Shaking the Nickel Bush Read Online Free Page A

caught right then, but we weren’t. It was about half an hour before the brakeman came down along the top of the train and spied us. He kicked us off at the first stop, about twenty miles out from Tucson.
    That was the first of a dozen times we were kicked off freight trains before we reached Phoenix four days and nights later, and we must have walked the tracks thirty miles of the way. Lonnie could get by pretty well by mooching meals at houses in the little towns where we were kicked off. But it wouldn’t have been any good for me, even if I’d have done it, because they didn’t have any of the things I could eat—unless it might have been boiled eggs. By the end of the second day I’d spent my last dime for salmon and peanuts, and if Lonnie hadn’t been a good forager as well as a good moocher I’d have come close to starving.
    It was Thanksgiving morning and I was down to my last handful of peanuts when we had our worst luck. A brakeman about the size and disposition of a grizzly bear kicked us off right out in the middle of the desert. I think he must have seen us flip aboard just after daylight, and had waited to catch us at the very worst spot he could. If he hadn’t he wouldn’t have been carrying a club when he came after us. We were sitting in the end of an empty gondola car, about half asleep, when I heard a thumping above our heads. At the same moment Lonnie scrambled to his feet, grabbed his bedroll, and yelled, “Watch it, buddy! Land rolling!” Then he dived out over the side of the car.
    For a second I was kind of bewildered, then I looked up and saw the brakey coming down the ladder of a boxcar right above me. The club he was carrying looked as big as a fence post. I don’t remember anything about throwing my bedroll over the side, but I did it. Then I grabbed the edge of the car and vaulted over. I didn’t dare dive the way Lonnie had, but I had sense enough to throw myself far out, and not try to land on my feet. I was lucky enough to come down in a patch of rabbit brush, so I only got the wind knocked out of me and scratched up a little. The brakey must have thrown his club at the same second I went over the edge; it was lying within four feet of me when I was able to catch my breath and sit up.
    It’s a wonder that Lonnie and I didn’t get killed, because that train was rolling at least fifty miles an hour. He couldn’t have unloaded more than five seconds before I did, but he landed at least a hundred yards farther back, and my bedroll was halfway between us. When he caught up to me he cussed the tar out of me for vaulting, and said I’d have broken my back if I hadn’t landed in the rabbit brush. Then he told me that if you dived straight out you’d land rolling, and if you weren’t unlucky enough to hit a fence or a rock you wouldn’t be hurt too badly.
    It had been cold the night before, and we didn’t get much sleep because we’d had to be ready to flip that freight when it came through, but by the time we got kicked off, the desert was as hot as summer. We had to walk eight or nine miles to reach the first little town; just a flag stop, with five or six adobe houses and a section hand’s shack. It was past noon before we got there, and I was so dried out that my tongue stuck to the roof of my mouth. After we’d drunk about a gallon of water apiece we sat in the shade of an old tumble-down cattle pen for a while, then Lonnie went to see if he could mooch something to eat. While he was gone I finished the last of my peanuts, one by one, and watched half a dozen hens and a rooster that were scratching in the dust of the cattle pen.
    Lonnie was gone nearly an hour, and when he came back he was carrying a bucket about half full of water.
    â€œWhat you doing with that bucket?” I asked him as he sat down beside me.
    â€œBrung our Thanksgivin’ dinner,” he said. “You know, buddy,