When she had gone, I prowled around the shed. She seemed to be gone a long time, then just as I was about to go to the house to see what she was doing,
she came back, carrying a bucket of hot water, a towel, soap, a razor and a
bundle of clothes.
“I’ll get you some food now.”
Ten minutes later she was back, carrying a tray. She had cooked me six eggs
and four cuts of ham, and she had made me a pot of coffee.
In that time I had shaved and washed and had got into the suit which I
guessed was her brother’s. It was a little tight, and it was shabby, but I didn’t
care. It was wonderful to be rid of that f!lthy prison uniform.
I saw she was watching me curiously as I began to wolf down the food. She
sat on a box near me.
“How did you escape?” she asked. “I thought no one could get away from
Farnworth.”
I told her the whole story. I told her how I had the money itch, how Roy and I
had planned the robbery, how I had covered up for Roy. I told her about
Farnworth and the dogs, and how I had got away.
She listened, her eyes wide open. It did me good to tell her. It was the first
time I had talked to anyone about it.
“If I’m caught,” I said, “they’ll half kill me. They’ll put me in a cell they
keep for punishment. Three of the guards will come in with belts. They’ll lam
into me until they can’t lam into me anymore. Every day for a week, they’ll
do that. I’ve seen men come out of the punishment cell. One of them had lost
an eye: another had a broken arm.”
She drew in a sharp breath of h0rror.
“But I’m not going to be caught,” I said. “I’d rather die than go back to
Farnworth.” By then I had finished the meal and was smoking a cigarette from the pack
she had put on the tray. I felt pretty good.
“You mustn’t go to the railway,” she said. “I can help you get to Oakland if
that’s where you want to go.”
“That’s where I want to go. It’ll be a jumping off place. How can you do it?”
“In an hour, a truck calls here to pick up these cantaloupes,” she told me.
“The trucker is a boy named Williams. He comes every day. He has a meal
here. While he is eating, you can hide in the back of the truck. He goes to
Oakland market. He leaves the truck in the market square while he collects
the money. You could slip out then and you’d be in Oakland.”
That’s how I got to Oakland. It turned out to be the easiest thing in the world.
Before the trucker arrived, the girl gave me five dollars, all the money she
had. She gave me two packs of cigarettes. She warned me I would only have
a few hours start. When her brother returned and missed his clothes she
would have to tell him she had given the clothes to me. I would have to get
out of Oakland fast, but at least I had nothing to worry about until seven or
eight that evening when her father and brother got back.
I tried to thank her, but she didn’t want my thanks. She said she couldn’t send
any man back to Farnworth and, anyway, she thought I had had a lot of bad
luck.
As the truck jolted off down tile dirt road, I peered out between the crates of
cantaloupes. She stood looking after the truck in her red and white cowboy
shirt and her blue jeans. As the truck turned onto the highway, she raised her
hand and waved.
She made a picture I keep in mind; a picture that will stay with me for the rest
of my days.
II
On the fifth day of my escape from Farnworth, I reached Little Creek,
approximately a thousand miles from Oakland.
Those thousand miles I had put between myself and Oakland had been pretty
rugged going. I had been lucky to jump a freight train just outside Oakland,
but after twenty hours, travelling through the desert without food or water I
began to wonder if I would get off that train alive
Finally, the train pulled in at Little Creek, and I left the truck without anyone
spotting me.
The time was late in the afternoon and the heat was intense. There seemed no
one around: the main street was deserted.
I still had a dollar fifty left from the money the girl had given me. I went into
a snack bar and ordered a hamburger, a coffee and a quart of ice water.
I looked pretty rough after travelling all that time in the truck. I hadn’t
shaved, and I was filthy dirty and the suit the girl had given me had taken a
beating off the floor of the truck, but it didn’t seem to matter how I looked in
this town. It was dirty and beaten up itself: one of those deadend dumps, fast
dying on its feet.
While I was eating, I considered what my next move was to be. If I could get
over the mountain and down into Tropica Springs I felt I would be far enough
away from Farnworth to be safe.
Tropica Springs was about two hundred miles from this desert town. My only
chance of getting there was to get a ride from some truck or private car. I
reckoned it would have to be a truck. No owner of a private car would give
me a ride looking the way I looked now.
The man behind the snack counter had a cheerful, friendly face. I asked him what chance I had of getting a ride in a truck going over the mountain.
He shook his head doubtfully.
“There are trucks passing through here by the dozen,” he said, “but I’ve never
seen any of them stop. Maybe you’ll be lucky, but it’s a long shot.” He drew
a cup of coffee for himself and leaned on the counter. “Your best bet would
be to get to Point of No Return. All trucks stop there to fill up before going
over the mountain. You could talk to some of the fellas. Maybe you could
persuade one of them to take you.”
“Point of No Return? Where’s that and what is it?”
“Carl Jenson’s place. He’s lived there all his life. His father owned it before
he did: a filling station and a snack bar. There’s no other filling station after
Point of No Return for the next hundred and sixty miles, and that’s on the
other side of the mountain.”
“How far is it from here?”
“Fifty miles.”
“How do I get there—walk?”
He grinned at me.
“Nothing as painful as that. You’re in luck. Mr. Jenson will be in here in a
while. He comes into town every three months to buy scrap metal: plenty of
that going in this bum town. You talk to him. He’s a nice fellow. He’ll give
you a ride out to his place if you tell him you want to get over the mountain.
He’s always a good one for helping people out of a hole.”
“When will he be in then?”
He glanced over his shoulder at the fly-blown clock.
“About twenty minutes. You stick around. I’ll tip you when he comes in.
How about another coffee?”
I would have liked one, but my money was running low.
“No, thanks. If you don’t mind me hanging around …”
He drew a cup of coffee and shoved it at me.
“It’s on the house. You look as if you’ve come a long way.”
“Yeah.” I rubbed my bristly chin. “I’m joining a pal in Tropica Springs. I’ve
been travelling rough. My pal and I are going into business together. I’ve
been travelling on my thumb to save my money.”
“Money . . .” The counter man shook his head glumly. “I’ve never had
enough of it. I wouldn’t be in this lousy town now if I had enough to take my
wife and kids somewhere where I could earn a fair wage. Can’t get far
without money.” He looked out through the open window to watch a big
cream and black Cadillac float past, throwing clouds of dust either side, some
of it coming through the window. “Those guys. They never stop here.
They’re loaded with dough, but they never spend it here. At least Mr. Jenson
does all right. They have to stop at his place whether they like it or not. I
reckon he has a gold mine out there.”
While he was speaking, a big man came in through the open doorway and
walked to the bar.
“Let’s have a fast coffee, Mike,” he said “I want to get away early today.”
He glanced at me and then away. As the counter man drew the coffee, he
went on, “How’s the wife? I haven’t seen her around this trip.”
“She’s in Wentworth this afternoon, Mr. Jenson,” the counter man said. He
looked at me, “She’ll be sorry to have missed you.”
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