Boxcar Boys

Chapter Two

Author's note: Second chapter, thanks for supporting me! I really appreciate it. Have a good day. 

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The man wheeled about and faced us. His face was red, his eyes glittered with malice.

"I am gonna go after that little maggot. You all stay here. Don't bother to take off, if you do, I am gonna call the cops to get you arrested for trespassing."

He followed the path that George had trodden, wheezing and coughing the entire way. He cursed when his overalls got caught in a bush, but he quickly untangled it and melted away into the tree line.

Unable to do anything, we all stood there in silence. The afternoon sun shone down on all of us, and we were uncomfortable and hot.

Christopher leaned against the locomotive and smirked.

"Jason, a fine mess we got ourselves in."
"C'amon, it ain't that bad," I replied, "At least he didn't call the police."

Christopher turned and stared at me. It was a sarcastic stare, something that he did when he knew when someone isn't telling the truth.

I could hear Henry chuckling to himself. He always laughs, even when the subject turns depressing.

"We are the Boxcar Boys. We never got caught before. We don't cause any damage."

"They don't care," I motioned toward to the train, "They hate it when we ride for free."

Christopher shrugged.

"I don't care for that stuff."

"They say it isn't safe. That's what they say."

I heard yelling, shouting, and the crunching of leaves coming from the tree line, and then, two figures busted out.

The man in greasy overalls was holding George roughly by his collar. George was struggling to be free, but judging from the attempts, it was hopeless to even try.

The man let him go when he dragged him all the way back to the tracks. Upon release, George whirled to face the man.

"What's your problem, old man? you trying to kill me?" He reeled his fist, about to strike for the man's head.

"Calm down, young man." The man said, backing away slightly, "You know better than that."

"Whoa, whoa, whoa." Henry said, putting a arm across George, "Lets not take it to the extreme, shall we?"

George pushed Henry's arm away, and swung anyway, perhaps from sheer instinct.

What happened next happened so fast, it was almost impossible to describe. All I remember was the man in the overalls falling down with a cry, his head hitting the gravel, Paul rushing to stop us, and I remember the entire Boxcar Boys scrambling in a fury down the tracks.

We didn't stop running until we reached the little bridge that spanned Slate Creek. Slate Creek was a lazy stream, that meandered down into the valley. The golden California grass ran wild here beside the tracks.

We ceased to run, and we stood there, panting, sweat perspiring against the skin. Christopher took off his cap and faced the breeze.

As soon as Christopher finished facing the breeze, he turned to George with bottled up rage.

"George, what the hell did you slug that man for? He didn't do anything wrong. He was trying to do his job!"

"I don't give a damn about his job," George answered just as hot, "You know perfectly well what he was trying to do. He was gonna turn us in to the railroad police, the minute that train rolls into town."

"Well, so be it, but you slugging that man just made it worse, in fact, it just sealed our destiny." Christopher gazed into the creek, "We are gonna end up in juvie hall, that's what."

George backed down, fear in his eyes.

Christopher took a few deep breaths and looked at George. His face had some kind of sadness and leftover anger lumped together.

"You know it perfectly well, George." He sighed, a low deep sigh, "You know whats gonna happen, now. I wanted to sugarcoat it and give it to you piece by piece, but that's not a option. So I'm sorry. We are gonna end up in jail."

George just stood there.

"Then what are we gonna do? We cannot just go back there."

"We run," Christopher replied coldly, "We have run from them before. They would forget us in perhaps a few weeks, if we didn't do any wrong. But your slugging of that man made it worse. We are gonna get thrown in the slammer for sure."

"And what is this "Us"?" George replied, "You, Henry and Jason should run home. I should be the one in jail."

"No way," I replied, "We are the Boxcar Boys. We stick together. We won't just feed you to the wolves. It ain't our style."

"Jason is right," Henry said, "I am not gonna run to my mommy."

George smirked.

"Your momma is probably worried sick about you." He said, "You always were clinging to her when you were in kindergarten. You started howling when she left the classroom."

Henry got pissed off. He marched up to George. 

"You know nothing," Henry said, "You know nothing about my ma. She may be a alcoholic, but at least she feeds and clothes me."

"Your mama carries a flask everywhere. You know that. It's disgusting." George replied. "Your mama just stays home, drinks, and watches nonstop entertainment, that is called the TV."

"Would your face like to entertain my fist?" Henry raised a fist, as about to strike. 

George was unfazed. He grinned widely. 

"Bring it on."

"Stop." I said, "It ain't funny anymore. Someone's gonna have a bloody nose if you guys start exchanging swings."

"Anyway, we need somewhere to stay the night." Christopher said, "We couldn't just run home because someone might see us and snitch."

Henry scratched his chin and spoke.

"Maybe my grandma could shelter us for a few nights. She lives in Bonnefoy, a little way down there. It would take us a few hours to get there. It's a run down mobile home park, not the best choice. "

"It's better than nothing," I said, "Worst case scenario, we are stuck on the streets, sleeping in a doorway or in a dumpster. Then that's bad news. Come on." I started down the tracks, "We better get going."

"Wait," George called back to me, and he turned to Henry, "You sure this is good idea? Your granny might call the cops on us."

"Of course she won't call the cops." Henry answered with a big grin on his face, "I am her grandson. Of course not. Come on, George."

We started down the tracks again, and George lingered behind, then hurried to catch up. For a second, I could catch a brief flash of worry in his eyes.