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Chapter 11- Three Days
They were all looking at me.
I'd run home as fast as I could and got my mom, sobbing that we needed help and that she needed to call for an ambulance…the sheriff…anybody.
I can still remember the way that her eyes had widened and how'd she gone a shade of white I'd never seen before. How she'd run her hands over me, screaming at me to tell her what had happened…where I was hurt. But I wasn't hurt. Dad was hurt.
It was the blood, I thought wildly. Dad's blood was on my shirt and my hands and had dripped onto the toes of my new boots. And I could barely sputter out the story to her.
I don't remember her calling for help, but she must have, because the next thing I knew I was back in the woods.
And they were all looking at me.
The sheriff had been squatted next to Dad, but he rose slowly to his feet. For a minute he just stared, then he took his hat off his head, wiped at his brow, and replaced it. I remember the way he turned and looked over his shoulder. Out across the field. The same way we'd been walking. Then back to me.
The other officers were staring too, faces pale. Worried.
Sympathetic.
Sheriff Grady said something, but I didn't hear what. My hands were shaking, and my heart was thumping so loudly in my ears that I couldn't even hear myself think. Shock, I thought to myself. I'm in shock…
Grady jerked his head and one of the deputies began the long walk across the open field, toward a far tree line, scanning the ground as he went. Grady stepped towards me...
The first policeman adjusted the hat on his head and jerked his chin at the open tack room doors.
"Get me a list of everything in there that's damaged. Look for evidence while you're at it. Don't touch anything."
When his partner moved to walk by us, I stepped out of the way and carefully moved across the aisle to cover Dally's Christopher with my foot. If we was lucky, it'd get covered up with dirt and the policemen would never even see it.
"And you're saying this kid is responsible?" The officer was looking at Sam.
"Am not," My voice was shaking, "I wasn't even here. Why would I wreck the place and still hang around? Besides, I like the job. It don't make no sense."
The cop flicked his eyes to me before looking back at Sam. His jaw was set in a grim, disbelieving line, but I didn't miss the way his eyebrow quirked with the question. Maybe he'd believe me. Maybe he'd get that a kid wouldn't set out to ruin the only thing good going in his life. It was wrong place, wrong time.
Sam looked at me with disdain and grumbled, "He's the only that has access at night—"
"Anyone can get in here at any time and you know it," Soda interrupted. "Half the Running W's riders crash here when they're up this way. And he ain't lying. He was with us last night. It could have been anybody."
"Then how do you explain the bridle?" The cop raised his eyebrows so high they disappeared beneath his navy cap.
That sinking, breathless feeling was back. I could feel myself getting paler, and I was thankful that the dim lighting in the barn probably hid it.
He didn't believe me.
He didn't believe me and he believed Sam and he was going to think I was a thief and haul me in. And to top it off I had been sleeping with a horse's bridle like a little kid would have. I swallowed, mortified, and wished I was dead and buried somewhere. Might as well tell him too I thought. Embarrassing or not, I'd actually be dead and buried soon enough so soon it wouldn't matter if they thought I was a thief or a little kid or... unless I found a way to get away. And that didn't look likely.
"I was keeping it warm."
"For a horse?" He asked incredulously.
It sounded dumb, even to me. But I nodded anyway.
"Yes. He don't take them cold. He will spit—"
"He's right. Ghost is near impossible to get to take the bit. Especially a cold one." Another voice interrupted us. "Now can I get to my horse please? My boss will have my hide if he ain't worked up a sweat by the time he gets here."
It was the jockey that I'd seen struggling with Ghost before. He pushed past us, reaching down into the dust and grabbing Ghost's bridle and reins. I could see him scowl at the dirt that covered the leather, but he didn't say anything, just kept walking right past us and into the stall before leading him back out and down further down the walkway.
We was standing in front of the tie outs and I thought that he would've asked us to move and use them, if he was smart. Ghost wasn't known for standing still and waiting to be saddled. But I wanted to stay standing on that Christopher anyway, so I kept my mouth shut.
"-parents?"
"What?"
The cop's eyes narrowed but he slowly repeated himself. "I'm going to call your parents. I can't prove that you were responsible for this, but I suggest you find a new job. What's your number?"
He waited, pen poised above the paper.
"Um…"
"He's been staying in the loft. Near as I can tell he ain't in school neither." Sam grinned wolfishly, near gloating, and I knew I was done for.
"You don't have a place to stay?" The cop was all attention now, reaching towards the back of his waistband. I took a step back, ready to bolt. "Where you from anyway, boy, I don't think I've seen you bumming around the East side before…"
"You ain't even going to do something about him getting beat with the rope?" Soda interrupted indignantly and pointed at me, "Come on, you can see the marks right across his face!"
Soda had made a good try, but I knew it wasn't any use even before the policeman pulled the cuffs from behind him and shouted "Parker!"
I had a feeling that Parker was his partner, but I didn't stick around to find out. I turned and made a break for it, jumping over a broken crate and making a sharp left to avoid the jockey and Ghost. But the second policeman wasn't so lucky. I heard the jockey shout a curse and Ghost make a kind of schreeching sound before there was a thundering of hooves and a flash of grey knocked the officer to the ground.
I heard "catch him!" and "close the gate!" and I didn't know whether they was talking about me or the horse. Maybe it was both. I was out the door and running across the alley when Rooster squeezed through a loose board in the side of the barn and joined me, yipping happily. If I didn't know any better, I'd think he was smiling, but I was too scared to enjoy it with him. I wasn't more than across the alley when the side door to the stables opened and the cops came tumbling out, calling for me to stop.
I skirted the water pump, slipping in the mud, and headed through the pens in the back towards the train station. The last thing I saw before rounding the corner was Sodapop, standing in the door watching me.
XXX
The next train wasn't due for three days.
Three days.
I pulled the jacket tighter around myself and crossed my arms to try to keep the cold out. I'd known it was a bad sign as soon as I got to the station and seen the diesels sitting there, ice crystals starting to collect on the sides of the engines and the boxcars looking as cold and lonesome as ever. Usually there's men walking around and railroad workers shouting back and forth at each other, pulling switches and coupling cars, and poking their heads into the sides of the cars looking for vagrants. That's a word I'd learned from one of the not so friendly engineers. Vagrant.
"You little shit," he had me by the ear and was pulling so hard it was a wonder he didn't twist it off. "I'm tired of you vagrants thinking you have a right to hop these trains—" he pulled harder—"pissing in the corners and leaving your trash—"
"I ain't ever—"
"Don't sass me boy! You're trespassing and I aim to turn you over to the law. You think you can get a free ride? Well, I got news for you. There's no such thing as free. And you're about to learn…"
"No, you can't do that. You can't call them. They'll send me ba—"
But it'd been no use, he'd only tightened his grip and told me to shut my trap. He'd marched me right toward the office. He didn't care that my dad was dead or that my mom was dead or that I'd be dead too if-
I'd gotten away then, somehow breaking free and running and hiding until the coast was clear and I was able to find another train. But not there. I'd walked for two days and just as many small towns before I was hungry enough to steal that plate of food and tired enough to hop another train.
I'd just walked right in, waited for someone to use the bathroom, and taken the food right off the table.
It was the first time I'd ever stolen anything. And let me tell you, it didn't make me feel so hot. I probably wouldn't ever get over that, taking stuff that ain't mine, I mean. But sometimes you got to do what you got to do.
I leaned my head against the window of the train station and peered through the glass. I'd been in Tulsa too long. I'd gotten comfortable and had a place to stay and things to eat, and I'd forgotten my rules. Don't hand around any place too long and don't get caught doing anything illegal. By all rights I'd broken both. And look where it had gotten me. So, I was desperate enough to check the passenger train schedule. I usually avoided those. It was too hard to sneak on. But it didn't matter anyway, that train wasn't running either.
Three days.
Three days I could do. I could do what I had to do for that long. I could lay low and hide from the cops and Samuel and not poke my head out anywhere that I would be seen. I could bum around town during the day and sneak into the stables to sleep at night. Then I'd be on the first train out of town. And it didn't matter if it was heading north or even west—heck, even east- I'd take it.
I just had to make it that long.
"Come on, Rooster," He'd been laying on the station's covered porch near me but jumped to his feet at the sound of my voice. "Let's go on over to the Dingo for a coke. We might not get another for awhile."
By then it was late morning, or maybe getting close to lunch time judging by the pale heatless sun, and my stomach was letting me know it. Rooster seemed to be of the same mind, sniffing at trashcans and pieces of trash that lay wadded up and discarded along the sidewalks and in the gutters.
The gloomy skies looked just like the swirling grey that I was feeling in my soul, and I tried to brush it off. There was no use wishing for things that were impossible to have. To tell the truth, I was kind of hoping Rooster would follow me when I decided to leave Tulsa. Traveling by my lonesome was getting awful dreary, and it'd be nice to have someone to talk to.
But then I'd have to feed him, I thought to myself. And I didn't know how I'd do that if I could barely feed myself most days. But maybe he could catch rabbits or something. And since I was daydreaming, I decided he could catch enough for me too and I could cook them over a fire like we used to when we went camping and we could go from town to town catching wild game and living off the land and sleeping under the trees like the cowboys in the old west used to.
But I was just dreamin' and I knew it.
"Don't eat those too fast," I watched as Rooster gulped down the fry I gave him, "I don't have any more money. You got to make them last."
I never had been paid for the work I'd done in the stables, and it didn't look like I ever would be. At least I wouldn't be asking.
We was about two blocks from the stables by then. I'd been gone long enough that I was sure the cops wouldn't be there no more, but I wasn't sure about Samuel. Most days he spent quite a bit of time in and out of the barn, and I wasn't itching to run into him, so I followed Rooster down an old gravel path that meandered around the back forty. Some old feed sheds that were falling in on themselves dotted the path, and when Rooster went into one, I followed. The door was standing half open, nearly hanging off its hinges, and it looked like a strong wind could blow it down at any moment. They obviously hadn't used it in years, maybe not since they'd gotten that hay wagon I'd seen them using to haul feed out to the pastures, so I doubted anyone would be by. It seemed just as nice of a place as any, so we settled down to wait.
XXX
It was dark when we left the shed.
I was cold and my hands were red and frozen stiff, but I hadn't wanted to chance running into old Sam or anyone else, so I stayed out even later than what I'd planned. Rooster had done a good job of keeping my legs warm, but my hands were something else, and my legs had stiffened up so they were hard to walk on. The lining of the old jacket wasn't doing much good at keeping me warm anymore, and I figured when I left I'd take that old horse blanket with me. It wasn't much, but it was better than nothing.
I was still thinking on it when we got to the barn.
The place was quiet.
The security light buzzed over the main door, but other than that there wasn't much light, until you got to the arena side of the stables. That side was lit a little better, but parts were still hidden in deep shadows and gave it a spooky ghost-like appearance. The horses that had been left outside didn't do anything to make it look better, neither. They moved like shadows themselves, big hulking forms in the dark that you couldn't quite make out.
I watched the place for a minute, and when I was certain that there wasn't any people moving about, decided to try the side door, trusting Rooster to warn me if Samuel was anywhere close.
It was locked.
It had never been locked.
That meant I'd have to go around to the front and stand under the streetlight to get in, or under the lights from the empty arena, and if the fuzz was watching they'd see me for sure. But I didn't have a choice.
I walked around the stables carefully, doing my best to stick close to the building where the overhang cast a dark shadow and I figured I would be harder to see. The hairs on the back of my neck began to slowly rise, bringing with them a tingling feeling of uneasiness. Any second I expected the squeal of tires, the crunch of gravel, a shout in the night, a police officer with a copper badge to haul me in and force me back home.
But it was just my wild thoughts getting away with me again. Too many Louis Lamour novels and too much imagination, I told myself. There wasn't anybody there. There wasn't a black and white cruiser waiting on a kid that was sleeping in a barn on the East side. They had more important people to worry about.
Still, I was nervous when I stepped into the light. If anyone was there, they'd be able to see me clear as day.
But the handle turned easily, and I stepped inside.
Though still somewhat cold, the barn was warmer than the shed had been and much warmer than it was outside. I'd miss having a place like this to stay when I left.
The single bulb had been replaced and the pale glow was just enough to guide me down the walkway. Someone had cleaned it up real nice, and even replaced the wood paneling where Sodapop had thrown Samuel against it. But now both tack rooms sported brand new padlocks.
I wondered about that. Wondered if they'd figured out yet that it wasn't me that got in there, I mean. That I didn't destroy no saddles or property and that I'd just been minding my own business and sleeping there. Or if it was just easier to blame a stray kid that dressed lousy and didn't have no place else to go.
I was still thinking so hard about that when I stepped past Ghost, stopping for a minute to say hi, that I almost didn't see the person that stepped out of the darkness.
"Glory!" The word caught in my throat, and I clutched at the sudden hammering in my chest. I went tight and cold, ready to make a break for it.
"Whoa, there Ponyboy," Sodapop said as he reached out an arm to steady me. His eyes were as big as mine felt.
I was sweating something fierce by then, even though I was still pretty cold, and I wiped at my forehead with a shaky hand. I didn't know who I expected. But it wasn't Sodapop Curtis.
Sodapop. It was only Sodapop.
"Hey, Soda," I tried to stop my voice from shaking, "what're you doing here?"
I hadn't seen any cars in the lot, and after dark I hadn't expected to see anyone else in the barn unless they were there to make trouble for me. I took a steadying breath, and when I looked at Soda, his face was almost white, except where his nose and the tips of his ears were red with cold. I wondered how long he'd been waiting there.
"I didn't mean to scare you, kiddo," Soda said, almost grinning, but his smile didn't last long. He fiddled with the chipped wood on top of the stall door before looking back at me, "I just…I don't know… I thought you might come back for your stuff. When you ran off like that…" He stopped, shrugging.
My knees were shaking, but I don't think he noticed. "I had to. I can't get in no trouble with the cops. They'll send me back for sure if I do."
"Back home?" He clarified.
I nodded.
I realized then that we'd never finished our conversation from the day before. Soda didn't know why I runned away or why I couldn't get in trouble with the fuzz or why I had nightmares so bad sometimes I woke myself up screaming.
But I shook my head. I wasn't ready to have that conversation. Not with anybody. I changed the subject.
"What happened? After I left, I mean. Did the police say anything?" Are they still looking for me? I wanted to ask, but I was too scared to know the answer. It didn't matter anyway, I thought, no matter what, I had to go.
It was quiet except for the sound of Soda tapping his fingers on the top of the stall door and Ghost shifting inside.
"Not much. They just looked around a little. Took some notes. Asked some questions."
"About me you mean?" If I told you I wasn't scared then, I'd be lying. It wasn't fair that I was getting blamed for something I didn't do, and it wasn't fair that I had to run or hide or eat out of trashcans or swipe ketchup bottles just so I didn't go hungry. And it wasn't fair that I had to be worrying that he was going to find me, or the cops would find a reason to haul me in…
I shivered.
I suddenly decided that I couldn't stay there anymore. If Sodapop had figured out that I'd return then maybe somebody else would too. I needed to get out. Find a place to hole up. Hop a train and get out of Tulsa before I got in anymore trouble. Before they sent me back.
"Ponyboy, what's the matter? They was just—"
"I've got to go." I felt sick. I felt as if any minute the cops was gonna come bursting in and drag me down to the station and call home. My heart was pounding and I needed to move. To run. Escape.
"Hey, wait. Ponyboy—" Soda grabbed for my sleeve when I started past him, "It ain't got to be like that, kid. You ain't got to run off…"
"I do got to run off," I whirled on him, suddenly upset that things had been going good and I'd been almost happy and mad at myself that I had let my guard down, "Do I have to draw you a picture? I told you, I can't get in trouble with the cops. I can't go back there. And now they know I'm here and they're gonna haul me in and he'll find me." I'd been here too long and if I wasn't careful and it was going to end up stuck in some jail cell until he came for me.
Sodapop looked almost startled, his eyes narrowing in obvious confusion, and for a moment there was complete silence. I could almost hear him thinking, trying to work out what had happened and why I was so intent on getting away from this place. I was sick and cold with fear and the need to get out…get away.
I started up the ladder, intent on throwing everything in my bag and getting the hell out of there. I knew it was a bad idea to stay in one place for too long and I knew it was a bad idea to start getting close to people and I knew that if I just kept moving I could run away from it all. And if I kept running maybe one day the memories wouldn't hurt so much.
I was already across the loft and shoving things down deep in the bag's pockets, throwing things in as fast as I could when Soda appeared at the top of the ladder.
"Ponyboy—"
"What Soda?" I was madder than I'd been in a long time. Mad at myself for not paying attention and getting comfortable. Mad at myself for being too chicken to stand and face it. Mad at myself for thinking I could outsmart him. I might have even been mad at Sodapop, because he couldn't understand. No matter how much he said he did or tried, he just couldn't. I wasn't just mad, neither. To tell the truth I didn't know what I was… I was mad and sad and…scared. Real scared. When the cops had been there, ready to haul me in, it was like a could feel him getting closer. Like someone was waiting behind me to grab my shoulder in the dark. And ever since I'd had an uneasy feeling growing down deep in my gut.
"You can't keep running, Ponyboy. You can't. You're just a kid—"
"I ain't a kid, I'm fourteen. I been on my own—"
Soda shook his head, ignoring the way I tried to argue. He went on "It's too much responsibility, kiddo. You shouldn't have to take care of yourself or be running away all the time, or…" his voice softened, "you can stay here, ya know? Darry, he talks a big game, but we get it. Okay? I get it. It hurts like hell but—"
"You think I want to run, Soda?" I stepped toward him. My voice was shaking, and I couldn't help it. "You think I don't want to go to school or sleep in a bed or shower in a bathroom instead of goddamned horse trough? You think I want charity? I don't want none of it, Sodapop, none of it. I want to go home...hell I want to stay here…but I can't!"
My eyes were beginning to sting, but I ignored it. I'd given up crying a long time ago.
It was quiet except for the shuffling sounds of our feet on the straw and the heaving breaths I was taking. So quiet that I could almost hear his thoughts racing to catch up with the conversation, piece together the few clues I'd given him.
"Why not? Because of the cops? The state? Me and Darry get along just fine with the state, long as we stay out of trouble. They ain't going to notice an extra kid hanging around this neighborhood-"
"Oh, but they will Soda. Eventually people start coming around. Asking questions. They always do. They think they're helping then…then… my uncle will find me and…and…" I was talking faster and faster. I sounded crazy, even to me. I must have looked it too, pacing back and forth and talking wildly with my hands because Sodapop was looking real concerned, worried even.
"And what Pony? Why you so scared? What's he going to do? You got friends here. He ain't going to come down here and—"
"He'll kill me okay? He'll kill me. Just like he killed Mom and Dad." I cupped my hand over my mouth. I'd pull the words back in if I could. But it was too late. I hadn't meant to say it out loud. I'd been afraid of telling the secret. Afraid that if I told anyone it would somehow make it real all over again. That it would make him find me.
"Pony," Soda started softly, looking like I'd knocked the wind out of him, "he…he killed…but your uncle…how…"
I shook my head, hand still covering my mouth and trying to keep my breath from coming in heavy gulps when I spoke. "I didn't… I didn't mean…" I didn't mean to tell I tried to say, but I couldn't get my words to work.
Sodapop had gone a sickly shade of white, eyes wide and worried, as he fought to control his breathing. But when he spoke, he sounded calm. Gentle. Sympathetic.
"It's going to be okay Ponyboy." He put his hand on my shoulder. "It's going to be okay."
But it wasn't. I'd seen too much and knew too much, and he'd never let me go. Not if he knew I was still around. Still alive.
He'd be looking for me, I was sure of it. And I said so.
"We'll think of something," he sounded so sure that I almost believed him. "Where you going to go anyways?"
I shrugged. I hadn't thought that far. I just knew I needed to move. To run. Get away. Soon as the trains were moving again.
"So you're just planning on bumming around town, hiding out any place you can until then?" Sodapop still looked real worried, watching me arrange everything in the bag, listening to my plan of hopping a train and getting the hell out of Dodge. And he sounded skeptical.
I shrugged, it was the best plan I had come up with so far, and until now, it had worked. I'd just have to go further. Find a bigger town. Someplace where I could disappear and not be noticed. Maybe Texas had been a bad idea. Maybe I needed to go East. There was more people out east. Bigger towns. More places to go.
That was my plan then. North, then east. I'd worry about how to stay warm later.
I just had to make it three days. Three days until that train headed back up towards Chicago. After that, I didn't know. But I could decide from there.
"You can't just hang around for days, Pony," Soda said, interrupting my plan and watching me roll up the blanket and fold it carefully over my arm, "It's too cold to be sleeping outside… and the Brumlys might still be looking for us. They got plenty of friends around town. You shouldn't be alone. None of us should. Besides, we'll risk it. Ain't no way that asshole will come looking at our house. He don't even know you're in Tulsa. We ain't afraid."
He was trying to convince me to stay, I realized. But that didn't matter. Sodapop didn't know who he was dealing with. My uncle wasn't some bum off the street or some rich kid or thug that you could just fight for the fun of it. He was dangerous. Then I thought about what Soda had said—that stuff about the Brumlys- but I was more scared of my uncle than I was a group of guys that might or might not jump me for being buddies with Dallas Winston. A jumping I could live with. My uncle finding me, I couldn't. Just thinking about it gave me the creeps.
"You should be afraid, Soda," I shook my head. "I can't. I've got to—"
"A few days, Pone," he tried again, "You can't go anywhere until those trains are running. You said so yourself. Until then, stay with us. You can crash on the couch. Everybody does."
I hesitated, debating. Like a frightened animal I wanted to run. But I was tired of running, I realized. I wanted to believe Sodapop. Wanted to believe things would be okay. Besides, it was only for a little while. And I couldn't go nowhere anyway. Not until I could hitch a ride north.
"Well," Soda said going on before I could make up my mind or come up with an excuse not to, "I'm cold. How about it, kid…let's go on to my house."
"Okay," I gave in reluctantly, wondering how Sodapop could make me agree so easily, "But just for a few days. Until the freights are running."
Sodapop pressed his lips into a thin line- he didn't like it-but he nodded anyway. "Okay then, kiddo. Just for a few days."
I should have felt better, I thought, having a place to stay. But I didn't. Instead, the same deathly fear that had been threatening me all day clawed it's way back into my chest until I couldn't breathe.
Something bad was going to happen. I could feel it.
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