Along The Fortune Trail Read Online Free
Author: Harvey Goodman
waitin’,” Derrick said, in awe of his friend's confidence and composure.
“Get that bandana up in case there's any more smoke storms. I'll be right back,” Bones said. Like a lizard moving over sand, Bones moved along the coal on his hands and feet and disappeared over the end of the car.
From a crouch at the front of the coal car, Lonny looked down at the engineer's platform. The coal mover was a black man dressed in sooty bib overalls and a soaked white undershirt. He leaned on the handle of his shovel and wiped the sweat off his face with a well-used rag. Lonny sized him up as being six feet, 230 pounds or better, and powerfully built. The furnace door was open, and the fire was hot and well built. The engineer stood at the controls peering out the front of the train, his silvery hair flapping slightly from the warm breeze blowing through the front of the engine.
“You!” Lonny yelled at no one in particular. They looked around and up at Lonny, both their expressions instantly registering anxiety upon seeing the shotgun trained in their direction. “Blackie! You lay that shovel over nice ‘n’ easy, then close that furnace door, and don't think of nothin’ foolish. And you, engineer man! You just hold steady and don't move an inch!”
The shoveler laid it down easily and moved sideways to the furnace door, keeping a compliant expression on his face, but never removing his eyes from Lonny. “Get it closed!” Lonny barked. The man used the rag to swing the door shut and latch it. Then he slowly put his hands halfway up and shuffled several steps away from the furnace. “That's real nice,” Lonny mockingly said, motioning his shotgun directionally as he spoke. “Now you move on over to the edge there and jump or I'll kill you where you stand,” Lonny announced. The black man spoke with his eyes, as if to implore Lonny to some other alternative. The terrain out the left side of the engine was steep, falling away dangerously from the tracks, and strewn with trees and rocks except for an occasional patch of bare, open hill. “Get movin’, Blackie! This train ain't goin’ too fast. You'll be all right unless you stand there for a few more seconds. You do that and you'll be dead.”
The man turned his head to the engineer, “So long, Mistah Henry,” he said in a forlorn voice, and moved to the edge of the platform. He watched a moment till he spotted an opening, and was suddenly gone.
“Now there, Mister Henry,” Lonny shouted. “You just turn around and keep your eyes out the front and I'll be with you directly.” The engineer turned slowly to the front and stood stiffly while Lonny descended the ladder sideways, using one hand to grasp the side rail and the other to keep his shotgun trained on the engineer's back. Seconds later, Lonny pushed the business end of the shotgun against the engineer's side. “I seen that 30-30 in that scabbard there all along, but figured you were too fat and slow to make a move for it. Right, Mister Henry?”
“Mister,” the engineer began, “you sure are right. My name is Henry Salmon, and I'm too fat, slow, and old to think about anything other than cooperatin’ with you. I've got a wife, six kids, nineteen grandchildren, and less than half a year left on this job. I'm sure not going to give you any trouble. No, sir. What is it you want me to do?”
Lonny looked the man in the eye, not completely convinced of the sincerity of all that he'd just heard, and now slightly more on guard. “You can start showin’ me how this train works. How do you stop this thing or make it go faster? Which one of these levers is the brake? How far's it take to get this thing stopped?” Lonny asked rapid fire, not allowing time between each question for an answer.
When he finally paused, the engineer said, “There's not that much to it,” and he began showing Lonny the basics.
Inside of two minutes, Lonny figured he knew enough about the operation. Then he asked, “Is that
“Get that bandana up in case there's any more smoke storms. I'll be right back,” Bones said. Like a lizard moving over sand, Bones moved along the coal on his hands and feet and disappeared over the end of the car.
From a crouch at the front of the coal car, Lonny looked down at the engineer's platform. The coal mover was a black man dressed in sooty bib overalls and a soaked white undershirt. He leaned on the handle of his shovel and wiped the sweat off his face with a well-used rag. Lonny sized him up as being six feet, 230 pounds or better, and powerfully built. The furnace door was open, and the fire was hot and well built. The engineer stood at the controls peering out the front of the train, his silvery hair flapping slightly from the warm breeze blowing through the front of the engine.
“You!” Lonny yelled at no one in particular. They looked around and up at Lonny, both their expressions instantly registering anxiety upon seeing the shotgun trained in their direction. “Blackie! You lay that shovel over nice ‘n’ easy, then close that furnace door, and don't think of nothin’ foolish. And you, engineer man! You just hold steady and don't move an inch!”
The shoveler laid it down easily and moved sideways to the furnace door, keeping a compliant expression on his face, but never removing his eyes from Lonny. “Get it closed!” Lonny barked. The man used the rag to swing the door shut and latch it. Then he slowly put his hands halfway up and shuffled several steps away from the furnace. “That's real nice,” Lonny mockingly said, motioning his shotgun directionally as he spoke. “Now you move on over to the edge there and jump or I'll kill you where you stand,” Lonny announced. The black man spoke with his eyes, as if to implore Lonny to some other alternative. The terrain out the left side of the engine was steep, falling away dangerously from the tracks, and strewn with trees and rocks except for an occasional patch of bare, open hill. “Get movin’, Blackie! This train ain't goin’ too fast. You'll be all right unless you stand there for a few more seconds. You do that and you'll be dead.”
The man turned his head to the engineer, “So long, Mistah Henry,” he said in a forlorn voice, and moved to the edge of the platform. He watched a moment till he spotted an opening, and was suddenly gone.
“Now there, Mister Henry,” Lonny shouted. “You just turn around and keep your eyes out the front and I'll be with you directly.” The engineer turned slowly to the front and stood stiffly while Lonny descended the ladder sideways, using one hand to grasp the side rail and the other to keep his shotgun trained on the engineer's back. Seconds later, Lonny pushed the business end of the shotgun against the engineer's side. “I seen that 30-30 in that scabbard there all along, but figured you were too fat and slow to make a move for it. Right, Mister Henry?”
“Mister,” the engineer began, “you sure are right. My name is Henry Salmon, and I'm too fat, slow, and old to think about anything other than cooperatin’ with you. I've got a wife, six kids, nineteen grandchildren, and less than half a year left on this job. I'm sure not going to give you any trouble. No, sir. What is it you want me to do?”
Lonny looked the man in the eye, not completely convinced of the sincerity of all that he'd just heard, and now slightly more on guard. “You can start showin’ me how this train works. How do you stop this thing or make it go faster? Which one of these levers is the brake? How far's it take to get this thing stopped?” Lonny asked rapid fire, not allowing time between each question for an answer.
When he finally paused, the engineer said, “There's not that much to it,” and he began showing Lonny the basics.
Inside of two minutes, Lonny figured he knew enough about the operation. Then he asked, “Is that
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