.