Date: Fri, 19 Jan 2001 18:40:50 EST
From: SWarri1349@aol.com
Subject: HIGH IRON chapter 5

    HIGH IRON *Chapter 5*

    The headlight of 1200 lit the dark rails as Bill hung his head out the
cab window, watching the track ahead. The sixty-car train was moving at 40
mph. Bill was scared to open the throttle any more with his headlight
shining so dimly without the silver reflector; pieces of it were scattered
all over the track at the site of the fallen tree. John sat over in the
number two seat, as the Railroaders like to call it, puffing lazily on his
pipe, watching the track ahead. Old 1200 didn't use a lot of coal and water
at this slow speed like he did when he was clipping down the line at 60 or
above. The wooded fields passed in a blur and the telegraph poles like a
picket fence as Bill rested his hand on the throttle and John sat smoking
his pipe. Old 1200 was carrying them north as if he never met a tree.

    The train passed through Amite, the lonesome whistle breaking the still
silent night as the train rushed north past the sleeping town and small
wooden station. The agent could be seen dozing at his desk. Ten miles to
Roseland.  Bill looked at his pocket watch - 11 PM, his train was over an
hour late. He reached up and grabbed the throttle, jerking it back 2
notches; time to make up for the lost time. John got off his seat and
picked up his shovel and opened the firebox door and started throwing black
diamonds onto the red hot coals. The clank of the shovel against the steel
deck of the tender echoed up to Bill's ears as the wind rushed past his
open window, the countryside passing in a sea of darkness. The clacking of
the rails became faster as the big drivers turned, rushing them north on
the iron road. The white mile markers passed one a minute until Bill eased
the throttle down and began to slow for the sleeping town of Roseland. The
lights of the station burned brightly into the dark night; the moon had
slipped behind a bank of rain clouds and thunder rolled to the north. John
rang the bell with a steady slow pace as the big engine glided in to stop
right in front of the big bay window of the agent's desk. The crew of the
little switcher walked over to the panting Mikado while the station agent
walked out on the platform.

    "Boys, you're awful late. What in the hell happened to your engine?"
the agent asked.

    "Had a run in with a tree about 10 miles south of Amite," John replied.

    "Jesus Christ, the Banana train is waiting at Kentwood, been there for
over 30 minutes. We got no word of your passing Amite. The agent at Hammond
sent me your departure time as 9:45."

    "The operator was asleep when we passed Amite. I blasted my whistle for
him, to wire ahead. Lazy damned fool."

    "Can you make it to Kentwood in 30 minutes?" the agent asked.

    "It's risky without a decent headlamp, but I am sure we can as long as
the track is clear." Lightning flashed across the sky as Bill spoke.

    "Sam, we could run ahead of 1200 and her train with #36 over there. We
need to pick up that derrick and boom tender so we can head out to remove
the rest of that tree before the PANAMA LIMITED is due to pass at 2 AM.
It's past 11 now."

    "OK, Bob, is #36 ready to pull out?"

    "Yeah, she is. We topped her tanks and coal bunker and greased her
bearin's. She's ready to roll."

    "OK, good, get #36 in front of #1200 and I will wire ahead about the
delay and that you're pilot engine for #1200 to Kentwood. I will also
awaken the messenger boy to go get the section gang awake and have them
head out with the motorcar to the site and start working ASAP. Bill, how
does that sound to you and John?"

    "Sounds fine to me, Sam. I know Joe and Scott are ready to get to
McComb, so I can have old #1200 taken care of. We should make it there by
1:30AM if all goes right." They paused to watch the little 2-6-0 Mogul pull
out of the siding ahead of #1200, with just her small wood caboose, and back
back down the track to stop 15 feet in front of #1200.

    "Let me go wire ahead and get clearance and to hold the Banana train at
Kentwood. Then I will give you the high ball."

    "OK, Sam," Bill replied as he released the train brakes. The Conductor
walked out on the back platform of the little wooden caboose and nodded to
John and Bill that they were ready for the speed run to Kentwood.

    "I hope that old tea kettle don't break down, been ages since she tried
to make 30 miles in 30 minutes. I hope she still got it in her," John said
as he checked his sight gauges.

    "She should do fine, old Bob is a fine engineer, just too old to handle
all the long runs any more. He needs to retire but, hell, he is only 65 and
look who is talkin'. They'll have to pull me from this cab, kicking and
screaming, before I let them put me to pasture."

    "Yeah, I know, Bill, but I was talking about #36," and John laughed.

    "Smart ass!" Bill laughed as he heard the chain on the semaphore raise
to display the green light to proceed. Bill blasted a long blast on the
whistle as he watched #36 pull out in front of him. He waited a few minutes,
then opened the throttle up on #1200, John waved at Sam, who waved back
through the glass of his big bay window.

    Little #36 picked up speed quickly with her light load of only her
caboose, and soon she was a quarter mile in front of #1200 and his heavy
train of sixty freight cars and caboose. The conductor stood on the back
platform, watching #1200 try and keep up. He knew that once #1200 had
gotten his speed up that there would be no worry about keeping up; it
would be can we keep out of his way.

    The two locomotives sped down the track, passing houses and farms set
off in the distance as the thunder boomed and lightning flashed closer. It
looked like this was not a passing shower they were about to run into. The
engineers knew the risk of a powerful spring shower. The creeks have been
dry for most of the spring but one major storm and they would fill until
they overflowed their banks and dead fall began to gather under bridges,
piling high against the trestle bents. The danger lay in the case of
washouts along the raised right of way of the track and the heavy old trees
clinging to the high embankments along the cuts. Number 36 blasted her
whistle at the crossings as she rushed along with #1200 close on her tail.
Bob and his fireman Jim were keeping the old girl arolling, her small
drivers flashing in the lightning as it streaked across the skies. They
swung around a broad curve and the high winds hit them, shaking the little
locomotive as she clung to the rails as the rain started to pour down. Bob
slammed his window closed to keep dry as Jim stoked the boiler, getting
drenched by the icy downpour.

    "Jesus Christ, this came out of nowhere!" shouted John over to Bill as
he closed his window. 1200 was well stoked with coal as he sat watching the
sight glasses and the track ahead. The two big red markers of the caboose
ahead were giant globes of red in the blinding rain. Bill slacked off on
the throttle to give more room between his engine and the caboose. Big
heavy trains don't like stopping on dry rails, even less wet ones. "Yeah,
John, I hope Scott and Joe are awake and watching ahead. We need all the
eyes and ears we got in this mess!" Bill shouted back, his left hand
resting on the brake lever while his right one held the throttle.

    "Joe, where in the hell this come from?" Scott said as he shut the
cupola windows on his side and Joe did the same on his.

    "We better go close the ones down below before our sleeping lads get
wet from the blowing rain."

    "Good idea, Joe."

    They climbed down from the cupola to the floor of the caboose and
started shutting the windows from one end to the other. "Geeze, I'm glad
you never open the one by the desk, otherwise your paperwork would have
been ruined."

    "Yeah, well, that is why I never open it, I hate to have half my way
bills get sucked out the window or get soaked." Joe took a rag and dried
off the big desk while Scott leaned over and closed the window over the
bunk where Sean and Jamie were still fast asleep in each other's arms.

    "Ah, much better, all nice and dry and stuffy now!" Scott exclaimed
as he smiled at the two shirtless boys sleeping on the bunk. He saw the
bruises and cuts on Jamie's back but knew better than to ask questions
and scare the boy any more than what he already was. He saw Joe looking at
the two boys also, the glint in his hazel eyes seemed to look beyond what
anyone else saw. Scott could not help but smile at his friend Joe. What
was it about him that Scott could not get enough of? Scott looked back over
at Sean and Jamie. Looking too long at Joe was like drinking too much of a
fine wine, you tend to forget everything else going on around you. They
heard the long blast of #1200 as they rolled through the sleeping town of
Tangipahoa. The lights of the little station shone brightly in the darkness
and falling rain. The semaphore cast the welcome green light, showing the
track was clear ahead. Ten miles to Kentwood. They raced across No Bottom
Creek, named because of all the quicksand in the creek bed, and felt the
wooden bridge groan under the weight of the rushing train. Usually they
slowed down for the curved bridge but not on this speed run. The 10 miles
passed quickly, one a minute, and soon they felt the airbrakes begin to
engage as the big Mikado slowed her train to a gentle stop in front of the
small station, the home signal casting a red light to the north and south,
halting all trains. The heavy rain had slackened to a light drizzle as the
men of the two trains stepped onto the station platform. Bob, Jim, Bill,
John, Joe, and Scott all met together.

    "What now?" Bill asked when he saw the station agent walk outside the
station.

    "From what the station agent at Magnolia said, there is some trees on
the line north of the station and for me to halt all northbound trains
here. The second section of number 25 over there is at Oskya on the main,
waiting for your arrival."

    "So the main is clear from here to Oskya, Mississippi, right?" Bill
asked.

    "Ya, it is," the station agent replied.

    "So why in blazes number 25 is waiting way in the hell up there and not
here? We could have done a saw by. With both sections of the hot shot Banana
train and us and #36, there is plenty of fucking room right here."

    "Don't ask me, ask the fool at Oskya. He is the one who stopped #25 up
there on the main. Hell, that damned siding there is barely long enough for
a 10-car local. Sure in the hell ain't big enough for your train or #25 to
pass."

    "Well, send a telegram to the idiot and tell him #26 is here, waiting
for #25." Joe said.

    "A'right, guys, keep your fucking pants on! Bob, you know where the
derrick is."

    "Yeah, about a mile north of the station," replied Bob.

    "That's right, so why don't you and Jim go fetch it while I telegraph
Oskya to send the second half of #25 on down the line. It's going to take
her at least 45 minutes or more to get here. It's 12 midnight now, so about
1 AM you can pull out."

    "Bleedin' Jesus, that means I won't make it to McComb until after 2
AM." Bill shook his head in disgust.

    "The Panama Limited is going to be running behind also, with the track
clearing ahead around Magnolia. I wonder where we will meet," Joe said as
he looked at the home signal change from red to green for the first section
of #25.

   There was a long blast from engine number 1150, the older sister to
#1200. The Mikado class Locomotives were the mainstay in the stalls of the
Illinois Central's fleet of iron horses. Numbers 1100 to #1200 were some of
the best locomotives in the fleet, not counting the big Centrals of the
2-10-2 type. Number 1150 spun her drivers as she started the long heavy
train of yellow reefers headed south for New Orleans to be reloaded with
bananas and strawberries for Chicago and other points in the midwest.

    "Come on, Joe and Scott, give us a hand with the derrick. That is, if
you don't mind ridin' the tea kettle." Bob smiled.

    "Sure thing, Bob, come on, Scott, it'll help burn some of the time away
while we wait, then we'll check all the journal boxes on the cars."

    "OK, Joe, I guess our sleepin' lads will be fine until we get back.
Bill and John will be here to keep an eye on them."

    "They will be fine, Scott, those sleeping beauties can take care of
themselves."

    Bob and Jim raised their eyebrows at that comment to Scott from Joe.
"Joe, who or what do you have hidden in old 600 back there?" Bob asked.

    "Two stowaways, who both needed friends. They are asleep in the caboose
now. One's the son of a Railroader who was killed in a fire along with his
mother and younger brother. The other one just showed up. I don't know his
history yet," Joe said as they climbed the ladder to the gangway of #36.

    "I see," Bill said as he sat down on the right hand of the cab and
Scott took the brakeman's stool on the left. Joe stood in the gangway,
resting his hand on the brakewheel as Bob released the engine brakes. He
opened the throttle on the little 2-6-0 and they chuffed away from the
station, pulling caboose number #366. The little engine rocked and rolled
down the tracks, her headlamp lighting the track ahead as her 30-inch
drivers spun. The little engine might be old but she still could handle her
share of the High Iron. They soon came to the siding where the derrick sat
in the darkness. The big crane loomed out, her boom hanging over her supply
tender like a giant arm, her double hook hanging down from lines of cables.
Number 36 passed the derrick and stopped past the north switch. Scott
climbed down and lined it for the siding and little #36 slowly backed down,
the rear markers of the caboose lighting the old rusty rails of the siding
and the dark shape of the giant orange and black crane. Scott, riding the
caboose steps, called out the distance "Three joints, two joints, one
joint, half a joint," then finally, "that'll do." The calling of the
distance was done by how many full 33-foot rails separated the locomotive
from the cars that were to be coupled onto. Scott stepped off the caboose
steps and grabbed the lantern and motioned Bob to ease back as he opened the
coupler on the crane. Number 36 eased back and the couplers mated with a
bang as they gripped each other in their jaws of steel. Scott leaned over
between the caboose and crane and coupled the air hoses and turned the valve
to let the air into the brake cylinders located beneath the cars. Scott
released the hand brakes on the crane and the boom tender and raised his
lantern up and down to signal Bob to proceed. Bob gave two long blasts on
the whistle to answer Scott's signal and slowly opened the throttle, the
little drivers begin to spin on the wet rails, and Bob opened the sanders.
They began to grip and slowly the little switcher pulled her heavy load out
onto the mainline.

    Scott once again stepped down off the rear steps of the boom tender and
realigned the switch for the mainline. He swung the lantern vertically at
half arm's length to tell Bob it was clear to reverse as he stepped aboard
the steps once more. Bob replied with three short blasts on the whistle and
slowly they began to back down the line toward Kentwood a little over a mile
away.

    Bill and John had taken care of #1200 as they waited on the return of
Joe and Scott, going over the locomotive with tender loving care as if he
was a fine racehorse and not an iron one. They walked around the big engine,
looking over the wheels, journals, and pistons, pouring the thick black oil
where it was needed. Then they checked the four journal boxes on each of the
two trucks where the wheels rolled on their axles, refilling them with the
oil also. Now they sat on one of the wooden benches in front of the small
station, waiting and sipping the hot coffee the agent had brewed earlier.
Thirty minutes had passed since #1150 had pulled out with the first section
of train number #25, the green flags and lanterns on her front telling
everyone that the second section was not far behind.

    The station agent was still busy at his telegraph key, answering
messages as they came in or listening to others going farther down the line
with the steady clicking and tapping of the key. "The second half of #25
pulled out of Oskya 40 minutes ago, fellows," the agent called through the
raised window in front of his big oak desk, piled high with paperwork and
telegraph flimsies and the brass hurricane lamp sitting in the corner,
casting its yellow glow from its filament light bulb. On the wall was
mounted a large kerosene lantern for backup; you just could not trust
electricity.

    The waiting room of the wooden station was dark and so was the freight
room. The agent's office was in the center so he could write tickets at one
window and could easily take their bags and pass them to the freight
handlers and baggage men on the trains. The Panama Limited didn't stop at
Kentwood on her dash to the Crescent City.

    John had sat his cup down and was sleeping, his head resting against
his coveralls, while Bill sat there looking at the dark clouds that covered
the half moon. Bill heard the blast of #36, the long lonesome cry in the
night as she rolled across the crossings north of the station. Each
locomotive has its own tone of whistle, so you could tell them apart just
like each human has a different voice. Bill nudged John awake, "Let's back
up so that #36 can do a run around with the derrick."

    "Ok, Bill, let the agent know what we going to do so he won't panic,"
John said as he yawned.

    Bill told the agent what they was going to do as John climbed up into
the cab of #1200 and began to build up the boiler pressure by adding fresh
coal to the fire. Bill climbed up into the cab and sat down and released
the train airbrakes and the separate locomotive brakes. He then eased the
Johnston bar into reverse and cracked the throttle open. The big drivers
spun, then gripped as the heavy train began to back up to clear both the
mainline and the siding to do the run around. The couplers clanked together
as the slack was bunched up between the cars with bam, bam, bam as each one
bumped into the other. By the time the slack had reached the caboose, there
was a slight boom as the car began to roll back.



    The boom and the clank of couplers woke Sean. He yawned and looked
confused for a moment at where he was, then he saw Jamie still asleep on
his chest and smiled. 'Damn, it is warm in here,' and he noticed the windows
being closed and the damp wood around the window seal, 'must have rained,
where the hell were they?' He saw the lights of the small town flickering
and knew they were not in Hammond no more.

    He felt the jerk as the slack ran out, as the big Mikado up front eased
on the brakes to stop the train. 'Must be switching cars,' Sean thought.
'Maybe I should get up and check, where was Joe and Scott at?' He looked
around the caboose and saw no one. He thought once more about getting up to
check but then he would have to awaken Jamie and he knew the boy was tired.
Jamie hadn't moved a muscle since he fell asleep. Sean lay back and said
'fuck it'. He wasn't moving and wrapped his arms back around Jamie and
heard the soft moan as his hands made contact with the warm flesh.

    There was a short blast from the big Mikado up front, signaling she was
stopping and that the line was clear ahead. Sean lay there, cradling Jamie
in his arms, looking at the sleeping boy, the soft blonde curly hair, the
smooth pale cheeks, the pink lips that looked so kissable, the round nose
and soft long blonde eyelashes. Sean thought, 'If my little brother had
lived, would he be as beautiful?' Tears formed in his eyes as the picture
of his little brother formed in his mind. Sean lay there crying as he held
Jamie. 'Did someone above send Jamie into his care for a reason, someone
he could love as a true friend, someone to help protect him on life's
journey, someone to share his happiness and pain, or was Jamie like a
wonderful dream, here for a short while and then gone forever with only the
memories of his passing through your life?' Sean drifted back off to an
uneasy sleep that would be haunted by his dreams. The wheel in his mind was
making another full circle into his past as the caboose sat there coupled to
its train, waiting to continue its own journey.



    Scott waved the clear lantern to signal Bob to stop, swinging it sideways
so he would see it. Bob answered the waving lantern with two short blasts
from the whistle as he brought #36, the caboose, and the derrick to a stop
right in front of the station.

    Scott swung down and pulled the uncoupling lever between the tender and
caboose and waved his lantern, Bob gave a short blast and pulled forward,
Scott turned his face and stepped back as the air hoses uncoupled with a
boom and hiss of escaping air. He then swung back up on the rear steps of
the tender as the locomotive pulled down to the north siding switch, where
Joe was standing. Joe turned the lever on the switch stand, lining the
switch for the passing siding as the engine began backing down it to the
other end with Scott riding the tender and Joe back on the locomotive. Jim
sat in the fireman's seat, ringing the bell as the engine backed to the
south switch. Once there, they found John had already lined it for the
diverging route and Scott waved his lantern to proceed slowly onto the
mainline. Scott saw the headlight of #1200 sitting about 500 yards down
the line, waiting. Joe swung down off the gangway ladder and grabbed the
switch stand once #36 had cleared and lined it back for the main and
stepped back aboard as the engine pulled forward to the waiting derrick and
boom tender. Joe once again stepped off the engine as she drew closer to
the waiting derrick and motioned with his hand to ease forward. He held his
hand high and, just as the couplers engaged, he made a fist as the couplers
closed with a bang. Joe coupled the air hoses and opened the air valves in
order for the brakes to charge. The conductor of caboose #366 stepped
slowly and painfully down from the caboose platform and hobbled over to
where Joe, Bob, and Jim stood.

    "I need to go call in our boys. The switch is still lined for the main
and Scott is waiting at the switch to put #1200 on the siding," Joe said as
he picked up the lantern and walked in front of #36's tender. He raised and
lowered the lantern up and down until he heard the answer from #1200, two
short sharp blasts from her whistle as he watched Scott spin the lever on
the switch stand. The green target changed from green to red to indicate the
position of the switch.

    Joe walked back over to the group of men. "How's the gout, old man?" Joe
said as he put his arm around Roy.

    "Fuck you and the iron horse you rode in on, calling me an old man, you
wet behind the ears whipper snappin' so-called conductor who reminds me of a
confucker." Roy grinned as he spat tobacco juice over the platform and onto
the rails.

    "HA HA, Roy, well, I think old 1200 can get it up still. The tea kettle
is another story altogether." Joe laughed loud and hard as Bob and Jim spun
around.

    Bob pointed a finger at both Joe and Roy. "You can call each other any
name you want but you leave my LOCOMOTIVE out of it, AND you, Joe, call old
#36 a tea kettle again and next damned time you can run in the dark as far I
care." Bob laughed.

    Number 1200 eased through the siding switch at a crawl until the caboose
cleared the mainline and Scott had realigned the switch and climbed aboard the
caboose. Scott looked through the door at the two boys. They still slept,
wrapped in each other's protective arms. He stood there looking, thinking
for a brief moment in time, then walked back over to the right hand side of
the caboose and stood on the lowest step, waiting and watching over his
train as Bill eased forward. The big Mikado pulled alongside little #36 and
eased to a stop with the hiss of airbrakes.

    Bill climbed down from the cab with ease and walked over to the group of
men. "So, Bill, what kind of smart ass remark you got to make about me old
tea kettle, Joe done already cut her down."

    Bill smiled at Roy while stroking his mustache and beard, which was a
rich brown color. Bill looked at the older balding man. Roy, when younger,
had rich blonde hair, now it all was a silvery gray. "Not a damned thing to
say, Roy, you kept her out of my way just fine, even tho' John said... well,
I can't repeat what he said." Bill flashed another smile over at Joe and
Roy, then at Bob.

    "Humph, Bill, what did your little lad of a fireman say?" asked Bob.

    "Well, my fireman said that he hoped the old tea kettle could make it
all the way to here without breaking down and having to be put to pasture
along with her engineer." Joe and Roy broke out into heavy laughter as they
looked at John who wanted to make himself as small as possible while he
oiled #1200. He looked at Jim who was doing the same thing with just as much
care to #36 as both engines sat side by side, panting with light feathers of
steam hissing from their pistons and generators located up close to the
cabs.

    Bob cast an evil eye over at John as he held the long-spouted oil can.
"I think that old #36 has plenty of miles to go before anyone puts her or me
to pasture and, besides, I don't make a habit of running my engine through
trees late at night." Bob laughed as everyone else smiled. The laughing and
joking was a way to pass time while waiting on the telegraph to send word
that the first section of train number #25 had made it to Roseland safely
and was waiting on #36 to head out to the clean-up site. Most of the time,
#36 would have pulled out behind #1150 and her train after 15 minutes to
allow the proper distance between the two, but with the storm that had
passed and the new one brewing to the northwest, the agents at Kentwood and
Roseland agreed to the waiting to make sure the track was clear.

    The agent walked out of the small station and onto the slick wet
platform. "OK, Bob and Roy, you're clear to head back to Roseland. #1150
has just pulled in and is waiting on the siding. Sam says the track crew
left 20 minutes after you did, heading toward the tree. We have no word
from Hammond, the lines are dead. The agent at Amite is reporting high winds
and heavy rains, looks like they are getting what we had before y'all
arrived. It's 1:25 AM now, no word from Oskya either, except for the
departure of the second half of train #25. Oskya did report a track car is
on the line, headed south, so it should be here in a few minutes, I hope."

    "Thanks, Rick. Come on, guys, let's get rolling south. Bill, John, Joe,
and Scott, y'all be careful now, we got the makings of a disaster, all we're
missing are a group of those moving picture guys and one of those cameras."
Bob pulled off his engineer's cap and saluted the other crew with it.

    "God Speed, Bob, Jim, and Roy, make it to Roseland safely and we'll see
ya on the next run south," Bill replied, removing his own blue and white
striped cap and tipping toward #36 and crew.

    Roy hobbled over to the caboose and pulled himself up to the first step,
his ankles and feet feeling all the pain as the gout made his joints ache.
Joe walked over and passed him the clear kerosene lantern. "No need to keep
yours, Roy, we got ours on #600 over there," Joe said as he passed up the
lantern.

    "Thanks, Joe, would you mind helping me swap ends with these markers?"

    "Not at all, Roy." Joe climbed up onto the platform and reached over and
picked one of the large bulls-eye markers off its hanger while Roy got the
other one and they toted them through the caboose to the other end, where
they rehung them with the red lens pointing to the rear and the green facing
the locomotive and sides. Joe grabbed Roy's hand and shook it. "Safe journey,
my friend," as he stepped back down from the rear platform of caboose #366.
Roy picked up the clear lantern and waved it up and down vertically from the
right side of the caboose platform. #36 answered with a double blast from
her whistle as she panted and snorted, her little drivers spinning on the
rails as sand shot down to help, with her tender facing south and the tender
light shining down the rails. Bob opened the throttle up and she was on her
way as trails of black smoke shot into the dark skies, the big derrick
clacking over the rails as it passed. The crew of #1200 watched the little
engine and her short but heavy train until it disappeared into the darkness
with only the dim light of her two red marker lamps on the caboose to show
of her passing. As Roy stood on the back platform, he saluted the crew one
more time, raising his right hand to his brow like an admiral on a
battleship.

    "Our boys still sleeping?" Bill asked as they stood under the eve of
the station. The rain was back as it drizzled down as the thunder picked up
toward the northwest once more.

    "Yeah, when I looked in on them as we pulled into the siding, they were
still asleep, wrapped in each other's arms. I don't know what was said
between those two after we hit that tree, but once Joe and I returned from
checking the damage and flagging our rear, they have been like that for over
two hours. I think those two will be friends for life. Just like us, my
friends, just like us."

    "So true, Scott, so true. It is amazing at what can happen on the High
Iron, we run machines of iron and steel and we treat them like family. We
ride upon steel rails that will forever shine, connected by the crossties
that bind it all together. So we are a family of people and machines. Hard
to imagine what will happen in the future, when we're gone, but I'm sure
there still will still be boys dreaming of doing what we are doing now..."

    The putt, putt of a single-cylinder engine broke the soft voice of Bill
as he spoke and they saw coming down the line the wavering headlight of the
motorcar. The little 4-wheeled open car bounced over the switch points at
the north end of the siding and eased to a stop with the sputter of its
dying engine and the grinding of the wooden brake shoes against the wheels.
The trackman hopped off of his hard wooden seat that doubled as the engine
cover.

    "Howdy, boys!" Robert said as he walked over, under the station eaves
to get out of the rain. He pulled a crumpled pack of Lucky Strike cigarettes
from inside his yellow rubber rain jacket and stuck one in his mouth and
pulled out a box of matches and struck one to light his smoke.

    "Hello, Robert," Bill replied, looking at the tall boy with brown sandy
hair and about three days' worth of stubble growing on his face. "What's the
word from Oskya?"

    "Well, the track is clear to there but from there north,I don't know.
The weather is getting rough up there. The repairmen have left, looking for
the break in the lines, but they must have not found it or there is a
snapped pole that they don't have the tools to fix. The second section of
#25 is about fifteen minutes behind me. Well, I got to go report to Rick and
have him wire Oskya to let them know I made it this far south, headed to
Roseland to turn around after looking at some fill work to make sure it is
holding near No Bottom Creek. You know that bridge is weak and we are
supposed to replace it next week sometime. Where's the derrick at? I passed
the siding and it was empty."

    "The derrick is headed south to about 10 miles below Amite to finish
removing that tree we caught the top of. If we'd hit the trunk of it, the
wrecker would have been needed and not the little one." Bill spoke as he dug
his pipe out of his coveralls and began the ritual of filling it up from the
tobacco pouch.

    "The little one, hell, that is the 150-ton derrick, must be one big
fuckin' tree you hit."

    "You see what it did to the front of #1200 over there, it sure wasn't no
twig!" Bill replied, getting pissed off by this idiot boy.

    "Yeah, I saw it," Robert said as he pitched his cigarette butt out into
the rain and walked into the station. In a few minutes he nodded as he
picked up the hand crank and inserted it into the flywheel of the motor and
set the levers to start the small car. He spun the crank and the warm engine
caught on the second spin of the crank as he adjusted the spark and
throttle. He laid the crank on the floor of the car and stepped on board and
sat down and put the belt in gear and soon putted off in a cloud of gas and
oil smoke.

    "Idiot boy, I swear if I was his momma I would want a refund and then
shoot the man who helped conceive him so he wouldn't have any more." Bill
said as he puffed on his pipe.

    "Damn, Bill, you sure have no hope in that kid, do ya?" Joe laughed.

    "Nope," Bill blew a smoke ring into the air, "none at all," and he
smiled. "To tell ya boys the truth, I wouldn't trust him with the
MISSISSIPPI." Bill said, referring to the pre-Civil War locomotive that ran
out of Natchez, Mississippi in the 1850's and the Civil War.

    "Jesus, Bill," John laughed, his blue eyes sparkling beneath his red
hair. There was a long blast from the north as the second section of number
#25 entered Kentwood. They heard the chain on the semaphore pole rattling as
the arm raised to a 45 degree angle and the red lens changed to amber.

    "Looks like Rick is giving them slow orders all the way to Roseland,"
Joe said as he pulled his pocket watch out and clicked open the cover "1:45
AM on the dot."

    "Shit," Bill said, "we'll make it to McComb in time for breakfast
maybe."

    "Thinking about your stomach again, old man?" John said and laughed.

    "Call me old man one more time tonight, John, and that load of coal
in your bunker will not last till McComb. You will be screaming for me to
stop wasting fuel and here's what I'll do, pay you no mind until we reach
McComb."

    "John, you better watch your mouth, I hate to have to see you get down
and push #1200 to the next coaling tower," Joe said and grinned, showing a
perfectly white set of teeth.

    The blasts from the approaching engine grew louder as she neared the
station. Bill and John walked back over to #1200 and climbed in the cab and
John started to build up the fire. He'd banked it when they pulled back
into the siding after #36 had done her run around.

    "Come on, Scott, wake your ass up!" Scott had fallen asleep on one of
the wooden passenger benches. Joe slapped his friend's chest.

    Scott grunted and opened his eyes. "What?"

    "Time to roll, sleepy head. The second section is just north of here."

    "OK, OK, Joe, I am awake but, damn, can't you find a better way to wake
someone up?"

    "It depends on who I am awaking." Joe winked and grabbed his friend's
hand to pull him off the bench.

    Rick stepped out of the station and handed Joe his running orders to
Oskya. "See ya, guys, and be safe and, here, pass these to Bill, would ya."

    "Sure thing, Rick, see ya on the way south," Joe said as he walked over
to the locomotive and handed the papers to him. Bill took them and opened
the paper and nodded as Joe and Scott walked toward the crummy. They walked
between the two tracks, not saying a word, then Scott spoke up. "Joe, I
wonder where Jamie's family is from? I know they are poor, look at the boy's
clothes, nothing but patches over patches and his shirt is missing buttons."

    "I don't know, Scott, but from those marks on his back, he's seen his
share of abuse. I want to find the man who did that and beat the shit out of
that sorry bastard."

    "Me too, Joe, take a damned fusee and shove it up his ass and watch him
sweat as it burns to the end."

    "Remind me never to piss you off, and we're near the flag rack." Joe
smiled and slung his arm around Scott. "But one thing is sure, we need to
make our boys feel safe as long as they are with us."

    "Our boys, Joe?" Scott looked over at his friend.

    "Our boys, Scott, they are on our train in our caboose so, for now,
they are our boys." He let his arm slip off of Scott's shoulders as they
climbed the steps of the caboose.

    "Joe, I like the sound of that. I really do," Scott said as he opened
the door and they walked inside the caboose to see two smiling faces greet
them.




    Sean had woken about 30 minutes before the arrival of the second
section of train #25. The nightmare had returned to his dreams and once
again he found himself trapped in the grasp of Lord Oliver. He awoke scared
and sweating, jarring Jamie awake too.

    Jamie unwrapped himself from Sean, rubbing his sea blue eyes. "What's
wrong, Sean?"

    "Had a nightmare, my friend, sorry I awoke you."

    "It's ok, Sean. How long have we been sleeping anyway and why we not
moving?"

    "I know we been asleep for good while, we're not in Hammond any more
and it looks like it has been raining. He looked out the window at the
little station and saw the train crew talking. We're in Kentwood and looks
like we are waiting on another train or something. All the guys are talking
up at the station."

    Jamie yawned again. "OK, so we're just sitting here then, huh?"

    "Yeah, we are. I hate to ask you but could you please hop up. I need to
go to the tank."

    Jamie stood up, then looked at Sean. "What's the tank?"

    Sean smiled, "What us railroad brats call the bathroom or john."

    "OH..." Jamie smiled, "well, when you finish, I need to use it too."

    Sean stood up and walked to where the tank was located. The tank or
bathroom was located beneath the cupola of the caboose, it was a very small
closet-like space with a toilet and sink. Sean opened the door and stepped
inside the small cramped space, leaving the door open. He unzipped his pants
and reached for his member and pulled it out and aimed it toward the toilet.
"AHH," Sean moaned as the stream started flowing, emptying his bladder. He
shook the last few drops from the tip and stroked himself, feeling the
smooth skin of his own boyhood. It had been a while since he had a chance to
pleasure himself. He thought of the two Brents at the firehouse in New
Orleans, then quickly remembered now was not the time to walk out with a
boner. He stuffed his cock back into his briefs and zipped his pants and
stepped outside. He saw Jamie sitting on the corner of Joe's desk, smiling
and looking at the papers spread over it.

    "All yours, Jamie."

    "Thanks, Sean," he hopped off the desk and walked to the tank and at
first looked confused, then eased into the little room. He smiled at
himself, and wondered if the people who built this caboose knew that if you
sat on the outside corner of the desk you had a almost perfect view inside
the tank, but why would a bunch of straight guys care. He unbuttoned his
patched jeans, letting his own hardening boy meat free. Just picturing
Sean's meat as he peed made his dick jump. He shook the last drops from his
own and could not resist giving it a few strokes before buttoning his jeans
back up. "Sean, how do you flush it?"

    "See the chain hanging down from the tank on the back? You pull it, but
don't do it here, this close to the station. Wait until we're moving again
and out of town, then you can do it."

    "OK, Sean." He noticed Sean out of the corner of his eye, pretending to
look at the papers on the desk and couldn't help but take his hand and let
it rub his crotch for a moment. He smiled when he saw Sean's eyes get bigger
and almost dropped the paper. He then stepped back out of the small space
and walked over to where Sean was standing. Jamie brushed against Sean and
smiled, "How do ya read that stuff? Makes no sense to me at all."

    "Well, each line is a separate car. The initials are the reporting marks
for the car. See, look at line, 'ICRR 43125', stands for Illinois Central car
43125, then the next line is what it is hauling and that's.." Sean gulped.

    "Well, what is it hauling?"

    "Well, it is a boxcar loaded with Dynamite and it is headed to Kosciusko,
Mississippi, and it was loaded at New Orleans. Nothing to worry about, my
friend, it is harmless unless it has the blasting caps with it." Sean gulped
again, when he read 'four cases of blasting caps were also in the car with
the dynamite'. Not to worry, it is the 25th car in the train, half way from
the locomotive and half way from the caboose." Some example he had to pick
out of sixty freight cars, "and if the line after the reporting marks is
blank, that means it is empty."

    Jamie looked at Sean, "Boy, you're smart." He smiled, "Since you're so
smart, how you work this weird water cooler?"

    "Like this", he leaned over and put his mouth under the spigot and
pushed the little button, letting the stream of cold water run into his
mouth and gulping a few more mouthfuls down. He felt Jamie's hand lightly
brush his backside. Was he trying to tell him something? Sean leaned back
up and swallowed the last of the cold water. "Your turn."

    Jamie leaned over and put his mouth under the spigot and pushed the
button. The stream shot out and landed on his chin and ran down his chest.
"Shit, that is cold!" He put his mouth closer and pressed the button again
and drank until he had enough of the icy water. He leaned back up and Sean
reached out and wiped the water from Jamie's chin and then his smooth chest,
brushing the pink nipples. "Can't let you get a chill from the cold water."
Sean smiled and walked back over to the bunk and sat down.

    "WELL, YOU COULD HAVE WARNED ME!" Jamie said as he followed Sean over to
the bunk and plopped down beside the older boy, playfully pushing on Sean's
olive chest.

    Sean leaned back against the wood wall and closed his eyes and felt
Jamie's head on his chest a few seconds later. "You must like laying on my
hard chest."

    "It's not as hard as a wood floor and no pillow. Dad sold my bed after
he couldn't find work the last time. He figured his whiskey was more
important than the comfort of his son. Besides, it's warm and I like
listening to your heart beat."

    "I had a straw pallet on the floor too in that tenant building, but
Father did not sell my bed beause he needed drinking money. We had to sell
my grandparents' house because we could not afford the taxes after the
railroad cut Dad's pay, just like they did Scott's and Joe's and the rest of
the guys. They are good people to stick with, their jobs especially with
what all they have to go through sometimes."  Sean would find out how true
his words were later on. "Thank you, my friend, for saying that about me."
Sean wrapped his arms back around the younger boy. "It's nice to have
someone to hold and not be alone."

    They lay there and talked until they heard the putt, putt of the
motorcar approaching. "Sean, what's that noise?"

    "It's a motorcar, they go up and down the line, inspecting it for
damage. I guess with this bad weather they got men out looking for problems.
Here, look out the window and you can see it when it passes by."

    "Umm, you're blocking the window, Sean."

    "No, I'm not. Here, lean up some more and put your legs on either side
of mine."

    Jamie leaned up closer to the window, his smooth stomach rubbing against
Sean's as he pressed his face close to the window as Sean reached over and
raised it so they could get a better look. The motorcar came closer and they
could see the headlight reflecting off the wet rails and the putting of the
engine as it clanked by on the mainline. The operator huddled down, wrapped
in a rain jacket. "Looks like fun but not in this weather. You can close the
window, Sean, the wet air is chilly," Jamie said as he moved back from the
window seal, sliding slowly down and back, letting his bare skin rub against
Sean for as long as he could without letting the older boy know he was doing
it on purpose. Jamie felt closer to Sean than anyone in his life, even if
they had only known each other for only a few hours. Sean closed the window
and once again made himself comfy against the smooth wooden wall of the
caboose, Jamie lay back on his end of the bunk, then shifted so that his
head was resting in between Sean's arm and shoulder. The older boy's sweat
smelled sweet to Jamie. So they lay there and talked until they heard the
voices of Joe and Scott approaching. They both stopped talking and strained
to listen to what they were saying. They overheard:

      "Remind me never to piss you off and we're near the flag rack. But one
thing is sure, we need to make our boys feel safe as long as they are with
us."

    "Our boys, Joe?" Scott looked over at his friend.

    "Our boys, Scott, they are on our train in our caboose so, for now,
they are our boys." He let his arm slip off of Scott's shoulders as they
climbed the steps of the caboose.

    "Joe, I like the sound of that. I really do."

    Sean and Jamie both broke into large grins as the caboose door opened
and Joe and Scott walked inside to see them sprawled out on the bunk,
smiling. "What have you two been up to? Looks like someone has been in the
cookie jar and has just been caught red handed and with sugar on their
lips," Joe said, grinning.

    "We haven't done nothing!" both boys said together, then laughed.

    "Hmmm. Joe, they getting awful close, they already thinking like
brothers. I think we need to send Sean up front to help John shovel coal
since that comment he made to Bill has put him in the shit house tonight."

    "Yeah, Scott, that's a good idea, we sure don't need no conspiracy here
in my caboose."

    "HEY, WHAT ABOUT THE COMMENT 'WE'RE YOUR BOYS'?" Jamie said as he drew
closer to Sean.

    "Uh oh, they heard that comment, Joe." Scott smiled as the train from
the north blasted her whistle at the crossing above the station. "Come on,
guys, let's go stand on the back platform and watch the second section of
number #25 pass and, Jamie, that does require you to get off of Sean."

    Jamie blushed as he stood up and slung his shirt on, leaving it
unbuttoned as Sean did the same, then they slipped on their shoes and tied
them.

    Joe laughed when the two boys were ready and slung his arm around the
boys and put them in front of him as they walked to the back platform where
Scott was now standing on the ballast beside the platform, looking down the
tracks to the north. Joe, Sean, and Jamie stepped down and stood by Scott as
the bright headlight drew closer to the station and the yellow signal that
was shining and Rick holding the train order loop, waiting. They now could
hear the crisp ring of her bell as she slowly passed the semaphore and saw
the engineer reach out and pull the train orders from the loop that Rick
held. The train order loop was a wooden pole about three foot long that
formed a Y on the end with a double string connecting the two prongs of the
Y. The train orders, rolled into a tube, were placed in the center of the
strings that were twisted to hold the paper orders. Once the engineer
grabbed the roll of train orders, Rick lowered the pole and put the second
set in it, for the conductor riding the caboose, and waited. Jamie looked
confused and Sean told him he would explain later. The younger boy smiled
as he watched with excitement as the large locomotive loomed closer. Never
had he been this close to a passing train while standing right beside the
caboose of the other one.

    There was a long blast of the whistle as the big Central passed the
waiting Mikado on the siding. The engineer waved at John, who waved back as
the 2-10-2 eased past, the crisp ring of her brass and bronze bell hanging
down over her smokebox, swinging slowly back and forth from its hanger and
the bright headlight lighting the rails for a quarter mile ahead and the
slow steady chuff, chuff from her piston rods as the wheels rolled and the
rotating connecting rods flashing in the light of the station, 'a scene that
is worth a picture to remember it by', thought Sean as he watched the
locomotive coming closer, the black smoke shooting plumes high into the air
from her stack. Sean draped his arm around Jamie as they stood and watched
the Iron Horse draw closer and soon she was right beside them, covering the
boys in her piston exhaust as her bell clanged as she chuffed by, picking up
speed as she passed, the black smoke rising high into the still night air
and the shimmering headlamp lighting her way. The engineer leaned out of his
window and shouted hello to them and waved and they all waved back and
shouted greetings. The Central passed, followed by her six-axle tender,
longer and bigger than the ones on the Mikados, then her train of yellow and
black reefers, each one emblazoned with Illinois Central, Central
Mississippi Valley Route inside a black diamond divided into four parts,
surrounded by a red circle with Illinois Central Railroad inside the circle
on the sides, rolled past in a blur as the Central picked up more speed and
the sounding of her whistle now in the distance to the south warning
everyone and creature to clear the track. The caboose, brightly lit like
their own, soon followed, the big markers casting a green glow down her red
sides. Joe whistled when he saw the caboose, it was one of the newer types,
longer and better equipped than his own. It had a steel frame with the
cupola set off to one end and the mail door located on both sides. Scott
looked at his friend, "One day we'll get one like it."

    "Yeah, we will, but I don't know, I hate to give up old #600, it's like
home, you know," he spoke as they waved at the conductor sitting high in the
angel's seat. He waved back and soon all that was left of her passing was the
red streaks of light in the distance. Thunder rumbled in the north as they
stepped aboard #600, the homely wood caboose that Joe and Scott called home
while on the High Iron.

    Joe climbed the iron steps and waited for Sean and Jamie to join him.
Scott waved his green lantern to Bill, raising it up and down to give the
high ball. The long double blast from #1200 answered the signal as the
semaphore changed from red to green and, with the clanging of the bell,
#1200 once again started north. John stood by the switch on the north end
of the passing siding and had it lined for #1200 to pull out on the main.
The big engine, panting like a race horse at the starting gate, gripped the
rails as his big drivers started to spin, then grip, the couplers clanking
together as the slack was pulled out. The boys in the crummy were ready this
time as they listened to the couplers. Joe, Sean, and Jamie, sitting high up
in the angel's seat, felt the slight jerk as the caboose started to roll and
Scott, hanging off the rear, waiting to realign the switch once they passed,
was glad they were moving once more. Joe opened the cupola window, letting
in the cool air and waved at Rick who was already wiring Oskya of the
departure time.

    The caboose clanked over the switch frog where the rails of the two
tracks joined to allow the flanged wheels to swap tracks. Scott dropped down
from the rear steps and gripped the switch stand and spun it, lining it back
for the main line and locked the lock that was hanging on the chain. The
train eased forward as Scott ran to the rear steps and climbed aboard,
waving the lantern in his right hand. Bill answered the wave with two short
blasts as he pulled the throttle open.

    The big Mikado, with her eight coupled drivers, seemed to be happy
rolling north once more as Bill blasted the whistle for the crossings north
of town. Thunder rumbled across the dark sky as the moon hid behind the
clouds, not wanting to come out or so it seemed. Lightning arced as the
headlight, dim without the reflector, lit up the rails ahead as the little
town of Kentwood passed back into the darkness of the night. Bill watched
the track ahead even tho' he knew it was clear of opposing trains; you
never knew what was waiting around the curve and, with another storm
brewing on the horizon, he wanted to be safe; one close call was enough for
this run. Bill continued to open the throttle, time to make up for all that
sitting still at Kentwood. The red needle continued to rise on the speed
gauge until it was hovering at 65 MPH. "Fast enough, old boy," Bill said to
his engine as he patted the side of the cab with his gloved hand. John was
in the gangway, throwing scoop after scoop of black diamonds into the
roaring fire. Once the firebox was well stoked with coal, John took his seat
and checked his sight gauges, turning the metal wheels to let the steam
already in the boiler create suction to pull more water from the tender to
the boiler. Twenty miles to Oskya, which was right across the state line in
Mississippi.

    Scott walked into the caboose and smiled when he saw his seat occupied
by Sean and Jamie. "Well, shit, Joe, looks like my seat is full for this
trip."

    The two boys smiled at Scott. "We're sorry, Scott, Joe said it was OK
if we rode up here for a while. Jamie never rode in the angel's seat
before."

    "Come on, Scott, you can ride over here with me on the left side,
there's enough room for both our scrawny asses to fit."

    "Who you calling a scrawny ass, Joe, my ass ain't that scrawny. Hell, I
weigh more than you do by at least 10 pounds." Scott climbed the iron rungs
to the cupola seat box and sat down by Joe. "Pass me my harmonica, will ya,
Sean." Sean picked it up from the small box located beneath the front
window of the cupola. The caboose cupola had windows on all sides and front
and back, giving the person riding up top a full 360-degree view of what
was on all sides of the car. Sean leaned over and passed it to Scott on the
other side of the opening that separated the two seats.

    "What ya going to play, Scott?" Sean asked, smiling at him.

    "Well, I thought about a little treat for our young friend. It's called
the Freight Train Blues." The sweet tones began to flow from the mouth
organ as the caboose rocked down the track, the soft notes echoing forth
and every now and then the whistle of #1200 would add a line of his own as
he blew for the crossings as they raced north. Kentwood and her small
wooden station vanished into the night as if it was never there. The click
clack of the rails echoed up through the open windows as Scott continued to
play the harmonica. Jamie was wide awake as his blue eyes strained to see
as much as he could in the darkness of the stormy night, lit only by the
lightning flashes coming from the north. The rumble of thunder grew louder
as they raced along the iron rails, Bill and John up front keeping their
watchful eyes upon the rails as the mile markers clicked away one by one.

    The lonesome wail of the steam whistle woke the little town of Oskya,
Mississippi, located about five miles north of the Louisiana line. Bill
closed the throttle as he eased into the sleeping town that was 88 and a
half miles north of New Orleans, the home signal glowing red in the fog
that was rolling in as the cool night air mixed with the warm ground. Bill
gave two short blasts on the whistle to call for orders. The agent came out
of the station and held the train order loop high in the air as Bill slowly
passed, grabbing the roll of orders as the agent prepared the second set.

    "OK, Sean, the orders are on your side. Be ready to grab them, Bill's
going to be picking up speed as he passes the station."

    "A'righty, Joe." Sean smiled as he slid the window all the way open and
leaned out of the window. Within a few minutes, Sean saw the agent raise the
train order loop once more, for him this time. He leaned far out to grasp
the thin sheets of paper. Jamie grabbed a belt loop in Sean's jeans to help
hold him and just to have a chance to find out if that jean clad butt was
firm as it looked. Sean grasped the roll of orders and leaned back through
the window and sat back down, trapping Jamie's hand between the back of the
seat and his body. Jamie grimaced, "OW, SEAN, YOU'RE ON MY HAND!"

    "Sorry, Jamie, but you shouldn't have had it back there in the first
place. What you want to do, push me out the winder so you can hawg the
seat?" Sean smiled at the boy who pulled his hand back, looking at it to
make sure it hadn't started to bleed again. Some of the cuts were deeper
than he thought at first. "Here, pass these to Joe so he knows what's going
to happen next." Sean put the train orders in Jamie's hand as Jamie leaned
over and passed them to Scott, who in turn passed them to Joe. "Here, let
me see your hand. I hope I didn't make it start bleeding again." Sean
turned on the little electric light above his head and took Jamie's hand in
his own to look at it. Jamie enjoyed Sean's attention to his hand. Sean's
was so smooth and warm and, as the gentle fingers held it and rubbed it,
Jamie smiled.

    "Scott, I think we got two love birds over in your seat, look at that
smile on Jamie's face and Sean's." Joe laughed as the boys turned red in
the face. Sean lowered his head and let go of Jamie's hand. "Come on now,
Sean, I was just playing with you two. There was nothin' wrong with what
you were doing. I might be just a little older than you but I know you care
for your friend and that is great that you do. I know that Jamie cares the
same about you." Jamie nodded his head.

    "That's right, boys, I care about Joe just like you care about Jamie. I
would hate to see him hurt or injured and, if he was, I would do my best to
take care of him and see, Sean, there is nothing wrong with holding
someone's hand." Scott grabbed Joe's and pretended he was looking over it
like Sean had done Jamie's. "Damn, Joe, your hand's smooth, I see it ain't
seen much hard work." Scott laughed as Joe pulled his hand back and
playfully slapped Scott. Both boys laughed. "So, Mr. Boss, what's our
running orders?" Scott asked.

    "Well, boys, looks like we're in for one more meet at Magnolia. The
Panama Limited is running behind time and I am sure Bill is going to do his
damnedest to pull into that siding on time. It's 2:30 AM now and it is 20
miles to Magnolia."

    "Why is every station 20 miles apart?" Jamie asked.

    "Well, Jamie, when the railroad was first built in the mid 1800's,
twenty miles was as far as most steam engines could travel without needing
water and wood, then you got some stations closer together, like Chatawa is
only five miles up the track. They built the stations where there might be
future industry, timber, and farm shipments. Chatawa ships strawberries
during the harvest season. Reefers are lined up on sidings all over,
waiting to be filled, just like in Louisiana. Here, let me give you a five-
mile history lesson for both you and Sean, Joe knows it already like most
everyone else working this section of the line. The great strawberry
industry of Tangipahoa Parish, in Louisiana, is located in the most
productive strawberry belt in America. It started in around 1875 or 76,
when a Doctor Wilson planted the first strawberry patch in a little town
called Uncle Sam."

    "A town is named Uncle Sam?" Jamie asked.

    "Yes, my boy, it was called that then. It is now known as Independence,
LA. Now, in his younger years, Dr. Wilson was conductor on the first
passenger train north out of New Orleans to Oskya, when the Railroad was
known as the New Orleans, Jackson and Great Northern Railroad in 1853."

    "Wow!" both boys said at the same time as #1200 rushed them north along
the same line as Dr. Wilson had traveled when he was a conductor on
Cannonball #1.

    "SHIT!" shouted Bill as the torpedoes placed on the rails exploded in a
series of bangs beneath the pilot wheels. Bill started applying the
airbrakes, slowing the train as he rounded the curve.

    "Bill, we got a flagman on my side with a red lantern, standing at the
switch and it is lined for the siding. Something must be wrong ahead or the
Panama Limited has made up time."

    "Yeah, John," Bill eased the throttle back as they curved into the
passing track at Chatawa, the big engine slamming across the switch at 20
MPH. Bill yanked the whistle cord, sounding a long blast while John started
to ring the bell.

    "DAMN, BILL, HE'S GIVING US THE HIGH BALL!" John shouted as the whistle
from the north echoed down the track. "GIVE #1200 ALL HE'S GOT. THAT IS THE
PANAMA AND SHE DOES NOT SLOW DOWN FOR CHATAWA!"

    "SON OF A BITCH!" Bill opened the throttle all the way as the big
drivers spun and picked up more speed as the freight cars behind him swayed,
crossing the switch. The other headlight from the north now could be seen,
so could station and the home signal, dark for both the mainline and siding.
Four more torpedoes exploded under the pilot wheels of the passenger engine
to the north; the small white flashes of white could be seen from the cab of
#1200.

    "Holy shit, Joe! Here comes the Panama Limited!" He felt the jolt as
Bill opened the throttle after easing off, jerking the cars harder as they
watched the roof lines sway. Sean and Jamie sat motionless as they watched
the headlight of the passenger engine loom closer and it was lined up with
their window. Jamie reached over and grabbed Sean as the blood drained from
his face as the torpedoes exploded up ahead.  The passenger engine roared
past the home signal, blasting her whistle as she flew south.

    The caboose clanked across the frog as Joe looked back at the switchman
who frantically grabbed the handle and yanked upwards and spun the handle,
lining the switch back for the main. They felt a small sigh of relief, then
airbrakes start to engage and heard the mighty cry of #1200 blasting the all
clear to the greyhound on the Panama Limited. The sharp blast answered back
as the boys in the caboose watched the engine rushing forward. The caboose
slowed and eased to a stop as the Panama Limited, train number 1, roared
past in a cloud of steam, smoke, and cinders.

    The sleek, clean 4-6-2 Pacific class locomotive was only a blur to the
boys in the waiting caboose. They caught a glimpse of the engineer with his
head hanging out the window of the cab and the fireman in the gangway
stoking her fire. She gave a short blast and she was gone, the fifteen cars
of mail and passengers was a stream of dark green and lines of gold. Sean
and Jamie turned quickly to see her markers rush past, streaks of red light
in the darkness, then silence as they sat there with their mouths open. Joe
and Scott just shook their heads at the boys and the wild engineer on the
Limited.

    Bill climbed down from the cab of #1200 as fast he could and stormed
across the track to the station platform, John on his heels. "Bill, what
the hell are you doing?"

    "What I am doing is I am going to have some words with this Son of a
Bitch inside this here station! I want to know why in the hell that damned
home signal is dark and not a lantern hanging from the pole. He knew that
the line was not clear. Even with the god damned flagman at the switch and
the torpedoes, what was he going to do, let the bitch pass, then make the
passenger slam on brakes and back into the siding! Sorry two bit Mother
Fucker, putting our lives and our train in jeopardy!"

    "Whoa, Bill, hang on a second!" John grabbed Bill's arm and turned him
around. "Look at the home signal."

    Bill turned and looked. "I be damned!" The board was dark, so was most
of the station itself. The kerosene lanterns burned inside and out along
the wooden loading dock. The oil lantern hanging from the home signal had a
smashed globe, the bits of glass sparkled in the pale yellow light. "Must
of been one hell of a wind storm."

    "Yeah, Bill, so if you want to blame someone, you're going to have to
blame the superintendent of the universe and not one lone man."

    "You're right, John. Come on, let's go see if he is in the station and
all right and see what we can learn before the superintendent on the ICRR
wants our asses."

    They walked into the dimly lit station to find the agent at his desk,
hammering away at the telegraph key, the steady tap, tap, tap echoing in
the room. The big man looked up from his desk, his eyes red from lack of
sleep, his hair all disarrayed. He spoke, "Guys, forgive me for not
getting another lantern up that pole. The Panama Limited is way behind and
surprised the holy shit out of me when I got the telegram she was making
up speed and would be here any minute, so I sent the flagman out to wait
for you. I figured you would be here before the varnish, never in my born
days did I turn whiter when I heard your whistle cry, then seconds later
that of the Panama Limited. The electric has been out here for hours and
then that ungodly wind hit. The line to the north has gone dead again. I
just sent word of your arrival and the passing of the Panama Limited to
Oskya. Kentwood is clear but the storm is hitting hard there, the signal
was weak. Number #36 and her crew are back at Roseland, the tree was
removed, so all the workmen are at the station, drying off and getting warm,
but there is a problem and let's hope it does not get worse."

    "What's the problem, Will?" Bill asked, shaking his head in disbelief.

    "The bridge over No Bottom Creek is getting weaker, the water in the
creek is lapping at the rails. The second section of number 25 crawled
across."

    "Jesus! Have they put slow orders out for it for the Panama Limited?"

    "Yea, slow orders are out, so are torpedoes. We got them about 2000
yards from the bridge."

    "Then let's pray that is far enough back that the hogger has time to
slow the varnish before she crosses. One weak spot at a joint on that
bridge will spell disaster for sure."

    "I agree with you, Bill." Will said, rubbing his eyes. "Can I get one
of you young fellers to climb the home signal and replace the lantern? The
chain is jammed and, with my peg leg, there is no way I can climb that
pole."

    "Sure, Will. John, go tell the boys in the caboose to come up here to
the station for a few. We'll sit here for a little while to see if the
telegraph is repaired to make damned sure I don't have no cornfield meets
at anywhere between here and McComb."

    "OK, Bill." John walked out of the station to the edge of the track and
motioned for the caboose crew to join him and Bill at the station, then
walked back inside.

    The boys climbed down the platform steps of the caboose and started
walking down toward the station to see what John wanted. Scott once again
passed the clear lantern to Sean and the spare one to Jamie as the four
walked along the crushed rock the tracks rested on. The boys were still
pale from their close call up in the cupola of the caboose. Joe and Scott
were right behind them, talking about "This cursed trip", while Sean and
Jamie just walked in silence, listening to the rock crunch beneath their
shoes. The flagman who had stood ready at the switch was seen in the
distance behind them with his red lantern, hobbling along. The switchman
was almost thrown to the ground when the passenger train hit the switch
and it was not quite locked in position. The force of the drivers hitting
the point rails had jarred the handle from his hands and knocked him back.
He knew he was lucky. Not two weeks before, a man was killed when he was
lining a switch and a fast train had hit the switch before it was locked.
The force of the blow had hit just in mid position, causing the handle to
hit the man in the gut and propel him into the rushing train. When he was
found after the train had passed, the men had to call the undertaker with
his basket, they had to pick the man up in pieces. They stepped up on the
slick rain-coated deck of the station platform and walked over to the
station door and entered the dim confines of the small wood building.

    "So sorry, boys, for that little scare I caused," Will said as he
poured a cup of black coffee. He motioned toward the large pot sitting on
the small wood stove and the tin cups hanging on the pegs on the wall.
Bill and John were already sipping the black brew. Joe and Scott both
grabbed two cups each and poured the hot coffee, passing two cups over to
Jamie and Sean. As they stood there talking, the telegraph sprang to life,
the tap tap tap of the receiver sounding out the message. Will walked over
to the big cluttered desk and sat down and began to tap out the reply that
he had received the message from the north that the line was clear from
Chatawa to Fernwood Junction, located 19 miles south of McComb.

    "The line is clear from here to Fernwood Junction. McComb is reporting
heavy rain and winds. Joe, do you think one of your lads could do me a great
favor before y'all pull out?"

    "Sure, Will." Joe said in between sips of the steaming coffee. "What do
you need done?"

    "I need someone to climb the home signal and see if they can relight
the kerosene lantern behind the reflector lens."

    "Sure thing, Sean can do it, or Jamie."

    Bill looked over to John, "Come on and let's go check on old 1200." He
sat his empty coffee mug on the counter and headed for the door with John
following. "Will, we'll see ya on the next run!"

    "Be careful, guys!" Will called back to Bill and John, then once more
he turned to face Joe and Scott. "OK, boys, here is what I need one of you
to do. See the signal, someone will have to climb the pole and remove what
is left of the lantern I ran up on the chain. The globe was broken when the
high wind smashed it against the housing. Once that is out of the way you
will see a small access hatch on the body of the main signal head. You open
it and relight the wick and climb back down, simple for a young man like
yourselves but difficult as hell for a peg leg like me." Will pulled up his
pants leg to show the polished wooden staff that now ran from just below
his right knee on down to the cork foot. Jamie's eyes opened wide when he
saw the false leg of the agent.

    "I'll do it," Jamie said.

    "Thank you, lad," Will handed him a box of matches, "you will need
these."

    Jamie took the matches and placed them in his shirt pocket and asked
Sean to help him. The two boys walked outside into the cool damp air as
lightning flashed across the northern portion of the dark skies and thunder
rumbled like an artillery bombardment. The signal mast stood about 20 feet
tall with iron rungs drilled into each side of the wooden pole. The mast
was located right outside and to the left of the big bay window of the
station with three feet in between the building and the pole. "Up ya go,
Jamie, and watch your footing on the rungs."

    "Ok, Sean, you're going to break my fall if I slip, right?"

    "If you land on me, we both might have something broken, so you better
be careful and hold on tight."

    "Here I go. Keep an eye on my ass in case I start to slip."

    "Sure thing, Jamie." Sean smiled as he watched Jamie start to climb the
tall pole. The thin faded jeans bulged with the hidden firm ass as Jamie
climbed higher. Jamie reached the top of the pole and unhooked the tangled
bail of the smashed red lantern.

    "Catch it, Sean, when I drop it."

    "Drop it when you're ready, Jamie."

    Jamie let the lantern drop from his outstretched hand, Sean watched it
with his eyes as the lantern dropped through the air. He reached out and
grabbed it and shot a thumbs up to Jamie high on the pole. Jamie smiled as
he gripped the pole tighter as a wind gust blew out of the north, chilling
him to the bone as he hung on the slick rungs of the pole. "Hurry up, Jamie,
before the wind gets too high again!" Sean shouted from where he stood,
looking up at the cute boy hanging on the pole.

    "I will try, it feels like it is freezing up here!" Jamie shouted back
as he opened the metal door to reach the kerosene burner inside the lamp
housing. He wrapped his right arm tightly around the pole as he dug the box
of matches from his shirt pocket and removed the first one. He held the box
in his right hand as he struck the match with his left. The match sputtered
and went out, the second one stayed lit as he eased it to the wick. The
wick sputtered, then started to feebly burn; he turned the adjustment wheel
to raise the wick until it was burning brightly, then started to ease down
the pole after he closed and locked the metal door. Sean smiled at him,
watched the firm jean-clad butt ease slowly down the pole. Five feet from
the ground his left foot slipped and he leaned far out, almost losing his
balance. Sean rushed forward, ready to catch the boy if he fell. "SHIT!"
Jamie shouted as he gripped the upper rungs tighter as he regained his
balance and continued his descent to the ground. The skies opened up and
once more the rain poured down, drenching both boys in a few moments. They
raced under the eve and looked at the signal now burning brightly in the
dark sky.

    "Come on, boys, make a run for the caboose, time to head out. Will
thanks ya for the help you gave him. Now run, boys, run!" Scott yelled as
the four males raced for the caboose and its dry warmth. The thunder
rumbled closer as the rain poured harder. They reached the caboose steps
in record time. They began to scramble up the steps when Jamie slipped in
the mud on the outside of the siding and fell with a splash, covering
himself in gritty mud. Sean reached over and grabbed Jamie's hand and
pulled him up and scrambled onto the steps and the forward platform.
Scott held the door open for the boys as they stepped inside the dry
caboose. Scott stepped back outside and waved his lantern, giving Bill the
start signal and it was answered by two short blasts from #1200. Will
pulled the chain on the home signal, the light changed from bright red to
green. Bill gave another short blast from #1200 as the big engine spun his
drivers on the wet rails, Bill opened the sanders and the heavy train began
to roll north once more. John swung down from the gangway and raced ahead
to the switch stand and lined the rails for the main line as #1200 eased
out. Once more he swung back aboard and started to stoke the boiler,
building up the steam pressure as Bill poured on the coal to get the heavy
train up to speed as the cars clanked over the switch. Scott was building
a small fire in the coal stove in the caboose. He would not have to worry
about lining the switch back since the next southbound train was a local
which had to drop off some cars at the house track at Chatawa.

    Bill and John had the windows closed on #1200 against the sheets of
rain as the lightning grew brighter in the northern sky and the thunder
rumbled. John was soaked from standing in the gangway, feeding #1200's
firebox with black diamonds, his clothes steaming from the heat of the
roaring fire. Scott had the fire burning brightly in the little round pot
belly stove and a bucket of cool water was beginning to heat up. He reached
over and grabbed two of the small hand towels and a bar of heavy lye soap.

    "OK, boys, strip!" Scott said as he tested the heating water on the
stove.

    "But, Scott we have nothing else to put on if we do," protested Jamie.

    "Now, you listen here, young man, it is after 2:40 AM and it is time for
good little boys like you and Sean to get some rest and you're sure not
laying in mine or Joe's bunk soaking ass wet, you hear me."

    "Scott!" Jamie moaned, "what we supposed to do, prance around naked for
everyone to see?"

    Scott walked over to a chest and slid it out from under the opposite
bunk and pulled out two starched white towels and held them out. "You will
wrap yourselves up in these, now strip before I make Sean hold you down and
Joe and I strip you naked like a five year old."

    Sean smiled and grabbed Jamie around the waist, catching the boy off
guard as Scott walked over to them and began to unbutton Jamie's shirt.
Scott pulled it off the wet, shivering boy and Sean let go of him to remove
his own. "Now you two clean up and I will join Joe in the angel's seat and
give you some privacy. Once you're undressed and clean, hang your clothes
and towels on the rack near the stove and crawl in the bunk you two shared
earlier. That way, in a bit, I can take me a nap before McComb."

    "Yes, Pa!" both boys shouted. Joe broke out into laughter.

    "Just wait till I tell Bill and John that you're a father to two boys.
Boy, you got started at a early age!"

    Sean, Jamie, and Joe broke out again into fits of laughter as Scott
turned red in the face, then swatted both boys on the butt. "Joe, it is your
turn now, you lazy bastard with the baby smooth hands from pushing a pen
across that desk in the corner."

    "Uh oh, Joe, you're in trouble now with Pa down here!" Both boys once
more broke out into laughter as Scott raced over to grab both of them
standing in their wet pants and grab their ears.

    "Ow, Scott, that hurts, damn it!" Jamie shouted.

    "Listen to such language. I better use that soap to wash that dirty
mouth of yours out, then wash the mud off you. You look like a dirty little
pig all covered in mud! And forget the part about you being a good little
boy, you little devil, you!" Scott laughed as he let go of their reddening
ears and walked over to the rungs to the cupola seats. "Now strip and get
clean and dry, then hit the bunk before I sic Joe on you two little brats."

    "Yes, Pa!" both boys shouted at Scott and burst into gales of laughter
once more as the train raced north in the driving rain. The headlight cast
its beam along the dark rails as they rushed along the slick rails, passing
sleeping hamlets of people as the northern wind blew the rain against the
heavy locomotive as she pushed forward into the storm at 30 MPH, Bill
straining his eyes to see through the rain and fog as they raced along the
iron rails to McComb.

    Scott climbed the rungs to his seat and sat down and began to stare out
into the inky darkness of the night. The rain hammered against the glass of
the windows. "Damn, Joe, looks like we're running head on into this storm!
What we hit south of Kentwood must of been just a spring squall!"

    "Yeah, it does, Scott! You know, I have been thinking, if I ever do have
kids and I have two boys, I hope they will be just like Jamie and Sean.
Those boys are special, even tho' I hardly know them and, Scott, you would
make a good father."

    "Thanks, Joe, you would make a better one than me." Scott reached over
to the window seal to get his harmonica and the spot was empty. He looked
over to Joe and he already was reaching out to pass it to him. "How about
your favorite, Joe?"

    "Sure, Scott, it'll pass the time."

    Scott put the harmonica to his lips and the soft notes filled the air,
then they grew louder as Joe joined his voice with the music of THE WRECK
OF OLD 97.

    "They gave him his orders at Monroe, Virginia,
     Sayin', Steve, you're way behind time,
     That is not 38 but it's Old 97,
     You must put her into Spencer on time.

     Well, he turned and said to his black, greasy fireman,
     Just shovel in a little more coal,
     And when we cross that White Oak Mountain,
     You can watch Old 97 roll.

     It's a mighty rough road from Lynchburg to Danville,
     And the line is on a three-mile grade,
     It was on that grade that he lost his average,
     And you see what a jump he made.

     He was goin' down grade makin' 90 Mile an hour,
     When the whistle broke into a scream,
     He was found in the wreck with his hand on the throttle,
     And scalded to death by the steam.

     Now come on, you ladies, you must take warnin',
     From this time on and learn,
     Never speak hard words to your kind loving husband,
     He may leave you and never return.

    Joe continued to sing while Scott played, the whistle of #1200 up front
chiming in it seemed at the right time almost every time as if Bill could
hear Scott's notes way up front.

    Sean had stripped down to his briefs and was washing his upper body,
cleaning off the sweat, grime, and road dust from riding in the boxcar.
Jamie stood there watching his friend wash and scrub his body as the soft
wonderful notes of music floated throughout the rattling car. Jamie learned
quickly that riding in a caboose on a freight train was like standing on
the bow of a steamboat. The bouncing and rattling was just like the waves
in the river, you had to get your sea legs, then all was fine. Jamie
scrubbed his chest clean with the warm soapy water; he had forgotten the
last time he had a chance to actually bathe with hot water. Jamie did his
best not to stare at his almost naked friend as the dirt and grime was
cleaned away and the olive skin began to glow under the kerosene lamps in
the caboose.

    Jamie stood there in the rocking caboose, doing his best not to stare at
the almost naked boy he now called his friend. Sean noticed Jamie casting
glances over at his body. He wanted to say something but he knew now was not
the time. He would wait until they were lying in the bunk, then he knew he
could whisper into Jamie's ear and Scott and Joe could not hear them, that
was the time. Sean finally dropped his white briefs and now he stood naked
in front of Jamie. Jamie looked hard for a moment, then quickly turned away
to finish scrubbing the dirt off the rest of his body and hoped his
hardening member hidden in his jeans wouldn't be noticed by Sean. He washed
his hairless chest and stomach, then reached around to try and wash his
back.

    Sean noticed that Jamie was having trouble so he dipped his own rag into
the water and walked over to where Jamie was and gently started to wash the
boy's smooth back and neck. Jamie tensed up at first when he felt the cloth
touch his skin, then began to relax as the soft hands and warm water worked
their magic. Sean's own member began to stiffen as he looked at the smooth
skin, blocking out the healed bruises and cuts, just the feel of the warm
skin. Sean did not care if Jamie saw it or not, he knew Jamie enjoyed
looking at his body, so why not give his new friend an eyeful. Sean knew
that Jamie was watching from the moment he stepped into the tank to take a
piss, he could have done his job quicker but he knew he had an audience
watching, so he decided to give the boy a small show, and damn if Jamie did
not turn the tables on him, then when the motorcar passed by and how Jamie
did his best to add as much friction to him sliding down his chest after it.
Sean smiled as he thought, 'As a railroad boy I know how to read signals and
from what I can read, Jamie is about to drop that caution light down to a
green highball.' Sean moved in closer to wash Jamie's neck and to let him
feel his hard member press against his jean-clad butt. There was a very soft
moan that could barely be heard as his member brushed up the center of the
thin clad butt. Sean glanced up for a moment to the cupola seats and smiled.
They could not be seen nor heard over the click clack of the wheels and the
noise of the train as they raced north to McComb.

    Sean reached around front and began to wash Jamie's chest. He knew it
was clean already, but he wanted to feel the hard nipples on the boy's
smooth flawless chest. At least the sorry bastard had not whipped him on his
stomach or chest to scar the smooth white skin. The bruises and wounds on
Jamie's back was bad enough. His fingers brushed over the chest and his bare
fingers made contact with the hard pins of flesh that formed the dark pink
nipples. Another soft moan escaped Jamie's lips as Sean's hands rubbed and
explored the smoothness of his friend. Sean ran his hand down Jamie's chest
to his stomach and let it rest there for a moment on the little rim of the
belly button, to test the water once more before charging into the fray.
Sean was finding it hard to stop and Jamie was loving every bit of the
attention he was receiving. Sean smiled, 'Could it be that teenage love and
lust was like a runaway freight train with no brakes?' Sean dipped his hand
in the warm water, soaking the cloth again, then he reached around from the
back of Jamie and slowly, gently, reached down to the tarnished brass
button that held the fly of Jamie's jeans. Jamie once more grew tense as he
felt the hand touching the button clasp of his jeans. He knew once the
button was released, the jeans would fall to the floor and all would be
revealed. Jamie did not have anything to be ashamed of, he was bigger than
average for his age, just like the rest of his body. He was already as tall
as Sean at 5 foot 6 inches and weighed more at 140, but Sean's was all
muscle, but Jamie knew that at least 60% of his weight was too. Jamie knew
that Sean was hard already as he felt the warm welcome heat radiating from
it when Sean first brushed against his backside. Jamie knew he still had
some growing to do in that area, after all he was only 13 years old and was
proud of what he had down there. He already was beginning to sprout some
light blonde hair around his groin, just as long as they stayed down there
and did not try to cover his chest and stomach. He had seen his father and
other steamboat men shirtless many times and the large mats of black hair
made him sick. He thought it made his father look like a fucking creature
and not a man; hell, he was a creature and never a human. A creature that
lived off of moonshine and rotgut whiskey, drinkin' it down like a
steamboat drank river water to fuel its boilers. 'Sorry fucking bastard, a
sorry fucking low down bastard,' just thinking about his father sent
shivers down his spine.

    "You cold, Jamie?" Sean asked as he continued to wash the boy's chest
and back.

    "No, Sean, I just had a bad memory to flash through my mind, that's all,
You must be cold, you're standing here naked," Jamie said as he turned to
look into the green eyes of Sean. Jamie did his best not to look down at the
hard penis, but could not miss a quick glance down to that area. He smiled
at what he finally got to see close up. Sean's cock was longer and thicker
than his own, but Sean had a few years on him.

    Sean smiled at Jamie as he took the boy's hand and pulled him closer to
the coal stove. Sean pressed the wash cloth into the boy's hand and turned
so that his back was facing Jamie. "Your turn, my friend."  Sean smiled as
he spoke the words.

    Jamie almost dropped the wet cloth on the floor as his hands seemed to
grow numb like the rest of his body as he caught the first real unclad
glimpse of Sean's ass. The two cheeks were just a little paler than Sean's
chest and back, the globes were smooth, hairless, and perfect in Jamie's
eyes, just like the rest of this boy god. As much as he hated to even think
of the evil English bastard, he had to agree with him on that part. Sean
was a boy god in the flesh and blood. He reached up and began to wash the
olive colored skin. He felt the electric shock course through his body as if
he grabbed two telegraph lines at once, the warm skin was so smooth it was
as if he was feeling it for the first time. He scrubbed the smooth skin
clean, making Sean's back glow like his chest and stomach, the dust and
grime running down the smooth lines of Sean's back and over the smooth
perfect butt cheeks and some even ran down the crack as it flowed down the
lightly hairy legs to drip on the floor. "Lower," Sean whispered in a low
moan. Jamie had captured him with his soft touch and gentle fingers.

    Jamie dipped the cloth once more into the water and started at the
small of Sean's back and soon his fingers brushed the top of Sean's butt,
then Jamie reversed course, working back up to Sean's neck. "Don't stop, my
friend, it feels so damned good, work your way all the way down to my feet
and I will return the favor when you're done," Sean whispered into Jamie's
ear. "If you want, I will wash my front, but only if you don't want to."

    Jamie laid his hands on Sean's back, the one with the cloth worked lower
as his bare hand kneaded the muscles in Sean's upper back, making him moan
softly. "I guess that answers my question," Jamie answered with a firm
squeeze to Sean's lower back. The smooth powerful hands of Jamie now had
their green board to work on the stiff muscles of the naked boy god that
stood before him as he washed the perfect cheeks. Jamie smiled broader
every time he heard the soft moans escaping Sean's perfect light red lips,
his bare hand also working slower and lower down the smooth skin that
covered the tight muscles until he was rubbing and both hands right above
the beginning of the crack on the wonderful ass. The low moans kept Jamie
working lower down the smooth skin of Sean's ass. Jamie let out his own low
moan. Sean couldn't help but smile as he heard the moan Jamie let escape
his lips so close to his ear.

    Jamie's finger tips felt wonderful on his back as the warm cloth ran
over the tired aching muscles. Never before had such care been given to his
backside, not even the two firefighters in New Orleans had given him
such fine treatment. He knew that Jamie was doing it as slow as possible.
Sean stiffened some when he felt the cloth ease lower down on his right ass
cheek and Jamie paused for a moment, then continued to clean the smooth
flesh. It was nothing like he had ever seen before and then again he had
seen it before during his summer days along the back creeks and bayous of
Orleans Parish. The Creole boys were handsome with their golden skin but
nothing compared to this so close. The odors mixed of both the clean lye
soap and that of the road sweat and grime of the unwashed areas mixed with
the fresh smell of the rain. Jamie's penis strained against the confines of
his jeans, wanting to break loose and feel the fresh air and the heat that
radiated from Sean. Jamie almost dared to unfasten his jeans to let his cock
loose so he could stroke it every now and then as he washed this boy god
standing in front of him as he kneeled to worship and clean the cute ass
before him.

    Jamie could not decide if it was love or lust or both of them combined
driving him to continue the slow pace. The soft moans that escaped from
Sean's lips drove him on more like the roaring fire in the firebox of #1200
drove them north up the tracks to McComb. Jamie knew at that moment he
controlled the older teen with just the actions of his hands as he cleaned
the boy. 'Oh, what power for him to have!' even if it was just for a brief
moment. Jamie knew that once Sean had gotten control of him he would melt
like the ice in a glass of iced tea on a warm summer night. Jamie swapped
over to the left cheek and washed and scrubbed away the grime that was there
if you held one of those special looking glasses close to the skin. But to
him now, the cheek was cleaner than a fine china plate and a lot nicer to
look at. He worked his way down the lightly hairy leg down to the foot and
he scrubbed and washed it as if he was bowing before a resurrected Christ.
Sean lifted his foot to let Jamie have full access to it, the long straight
toes wiggled as Jamie ran the cloth between them. Jamie scrubbed the foot
clean, then swapped over to the right one; he repeated his careful cleaning,
then proceeded up the right leg up to the thigh. From his position on his
knees he could look up to the cute ass and he could see the heavy balls that
hung low in their sack. Jamie leaned forward to let his cheek brush the
hairy leg before standing back up on weak knees.

    Sean turned slowly around and saw the blushing red cheeks. Jamie was as
handsome as ever, standing there with the rosy red cheeks as if he had just
been caught looking at a dirty magazine. Sean hoped he looked better than
some of the models he had seen in some of the ones he had found while
looking for jobs along the back alleys of New Orleans.

    Sean took the rag from Jamie's hand and dipped it again in the bucket
on the stove. The water was now even warmer than before since the long
burning coal was still plentiful. He smiled at Jamie before pressing the
rag back into the boy's hand. "Want me to finish since there is only one
more spot to do?" Sean asked Jamie.

    "Naw, Sean, I will do it for you." Jamie smiled as he spoke the words
and took hold of the warm wet cloth that Sean held out for him. Jamie eased
down to his knees in front of Sean, the wonderful hard cock hanging over his
head like the lowered spout of a water tower, but Jamie knew what that spout
produced and it sure was not water. Jamie scrubbed the insides of Sean's
upper thighs, working to the groin area on this boy god. Sean found it
impossible to conceal the moans as they escaped his lips as Jamie scrubbed
his thighs. He shivered when he felt Jamie's hand brush his low hanging
balls. The hand faltered only for a moment, then continued. Jamie's hand
reached and grabbed his heavy balls and Sean felt the warmth of the cloth as
it wiped away the boy musk and sweat that had gathered there since the last
real bath he had with the two wonderfully handsome, deeply in love,
firefighters in New Orleans. Sean's moans rose from deep inside his throat
as he thought back for a moment to Williams and Sims, both handsome beyond
his wildest dreams until this angelic creature landed in his life, floating
down from the top of a 40' foot boxcar in the middle of a summer night.
Jamie stopped for a moment before reaching to grab the stiff boy meat
and to clean off the strong boy musk and the leaking pre cum that had formed
on the shiny head. Jamie wondered what it would be like to clean it with his
mouth but he knew he better not do it that way just yet or right here. What
would Joe and Scott think if they caught him sucking off Sean in their
caboose? Jamie grabbed the hard meat in his hands and carefully washed its
length until all six inches glowed, slowly jerking the foreskin. Jamie
hated to let go of it but he knew he could clean no more and from the heavy
breathing coming from Sean he was not going to be able to hold back for
long. Jamie slowly rose to his feet after jerking the hard cock a few more
times and he spoke. "All done, Sean."

    Sean smiled at Jamie, "Thank you, my friend, you did great, you do have
magic fingers, you know. Now it is my turn to return the favor!" Sean cast
a bright smile over to Jamie, Jamie smiled back and noticed Sean's cock when
it jerked a little. "You're in for the royal treatment, my friend!"

    Sean dipped a clean wash cloth into the warm soapy water and then
reached out with his free hand and took Jamie's right, he ran the wet cloth
over the long smooth fingers that already had grown rough on the bottom from
the hard work and rough play he had done during the carefree years before
the depression struck and his father robbed childhood away from his son and
turned it into a living hell.

    Sean washed the youthful hand and ran the cloth all the way up the arm
and under the almost hairless pit of the beautiful boy that stood before
him in faded worn-out jeans that were covered in patches. The discarded shirt
that now hung on the iron rack behind the stove to dry was discolored yellow
that at one time was snow white, but never to be again. The stains, some
light, some dark, from the sweat that this wonderful boy produced during his
work and play were forever ingrained into the fabric, then there were the
darker stains where the beatings from the harsh belt and fisted hand had
bruised and cut into the tender flesh and caused the blood to spill out and
to stain the white shirt. Sean did not realize how much a piece of clothing
could tell a person if only they looked closely at it. Sean was slowly
cleaning the handsome chest that was milky white, not a sickly pale. This
was a healthy whiteness that showed some of the strong veins that coursed
below the skin like miniature rivers full of the life giving blood and the
power of life like the ones that shone in his neck when his temper rose
like a boiler wanting to blow. Sean wondered if a person could cum without
even touching themselves and with the way the clear fluid leaked now was even
a sign he would soon find out for himself.

    Sean's hands covered every inch of the smooth chest, arms, and stomach
on their way down to the secret area that he had not a chance to explore or
even see up close yet. Sean turned Jamie slowly around as if he was going
to dance a waltz and carefully rewashed the strong back that had taken so
much pain from the drunken bastard that the wonderful boy had for a father.
Diamond tears formed in Sean's eyes as his fingers traced the road map of
bruises, scars, and healed cuts as they worked lower to the jean-clad
behind. Sean reached around to the front of Jamie's jeans and found the
tarnished brass button that held them to the boy's frame and he unfastened
it, letting the faded jeans fall to the floor with just a whisper of noise.
Sean smiled broader when the two pale white cheeks greeted him only inches
from his face. They were clear from the marks that covered his back. Sean
let his bare fingers trace along the smooth flesh, unhindered by the rag
that once more was in the bucket and now looked like it had came straight
from Old Man River itself. He smiled when he saw the small goose bumps pop
up all over Jamie's skin at the gentle touch of his bare hands. Sean grabbed
the wash cloth from the bucket and started washing Jamie's legs, starting
at the lower calves and working first toward the feet, washing the dirty
toes and bottoms of the feet. Once all ten toes were sparkling clean, Sean
reversed course and headed back up the smooth hairless legs, washing the
insides. He stopped right below the tight drawn ball sack. Jamie shuddered
and Sean looked up to him.

    "You all right, Jamie?" Sean asked in low soft voice. Sean's hands now
rested on Jamie's slender hips.

    "I dunno, Sean, for some reason it feels weird. That Lord Oliver keeps
popping into my mind. Your warm soft hands feel great, but my mind keeps
replaying what Lord Oliver tried to do to me. I know this totally is
different than what he tried to do."

    Sean stood up and pulled Jamie into his arms and held him close. "I
would never hurt you, my dear kind friend. I want you to feel safe with me
like I feel toward you. You're a sweet, kind, and very handsome boy." Sean
blushed when he realized that he just called Jamie handsome out loud.

    Jamie just blinked as he stared at Sean. 'Did he just call me handsome?
or was my ears playing tricks on me?' "Me handsome, don't lie to me, Sean.
People have lied to me all my life, mostly my parents."

    Sean cut him off in mid sentence. "Not another word like that, my
friend. I am not lying to you, never will lie to you. You're a handsome boy
and I care deeply for you. I finally have a true friend and I be damned if I
am going to lose you by lying to you, Jamie." Sean looked Jamie in the eye
as he spoke, letting him know what he was saying came from the heart and
soul within.

    "Thank you, Sean, I feel the same way about you. It's weird, when I was
washing you I thought I was cleaning a earth bound angel sent from heaven,
you so perfect in every way."

    Sean smiled, "I am no angel, Jamie, nor am I perfect in a lot of eyes,
but if that is what you see in me, then it must be true, someone on this
earth does love a orphaned railroad brat."

    "You're no brat, Sean, you're a great guy!" Jamie said as he took the
wash rag to clean his own groin. "Next time, if there is one, I promise to
let you finish the job, but I think we better soon get under those covers
before Scott comes down and finds us still naked. We would never hear the
end of it from the crew then."

    "So true, my handsome friend." Sean grabbed one of the towels and
quickly scrubbed himself dry and then passed it to Jamie who did the same.
They crawled in the bunk naked and Sean brought the clean cotton covers up
and over their lower bodies. The bunk was a tight fit but they managed to
lie side by side, facing each other.

    "Hey, Pa, how about turning down some of the lights down here so your
boys can get their rest!" Jamie shouted.

    Joe smiled at Scott, "Your boys are calling you!" and burst out
laughing.

    "I'll show them who's a Pa around here and you, Joe, shut up!" Scott
grinned as he climbed down the rungs to the wooden floor and walked to
where the boys were lying in the bunk.

    "So, my loving children, all tucked into bed. How cute, all nice and
clean but you forgot to dump the bucket off the stove," Scott said as he
walked over to the bucket and removed the two cloths and put them in the
dirty laundry box, then he grabbed the bucket by its bail and walked to
the door and opened it. He threw the water out into the drizzling rain
and closed the door.

    He placed the bucket under the flag rack and walked over by the big
desk and blew the kerosene lamp out, then turned the other one down that
was hanging by the stove. Now there was only the dim yellow light of the
single lantern and the two dim beams coming from the small lights in the
cupola. Scott walked over to the bunk where the boys lay close together
and leaned over them and surprised them by kissing them both on the
foreheads. "Good night, my boys, sleep well and we'll have breakfast in
McComb."

    "Good night, Scott, good night, Joe" both boys called out.

    "Good night, laddies." Joe called down from the angel's seat. He slid
the window open to let the cool damp air hit his face as he gazed out into
the darkness and the rumbling thunder as the storm picked back up once more.
"Scott, I thought you were going to bunk down until we reached McComb?"

    "Well I decided I have lasted this long and with this damned storm you
need a extra pair of eyes up here," Scott said as he propped his feet up
on the forward window ledge.

    "Thanks, my friend. Our boys all tucked in for the last leg to McComb?"

    "Yes, they are, Joe, you know, for such a short time I think they are
really beginning to grow on me. I kissed them on the forehead just like my
dad used to do me when I was little."

    "Mine used to do the same. Remember a while back after we were in that
derailment north of Grenada? Well that night after I made it home my dad
grabbed me into a bear hug and told me how bad he was worried, it was one
of the few times I have actually seen him cry. That night as I was headed
to bed he kissed me like I was just a boy, on the forehead, good night. It
made me feel so safe and loved like it did when I was just a boy, you know."

    "Yeah, Joe, mine did the same thing the next night when I made it back
to Jackson. He acted so calm and normal at the station around the rest of
the guys but once we set foot in the doorway at home, he cried and hugged
me so hard as if I was just a kid. Damn, Joe, that makes us lucky in many
ways."

    "Scott, what we did for those two special boys makes them feel lucky
and blessed for once in a long time and I hope, if only it is for a short
while, we can help fill that void in their hearts."


    "Bill, we gotta hit that next water tower at Fernwood Junction, my
boiler is getting low and the tender is almost dry!" John shouted over the
clanking of the rails and the roar of the firebox.

    "Sure thing, John, I hope old #13 is out of the way." Bill laughed.

    "Bill, they bigger damned fools than we are if they got that 3-truck
Shay out on the junction track, anyway why in the hell would a logging
line be switching cars at almost 3 AM in the morning for?"

    "You know them crazy bastards, John, they shoving out more pulpwood
and logs for our local to Brookhaven. Got to keep that papermill supplied at
Natchez. Well, we got 5 miles till we find out if #13 is blocking the water
spout."

    "Aye, we do," John said as he closed the firebox door and climbed into
his seat and sat down. The rain now was coming down in sheets, hammering the
locomotive cab windows. John cursed under his breath as he reached for his
pipe off the boiler backhead and pulled his tobacco pouch from the small
shelf that was beside his seatbox. He packed his pipe and struck a match to
it. Time to take it easy for a few miles. Bill yanked the whistle cord as
he approached a rural crossing, the long, then short, blasts from the whistle
sounded their approach to the automobile sitting there in the darkness
waiting for the train to pass.

    "Hell of a night to be out on these back roads in one of those things."

    "Sure is, Bill, and those tires are so shitty, hell, you can pop one
just by hitting a pot hole and Lord forbid you break a spoke," John said as
he puffed on his pipe, leaning back in his seat as the big engine roared
across the wood-decked crossing.

    Bill eased back on the throttle as he swung around the last curve
before reaching Fernwood and the junction with the logging road. Number
#1200's headlight lit the straight rails ahead and saw the junction switch
lined for the main, the green lantern on top burning bright in the pouring
rain.  The big engine clanked across the switch and continued to slow down
for the water tower ahead.

    "Damn, Bill, look at that, those fools are out tonight. #13's sitting
on the siding at the tank, out of our way for once."

    "Told ya, John, those short liners think they are just like us, looks
like they are waiting on us, just locomotive and caboose at the tank."

    "Must be, hell, as late as we are, anybody could be through switching
this little burg. Hell, Bill, there's our boys sitting on the house track
with their train all made up and ready to pull out. Shit!"

    "Damn, John, old Fernwood is seeing some action tonight, three trains
at one time!" Bill started laughing as John started to ring the bell in a
slow tolling as the engine eased under the spout of the wooden water tower
and stopped. The hiss of the air brakes rose in the air as the cars clanked
to a stop. "Looks like you're going to get wet, my boy!"

    "Oh, shut up, Bill!" John said as he stood up from his seat and laid
his pipe back on the backhead of the boiler. He then walked out onto the
gangway that coupled the tender to the locomotive and climbed up and over
the coal bunker to the rear of the tender. Bracing his feet, he bent over
and lifted the water hatch door open and reached up for the long chain with
the handle dangling down from the water spout. The counterweights on the
spout rose on their chains as the spout was lowered into the water hatch and
the water gushed into the tender, 14,000 gallons per sip for old #1200 and
20 tons of coal. Number 1200 had a hearty appetite when it came to feeding
time.  John smiled when he looked over at #13 shimmering there in the rain,
the tender hatch was open and since it did not have a rim around it all the
rainwater that collected on the top ran in. 'Lazy bums.' he chuckled, but
at least he did not have to worry about wooding a locomotive, all he had to
do was pull a chain to fill his tender, unlike the crew of number 13 who had
to manually throw stick after stick of wood into the bunker of the Shay.
John always thought the Shays were weird looking, their boilers offset to
one side and the pistons, instead of driving connecting rods to the wheels,
were connected to driving cranks on a drive shaft that connected all three
of the four-wheeled geared trucks. The top speed was about ten miles per
hour max, but, boy, could one of those bitches pull. Gray wood smoke puffed
from her stack as she sat there, waiting to leave. John liked the homely
little engine with her hand painted name on the side of the tender, the
name longer than the railroad. Fernwood Columbia and Gulf.  The little line
only ran from Fernwood to Columbia, a total of about 35 miles with three
locomotives - two 70 ton Shays, number 13 and 14, and one 80-ton ten-
wheeler, #97. So far the FC&G's #97 had not derailed and joined the
Southern Railway's #97 in fame and disaster at the bottom of a trestle.

    John raised the water spout and closed the hatch cover and climbed back
over the wet coal to the dry cab of #1200. "OK, Bill, let's roll!" John said
as he opened the firebox door and shoveled in some fresh coal onto the
roaring fire and then turned the brass wheels, letting in fresh water from
the tender to the boiler, before climbing in his seat.

   Bill eased off the brakes, yanked the throttle open, and hit the sanders
as the big drivers spun and began to roll. He blasted his whistle at #13 and
her crew in the caboose as he passed. The clanking of the couplers as they
tightened was a steady bam, bam, bam as the long train started to roll once
more. Once the train was rolling he eased back down on the throttle so they
would drift past the small station and the local train sitting in the house
track. The passing siding was clear and the home signal shone green for the
north. Bill blasted a long toot on his whistle as he passed #638, a 1898
2-8-0 Consolidation class locomotive. Number 638 was famous on the ICRR
line. Casey Jones himself was given that locomotive when it was brand new at
the Chicago World's Fair when it closed in 1898 and he ran it himself all
the way south to Water Valley, Mississippi. It was his engine until 1900
when he was promoted to the Cannonball #1, the ICRR's crack passenger train.
Casey was killed on the morning of April 30th, 1900, when his engine #382
plowed into the rear of a southbound freight train at Vaughan, Mississippi.
He was 36 years old. The sharp blast from #638 echoed back as #1200 rolled
past the switch and the station. John eased off the bell as Bill jerked the
throttle back so he could watch the drivers roll as they finished their last
leg into McComb.

    "John, how brave are you feeling tonight?" Bill asked with a smile and an
evil grin.

    "Bill, you're not thinking what I think you're thinking, are you?"

    Bill laughed and nodded his head. "Let's see if old #1200 got it in him
to do 70 for the last 18 miles!" he yelled as he pulled the throttle all the
way out. "Hang on to your seat, ol' boy!"

    "Shit, Scott, Bill is living up to his name tonight, look at the damned
speed gauge!"

    Scott looked over at the brass speed gauge mounted on the cupola wall
in front of them below the windows. The red needle was continuing to rise
past 50 MPH, then 60 MPH. "Damn, Joe, Wild Bill is really pouring on the
steam, I hope the fucking track is clear at this speed. Damnation!"

    The caboose was rocking like a ship in a heavy sea, swaying back and
forth as it raced down the track. "Joe, I am going to check on the boys and
make sure they are OK and not scared out of their wits in case they wake
up!"

    "Good thinkin', Scott."

    The whistle shattered the night as Bill blew for the crossing at Bear
Town. The station agent looked up from his big desk and looked. 'What
damned train is that? It can't be #25 yet,' he said to himself. He walked
out onto the station platform and waited for the train to pass. He heard
the whistle blast again as he looked up at the signal to make sure it was
showing green and it was. Seconds passed, the bell was tolling as the big
engine rushed forward out of the darkness. The ground started to rumble as
the engine closed in the distance, then with a flash #1200 rolled past the
agent. He hardly had time to blink before it was gone. Drivers flashed in
the light of the station, the smoke from the stack laid back low above the
cars and the clicking of the rails sounded like rifle fire, it was so fast.
Boxcars, tankcars, gondolas roared past in a blur, followed by the caboose,
her markers bright against her sides. He raised his hand to the brakeman on
the back platform and he waved back while holding onto the railing and then
they too were gone, only fading streaks in the night. The agent looked at
his pocket watch for the time and he quickly calculated the speed in his
mind from what the big wall clock had against his pocket watch. "Son of a
bitch, 80 MPH!" He raced back inside and sat down at the telegraph key and
sent his message north. :Train #26 passed BearTown 4:01 AM speed 80 MPH: He
then just sat for a minute and whistled, only ten miles slower than the
Panama Limited when she roared past. "God Speed, #1200 and crew, at that
speed you'll need all the help you can get!"

    The last ten miles clicked off in no time flat as Scott sat in the big
leather chair at the desk, looking at the two sleeping boys in the bunk,
Joe up top with one hand on the air valve to the train brakes.

    Bill started to ease back on the throttle as he approached the yard
limits. The big Mikado started to slow, the brake shoes heating up as they
rubbed against the wheels of the engine, cars, and caboose. John started
to toll the bell as they passed the sign and  saw the switch tender
standing at the lead switch. Number 1200 eased across the switch and into
the first yard track of the 100 track yard. The yards and shops took up
more space than the entire city of McComb. McComb shops was its own city
from the power plant that produced its vast amount of electricity to the
boiler house that produced enough steam to heat the entire capital City of
Jackson, to the lines of Railroad shanties and homes of the workers that
lined the outskirts of the vast yards. The freight yard had over 40 miles
of tracks and over 1000 freight trains were handled monthly. It was a
shifting,, groaning mass of rail cars of all shapes and sizes. At all
hours of the day and night, the metallic clank of couplers being joined
and the chuffing and chugging of the switch engines resounded through the
well lit yards, when the city of McComb barely had electric street lights.

    The arc sodium lights high on their wooden poles lit the yards in an
eerie yellow glow, the water reflecting off the silvery rails. The
adjoining tracks had all types of cars and the switch engines clanged and
shuffled back and forth like an army of ants, moving long strings of cars
from one track to the next, making up freight trains to head either north
or south to other lines. Bill eased through the yard track, car inspectors
casting glances at the damage to the front of #1200, shaking their heads
slowly. By now word had reached McComb of number 1200's run in with the
tree. The big Mikado seemed right at home as he drifted at 5 MPH toward
the roundhouse. Once his train was uncoupled on the inbound track where a
yard switcher would pick it up and shuffle it over to the inspection track,
where the car toads would look over every car and make sure none were bad
order, then the switcher would pull the entire cut back out to the outbound
track where a new engine would couple onto it and carry it north.

    "Scott, this place never ceases to amaze me and, damn it, how many
times have we passed through here night and day?"

    "Same here, Joe, want to wake up the boys so they can see the action or
let them sleep?" Scott asked.

    "Let the boys sleep. Maybe the switcher won't wake them up. Damn, I bet
they are starving. I have no idea last time they ate and the food at the
YMCA building is damned fine cooking. So wake them, Scott, but be gentle, no
slapping their asses!" Joe laughed as he climbed down from the cupola.

    "Come on, boys, time to get up for breakfast!" Scott reached over to
shake them awake. There were sleepy moans and groans and little stirring from
the two sleeping boys in the bunk. "Joe, where is the damned ice water at!
That'll wake them up!"

    "No, you're not, Scott. It took them long enough to get clean and washed
last night. You're not getting them wet again!"

    "OK, Boss!" Scott said as he shook the sleeping boys again.

    "Don't you start with that boss shit again!" Joe laughed and walked over
to the bunk where Scott was trying to wake the boys up. "Here, let's try
this!" Joe reached down and took his fingers and started to move them slowly
up and down Sean's ribs. The boy squirmed, then jumped when Joe found the
spot he wanted.

    "Wha.. the hell?" Sean asked in bewilderment.

    "Time to get up, we're in McComb, it's bean time." Joe said, placing a
hand on Sean's shoulder as he glanced down where the cover had slipped and
the dark brown pubic hair showed. "Wake up Jamie and get dressed, me and
Scott will be on the back platform."

    "OK, Joe" Sean said in a sleepy voice. He sat up on the bunk as Joe and
Scott walked to the back platform of the caboose. Sean reached over and
gently shook Jamie. "Wake up, my friend, it's time to get breakfast." Jamie
yawned and then tried to roll back over to return to his deep sleep when
Sean leaned over and kissed him on his forehead. Jamie's eyes slowly opened
and he smiled at Sean.

    "Where are we? It's still dark outside." Jamie asked in his sleepy
voice, it soft and warm.

    "McComb, my friend, it is time for breakfast," Sean said as he slipped
his lower body from under the cover, his hard-on sticking out from the
center of his groin. He saw Jamie's smile as the young teen yawned again
and stretched his arms in the air. Sean stood up and walked over to the
stove and grabbed his briefs and slipped them up his body, then his jeans.
He looked for a moment for his shirt and wondered what he did with it, then
he saw it and slipped it over his shoulders and on. 'Now, where did my
shoes go?' he thought, then saw them over by the other bunk. He slipped the
socks on his feet, then heard the jingle of the gold coins hidden in his
shoe. He fished them out and dropped them in the pocket with the gold
pocket watch that belonged to his grandfather, the only link to his past
life and his family. He slipped his shoes on and walked over to the bunk,
carrying Jamie's jeans, shoes, and shirt. "Come on, my friend, rise and
shine."

     Sean pulled the covers all the way back, exposing the boy's full body
to the light chill of the caboose.

    "Dang, Sean, it is chilly, give me the covers back," Jamie pleaded as
he reached down, then hugged his chest, his hard meat poking up from the
light blonde hair.

    "Nope, and here, you better get dressed before we stop. We're in the
yards and headed to the inbound tracks to be switched around and I am sure
you don't want the car toads to see you naked!"

    "Car toads?" Jamie asked as he reached for his jeans and yanked them
up his legs.

    "Yeah, they come around, checking all the cars for damage and bad
wheels, also here the caboose will be shuffled over to the hack track to
be washed down and restocked with ice and the lanterns filled and cleaned,
while we eat, I'm sure that the guys are going to lay over here for awhile
at the railroad's YMCA, so they can rest up before heading north again."

    "Oh," Jamie said as he slipped on his shoes and then his shirt and
stood up.

    "Come on, you sleepy head, let's go check out the action! I wonder
if the yards here at McComb are as big as New Orleans."

    "Hey, I'm not a lazy bum!" Jamie shouted as he followed Sean to the
rear platform of the caboose. Joe and Scott smiled at the boys.

    Joe had his pocket watch out, looking at it, "Just in time for the
mornin' wake up call."

    The two boys looked at each other just as every steam whistle in the
yards and shop complex sounded, filling the morning with the voices of
over 100 steam locomotives. The boys just looked and smiled as the sun
broke out from behind the gray clouds and shone in across the yards. The
morning rays bathed the boys in a golden glow as they stood there on the
back of the caboose as #1200 eased to a stop.

    Sean was silent as he thought back to his Pa, the massive shop
buildings and roundhouse so close. He saw the men going in dressed in
their overalls and with their lunch pails, tears escaped his eyes as he
remembered the spring mornings when he would get up early and walk down the
street to the massive roundhouse with his father, carrying his lunch pail
for him.

    Joe saw him crying and knew instantly what the boy was thinking. He
wrapped his arm around Sean's shoulders and his other around Jamie. "Go
forward for that's where the future lies. Ahead of you. You will never
find it by going back."


    Dear readers: Forgive me for taking so long with this chapter. I hoped
to have it completed by December but that was not in the schedule of my
life, then on January 4th my computer decided it wanted a vacation and the
motherboard died on me. I hope it's worth the wait and I am sorry it is so
big. Sean and the gang just had one hell of a night and I figured they
deserved a sunrise before I ended this part of their adventures.

As always, I love to hear your comments at: Swarri1349@aol.com

And please stop by to visit my home on the web at:
http://swarri1349.tripod.com/
I am hoping that soon I will have some railroading photos to go along with
my Civil War ones. Please bear with me.

I must thank Ed for his edit work on this chapter.
Thank you,
Stephen

"HIGH BALL!"