Long shadows danced with the flickering strips of light thrown out from the lantern that swung in his hand, an odd contrast to the stillness of the night and the looming, frozen shape of the freight train he walked alongside. Though the great machine was as still and silent as a brick building, the roar and rumble of it still rattled around in his mind from so many days traveled hence. The crunch of stones beneath his boots was a jarring enough sound that he began stepping only along the wooden ties, like was playing some children's game.
The task at hand was no game, however, and the lantern light gave a frightful cast to his grimace at the thought of what lay before him, had there been anyone to see it. Stowaways on the train crossing the barren flats were more common in the summer months, but there were a few in winter who, unable to afford a ticket on the passenger trains and seeking some hope of a better life on the far coast, would hop a freight car to make the journey. These vagabonds were unwelcome by the rail company generally, but the Driver of this particular train had a particularly vicious loathing for such riders. As such, he would wait until they had traveled half of their five hundred mile journey, and then while stopped at the siding for the passage of the eastbound train, order his Laborers to clear the cars of any vagabonds they found, to beat them senseless and leave them stranded with two hundred miles to the nearest town. It was a death sentence of which the Driver could absolve himself of any guilt, because it was the barren flats that did the actual killing.
But the man walking the train this night, billy club in one hand and lantern in the other, was neither Driver nor Laborer, and he wondered at what misstep had obligated him to such a distasteful task. Perhaps it was jealousy over the private railcar he was given on his passage, a stark contrast to the crowded quarters of the other men. Perhaps it was his position as a Merchant for the company, regarded with contempt by the freight men as a frivolous desk job. One might have guessed his broad shoulders and well-muscled frame would have given credence to his having worked his way up from the lowest rail man, swinging a heavy sledge. But the cruel Driver and cynical Laborers needed more proof, and knocking about a few poor freeloaders was apparently the best sort. Whatever the reason, he knew that the Driver had the authority over the train as a Captain over his ship. This merchant had little choice but to obey.
His walk slowed as he approached one of the empty, open-doored cars that was most likely to harbor a rider. Clenching his club in his teeth, he used his free hand to assist a quick step-leap into the car. Hoping the sudden bright light would give him a moment's advantage over someone attempting to resist, he lifted the lantern high and held his nightstick at the ready, poised for attack.
All the combative tension built up in him was met with a quiet that matched the vast empty night his back. A few pieces of straw, stirred by his sudden entrance, settled themselves back on the wooden floor of the train car. He nearly relaxed, when a pile of rags at the corner of the car stirred too. Setting the lantern down, he crossed the car in two quick strides and grabbed the huddled mass with one hand, picking it up with surprising ease to pin it against the wall, and raising his billy club in the other. He held the slight figure upright against the wall by a handful of shirt, and as he tightened his grip to ready himself for the first blow, the hood fell away. He froze at the fearful face of a young woman.
A few seconds looking into those terrified eyes felt like an eternity; all the resolve he had found to complete his grim task was washed away by this circumstance he was utterly unprepared for. She must have been particularly brave or particularly stupid, because train-hopping by women was vanishingly rare, and lone women, practically unheard of. His normally quick mind was stalled as the train as he tried to process what was behind those eyes, glittering with fear in the lantern light. The spell was broken when her gaze shifted from his face to the club, and she shut her eyes as if resigning herself to her fate. He dropped his arm but kept her pinned to the wall, as wave after wave of conflicting emotions washed over him. Fear at the thought of throwing her from the train. Wonder at finding this slight woman in the heart of such a dangerous place. Anger at the position he was put in - that she put him in - and resentment that this sudden predicament was his.
All the frustration of his decision manifested itself in a heaving snarl, as he jerked her away from the wall, dropped his club, and began tearing at her loose, overlarge layers of clothing. This sudden action finally animated the woman, and she yelped in protest and struggled against him. He succeeded in pulling the big hooded shirt over her head, grabbed her suddenly bare shoulders, and barked, "Stop!" then lowering his voice to a hiss, "Hold still and cooperate if you care to keep your life." This froze her once again, and she stared at the floor in shame as he roughly pulled at the waist of the dark, baggy trousers she had been wearing to disguise her gender to those who would have stopped her. He knelt down and grabbed her narrow ankle in one hand and her grubby boot in the other and yanked her foot out of the boot and pant leg in one quick motion that threw her off her balance and back on to the floor. Bits of straw scratched at her bare legs and poked through her thin linen underclothes as he repeated the operation with her other boot.
She reflexively pulled her legs and arms into a fetal position and waited for those rough hands to yank at her limbs again. When they did not, she looked up to see his broad shoulders disappearing from the door as he jumped down from the car, bundle of clothes in hand. The sounds of rocks scattering and the thud-thud-thud of a billy club connecting sharply with clothing and earth was convincing enough to her ears that she wondered if he hadn't discovered some other stowaway to whom he was delivering a sound beating.
All the frustration of the moment was being worked out by the merchant as he struck over and over again the pile of rags he had mounded over the dirt. He was having some difficulty squaring the nobility of his ruse - he was going to save her life, after all - with the particular feeling that twisted in his belly as he had undressed and tossed her about. His animal nature was at odds with his better self. Did she not owe him something for the risk he was taking? Ah, but it wasn't a risk she'd asked him to take. His arm was growing tired.
When he climbed up again, he picked up the lantern and extinguished it. As the darkness wrapped around her, he wrapped one arm even more tightly around her chest and under her arms, picking her up like a rag doll and carrying her out and down from the box car. The beating of her heart was quick as a frightened rabbit, but she did not struggle. When her feet touched the ground again, he moved his arm to clutch at her throat, and put his lips to her ear. "Don't make a sound."
Her bare feet made quick, short steps to keep with the pace he set, still holding her by the neck. He didn't expect her to trust him well enough to follow of her own volition. The crunch of the rock under his boots was a welcome sound now, as it covered up the patter of an extra set of feet and the frantic rush of both their breathing. He was silently impressed that she did not so much as whimper as she kept pace along the jagged stone and rough wood ties.
When they reached his sleeper car, he lifted her over the steel structure that tied the car to the one behind, up on to the narrow balcony-like structure at its rear. He quietly thanked his luck for having the last occupied car before the freight, but cursed the small lamp he'd left burning in his quarters, the light from which came through the rear window and threatened to reveal his captured bundle to any of the Laborers who might pass by to inspect the freight. He could only hope they were all still sleeping. Tossing his overcoat over her, he left her huddled on the cold metal platform, re-lit his lantern with a match from his breast pocket, and walked to the front of the train to make his report.
"Ho, there!" the merchant called to the window of the engine where the Driver and the few Laborers who were not sleeping had been playing a round of cards. Doubtless they'd heard the commotion from the back of the train, as several grinning faces appeared at the windows. "Ya got one after all, paper boy!" they hooted, "Hope he didn't rough yer up too bad now!" He ignored their commotion and addressed the silent, smirking Driver directly. Holding her boots up by the laces, he shouted, "I got you a fare for the passage thus far," and threw them through the window, turning on his heel and walking back to his car. The engine room erupted with laughter, the Laborers apparently delighted with the joke and the unexpected bit of cruelty from the merchant to force his stowaway to a death march barefoot. He hoped it was convincing enough.
He half expected her to be gone when he returned, especially as he was having trouble convincing himself that she even existed in the first place. But there she was, wrapped in his overcoat and trying to make herself small against the steel wall of the train car. Quickly, he grabbed the coat by the collar, opened the narrow door, and pushed her through it before locking the door behind him and drawing the shades over the small square windows.
Once her eyes adjusted to the light, she was stunned by the tiny box of refined civilization she had suddenly been thrust into. While not opulent by any means, the small desk and chair, rows of leather-bound books and ledgers, wash basin, and neatly made bed were a stark contrast to the dusty, hay-strewn box she'd been living in for countless days. It had the diminutive orderliness of a ship's hold, warm and trimmed in lustrous wood and brass. As she stared at his room, he stared at her, studying her face in the lamp light. Under a layer of grime and a mop of unkempt hair, doubtless made the worse for his rough treatment, there was a face of youth and beauty. He wondered what could have brought her here, but a pang of guilt at the sight of her grubby and battered bare feet under the hem of his coat brought him back to the moment.
