1960 - Come Easy, Go Easy Read online

  I waited until the sounds died away, then cautiously I came out of hiding.

  They would recover the two bodies, then Byefleet and some of the mounted guards would come after me with the dogs. In the meantime every State trooper would be alerted. The police of the district would be on the lookout for me. A warning would be broadcast.

  I had still a long way to go before I was safe—if I ever was going to be safe.

  Carrying the sack of pepper, I started off again. The morning sun was up by now, and already there was heat.

  As I ran, the pepper kept jerking out of my trousers turn-ups, blotting out my scent.

  After about a couple of miles, I pulled up, panting. Now was the time to cross the river. The railway lay on the far side about sixteen miles from where I was.

  I took off my trousers and folded them into a small pack in which I put the sack of pepper. I tied the pack on top of my head with my belt, then I walked into the river and swam over to the opposite bank.

  chapter three

  I

  The time was ten minutes after four o’clock in the afternoon. I lay under the shade of a tree on a sloping hill that went away down to the highway.

  By keeping to the woods and following the river I had covered quite a distance. No sound of any pursuit had followed me. The pepper idea had paid off. The dogs hadn’t been able to pick up my scent.

  But I was still five miles from the railway, and now the country had become flat and open. I didn’t dare move out of the woods until dark.

  Below me on the far side of the highway was a small farm. It wasn’t much of a place, consisting of the farmhouse, three big sheds, a barn and a lot of junk lying around. I didn’t pay much attention to it until I saw a girl come out of the farmhouse and walk over to one of the sheds. She was carrying two big baskets of cantaloupes.

  From this distance I couldn’t see what she looked like, and I didn’t care. My eyes watched those cantaloupes and my mouth watered at the sight of them.

  When it was dark I would sneak down there and grab myself a few.

  There was a heap of traffic on the highway, mostly trucks carrying cantaloupes to Oakland. Every now and then a glittering Cadillac or an Oldsmobile would blast its impatient way past the trucks. From time to time I sported a State trooper on his motorcycle, patrolling, and once, a police radio car.

  The hours dragged by.

  At six o’clock a battered truck came up the dirt road leading to the farm. It was loaded with cantaloupes. I watched it pull up outside one of the sheds.

  The girl came out of the farmhouse.

  Two men got down off the truck. One of them was young, the other middle-aged.

  They all moved over to the farmhouse and I imagined them sitting down to supper, and the thought tormented me. I was hungry enough to think longingly of Farnworth’s filthy food.

  Another couple of hours crawled by. The sun went down and the stars came out. The traffic had practically ceased. I hadn’t seen a State trooper for some time. I decided it would be safe to move.

  I reached the highway without seeing a car. There was a light showing in one of the windows of the farmhouse. I had watched for a dog, but hadn’t seen one. I crossed the highway at a run and reached the dirt road leading up to the farm.

  The farm gate was closed. I climbed it, and then moved away from the farmhouse to one of the sheds.

  I paused outside the open door. It was dark in there, but I could smell the cantaloupes.

  I went in. I had no knife, but I split the cantaloupes in my hands. The warm sweet juice and the pulpy flesh quenched my thirst and satisfied my hunger.

  I was so tired I could scarcely keep my eyes open. I decided to take a short rest before walking the last five miles to the railway.

  I groped my way behind a pile of cantaloupes and stretched out on the ground. I could hear the radio coming from the farmhouse, playing dance music. I closed my eyes. This was a lot better than sleeping in that stinking bunkhouse at Farnworth. I wondered if I would be able to board a train ... so far my luck had held ... so far...

  I woke with a start that set my heart thumping.

  Through the open door of the shed I could see the outline of the distant hills. The sun was coming up in a blood red sky and its pale fight filtered into the shed.

  As I struggled to my feet, panic gripping me, I realised I had slept like a dead man for more than eight hours.

  Already I could hear the rumble of trucks on the highway. I wouldn’t dare cross the fields now to the railway.

  In my black and grey striped prison uniform I would be spotted by any of the passing truck drivers.

  Then I heard sounds from the farmhouse: voices and movements. A little later I smelt ham grilling.

  I watched and waited for half an hour or so, then the two men came out, followed by the girl. She was around seventeen and very sunburned. She wasn’t pretty, but she had a good figure, and when she smiled she was attractive.

  The three talked together for some moments, then the two men climbed up onto the truck and drove away. The girl went back into the farmhouse.

  I made another meal of cantaloupes, then I settled down behind a pile of crates.

  I was trapped in this shed now until nightfall. Thinking about it, I saw that it might not be such a bad thing. Staying here in comparative safety would give the hunt for me time to cool off.

  I rested my head on a rolled up sack and closed my eyes. It was hot in the shed and I dozed off.

  I came abruptly awake an hour or so later.

  Someone was in the shed.

  I could hear movements. Very cautiously I edged to the front of the crates and took a quick look.

  The girl was sorting cantaloupes into sizes, making three piles of them. She worked quickly and expertly, her back turned to me, her long hair falling over her shoulders as she stooped over the pile.

  I watched her, wondering if I dare let her know I was there, and then suddenly realising that she did know I was watching her. She had paused abruptly in her work, then she had gone on again, but without the rhythm she had used before. I knew she was now frightened. I could tell that by the way she fumbled with the cantaloupes.

  I was sure if I didn’t do something fast, she would bolt out of the shed and probably start screaming. I could feel the growing tension in her.

  I said very quietly, “Don’t be frightened,” and I stood up so she could see me.

  She whirled around. I was sorry for her. She went white under her tan and she tried to scream, but no sound came.

  I must have looked pretty terrible. I hadn’t shaved for two days. I was filthy dirty. I was big and tough looking, and I saw I had struck terror into her; that made me feel bad.

  “I’m not going to hurt you,” I said, watching her as she slowly backed away from me until she reached the wall of the shed. She was wearing a pair of jeans and a red and white cowboy shirt. As she pressed herself against the wall, I could see her small breasts lifting and falling under her shirt.

  She said in a tiny, tight voice, “Don’t come near me!”

  “I’m sorry I frightened you. You frightened me,” I said. ‘I’m the man they’re hunting for— from Farnworth. Will you help me?” I kept talking. I was scared she would run out and start screaming. “I’m hungry and I want clothes. Will you give me a break?”

  I could see she was getting over the shock and she was relaxing.

  “What are you doing here?” she asked.

  “I was hungry. I came after the cantaloupes last night. Then I was fool enough to fall asleep. I planned to reach the railway while it was dark.”

  “But they are watching the railway,” she said breathlessly and I knew then she was on my side. “It was on the radio last night. That’s where they expect you to go.”

  “Then I guess I’ll have to think of something else. I don’t want to get you in trouble, but will you help me? If you don’t, I’m sunk.”

  She stared at me for a long moment

/>   “I’ve read about Farnworth,” she said and moved away from the wall. “Yes, I’ll help you. I couldn’t have it on my conscience to send any man back there. Are you hungry?”

  “That ham smelt pretty good.”

  She managed a ghost of a smile.

  “Wait here.”

  She went to the door. I watched her. I couldn’t be sure if I could trust her but there was nothing else I could do. If she called the cops then it was my bad luck.

  When she had gone, I prowled around the shed. She seemed to be gone a long time, then just as I was about to go to the house to see what she was doing, she came back, carrying a bucket of hot water, a towel, soap, a razor and a bundle of clothes.

  “I’ll get you some food now.”

  Ten minutes later she was back, carrying a tray. She had cooked me six eggs and four cuts of ham, and she had made me a pot of coffee.

  In that time I had shaved and washed and had got into the suit which I guessed was her brother’s. It was a little tight, and it was shabby, but I didn’t care. It was wonderful to be rid of that filthy prison uniform.

  I saw she was watching me curiously as I began to wolf down the food. She sat on a box near me.

  “How did you escape?” she asked. “I thought no one could get away from Farnworth.”

  I told her the whole story. I told her how I had the money itch, how Roy and I had planned the robbery, how I had covered up for Roy. I told her about Farnworth and the dogs, and how I had got away.

  She listened, her eyes wide open. It did me good to tell her. It was the first time I had talked to anyone about it.

  “If I’m caught,” I said, “they’ll half kill me. They’ll put me in a cell they keep for punishment. Three of the guards will come in with belts. They’ll lam into me until they can’t lam into me anymore. Every day for a week, they’ll do that. I’ve seen men come out of the punishment cell. One of them had lost an eye: another had a broken arm.”

  She drew in a sharp breath of horror.

  “But I’m not going to be caught,” I said. “I’d rather die than go back to Farnworth.”

  By then I had finished the meal and was smoking a cigarette from the pack she had put on the tray. I felt pretty good.

  “You mustn’t go to the railway,” she said. “I can help you get to Oakland if that’s where you want to go.”

  “That’s where I want to go. It’ll be a jumping off place. How can you do it?”

  “In an hour, a truck calls here to pick up these cantaloupes,” she told me. “The trucker is a boy named Williams. He comes every day. He has a meal here. While he is eating, you can hide in the back of the truck. He goes to Oakland market. He leaves the truck in the market square while he collects the money. You could slip out then and you’d be in Oakland.”

  That’s how I got to Oakland. It turned out to be the easiest thing in the world.

  Before the trucker arrived, the girl gave me five dollars, all the money she had. She gave me two packs of cigarettes. She warned me I would only have a few hours start. When her brother returned and missed his clothes she would have to tell him she had given the clothes to me. I would have to get out of Oakland fast, but at least I had nothing to worry about until seven or eight that evening when her father and brother got back.

  I tried to thank her, but she didn’t want my thanks. She said she couldn’t send any man back to Farnworth and, anyway, she thought I had had a lot of bad luck.

  As the truck jolted off down tile dirt road, I peered out between the crates of cantaloupes. She stood looking after the truck in her red and white cowboy shirt and her blue jeans. As the truck turned onto the highway, she raised her hand and waved.

  She made a picture I keep in mind; a picture that will stay with me for the rest of my days.

  II

  On the fifth day of my escape from Farnworth, I reached Little Creek, approximately a thousand miles from Oakland.

  Those thousand miles I had put between myself and Oakland had been pretty rugged going. I had been lucky to jump a freight train just outside Oakland, but after twenty hours, travelling through the desert without food or water I began to wonder if I would get off that train alive

  Finally, the train pulled in at Little Creek, and I left the truck without anyone spotting me.

  The time was late in the afternoon and the heat was intense. There seemed no one around: the main street was deserted.

  I still had a dollar fifty left from the money the girl had given me. I went into a snack bar and ordered a hamburger, a coffee and a quart of ice water.

  I looked pretty rough after travelling all that time in the truck. I hadn’t shaved, and I was filthy dirty and the suit the girl had given me had taken a beating off the floor of the truck, but it didn’t seem to matter how I looked in this town. It was dirty and beaten up itself: one of those deadend dumps, fast dying on its feet.

  While I was eating, I considered what my next move was to be. If I could get over the mountain and down into Tropica Springs I felt I would be far enough away from Farnworth to be safe.

  Tropica Springs was about two hundred miles from this desert town. My only chance of getting there was to get a ride from some truck or private car. I reckoned it would have to be a truck. No owner of a private car would give me a ride looking the way I looked now.

  The man behind the snack counter had a cheerful, friendly face. I asked him what chance I had of getting a ride in a truck going over the mountain.

  He shook his head doubtfully.

  “There are trucks passing through here by the dozen,” he said, “but I’ve never seen any of them stop. Maybe you’ll be lucky, but it’s a long shot.” He drew a cup of coffee for himself and leaned on the counter. “Your best bet would be to get to Point of No Return. All trucks stop there to fill up before going over the mountain. You could talk to some of the fellas. Maybe you could persuade one of them to take you.”

  “Point of No Return? Where’s that and what is it?”

  “Carl Jenson’s place. He’s lived there all his life. His father owned it before he did: a filling station and a snack bar. There’s no other filling station after Point of No Return for the next hundred and sixty miles, and that’s on the other side of the mountain.”

  “How far is it from here?”

  “Fifty miles.”

  “How do I get there—walk?”

  He grinned at me.

  “Nothing as painful as that. You’re in luck. Mr. Jenson will be in here in a while. He comes into town every three months to buy scrap metal: plenty of that going in this bum town. You talk to him. He’s a nice fellow. He’ll give you a ride out to his place if you tell him you want to get over the mountain. He’s always a good one for helping people out of a hole.”

  “When will he be in then?”

  He glanced over his shoulder at the fly-blown clock.

  “About twenty minutes. You stick around. I’ll tip you when he comes in. How about another coffee?”

  I would have liked one, but my money was running low.

  “No, thanks. If you don’t mind me hanging around …”

  He drew a cup of coffee and shoved it at me.

  “It’s on the house. You look as if you’ve come a long way.”

  “Yeah.” I rubbed my bristly chin. “I’m joining a pal in Tropica Springs. I’ve been travelling rough. My pal and I are going into business together. I’ve been travelling on my thumb to save my money.”

  “Money . . .” The counter man shook his head glumly. “I’ve never had enough of it. I wouldn’t be in this lousy town now if I had enough to take my wife and kids somewhere where I could earn a fair wage. Can’t get far without money.” He looked out through the open window to watch a big cream and black Cadillac float past, throwing clouds of dust either side, some of it coming through the window. “Those guys. They never stop here. They’re loaded with dough, but they never spend it here. At least Mr. Jenson does all right. They have to stop at his place whether they like
it or not. I reckon he has a gold mine out there.”

  While he was speaking, a big man came in through the open doorway and walked to the bar.

  “Let’s have a fast coffee, Mike,” he said “I want to get away early today.”

  He glanced at me and then away. As the counter man drew the coffee, he went on, “How’s the wife? I haven’t seen her around this trip.”

  “She’s in Wentworth this afternoon, Mr. Jenson,” the counter man said. He looked at me, “She’ll be sorry to have missed you.”

  Now I knew he was my man, I looked at him more closely. He stood fully six foot four in his socks and was as broad as two ordinary men. His face was fleshy and sunburned. It was a good face: open, kind and humorous. At a guess he was around fifty-two or three. Although he was big, there wasn’t much fat on him. He looked durable: a lot more durable than most men of his age.

  The counter man said, “Excuse me, Mr. Jenson, this fella is looking for a ride over the mountain. I told him Point of No Return is the best spot to pick up a truck.”

  Jenson turned and looked me over, then he smiled.

  “How do,” he said “Yeah, Mike’s right. You won’t get any truckers stopping on the road, but they do stop at my place. Glad to be of help. I’ll give you a lift to my place, but you’ll have to take your chance with the truckers. Most of them aren’t permitted to carry passengers over the mountain: something to do with the insurance.”

  “Thanks,” I said, “if you’re sure it won’t put you out.”

  He laughed.

  “I’m glad to have company on the drive back. It’s a damned awful road. My name’s Carl Jenson.” He held out a big fleshy hand.

  I shook hands with him.

  “I’m Jack Patmore,” I said, thinking up the name on the spur of the moment.

  “Are you heading for Tropica Springs?”

  “That’s right.”

  He finished his coffee and dropped a coin on the counter.

  “Well, if you’re ready ...”

  He shook hands with the counter man as I slid off the stool.

  “So long, Mike: be seeing you.”