Secret Signs (4 page)

After breakfast, Henry thought it was a good time to show Fred his father's picture. “I'm looking for my pa. Have you seen him?” He held up the snapshot.

Fred shook his head. “You should talk to Clickety Clack.” He pointed at a lean-to on the far side of the site. “Sooner or later, every man on the road comes through this camp. If your pa's a traveler, he'd have bunked here a night or two and Clickety Clack would know. Heck, he knows everyone and everything that happens in the jungle, but be warned, that old cuss doesn't like youngsters—or anyone else for that matter.” He chuckled.

Henry nodded his thanks and started across the camp.

Clickety Clack turned out to be an old man wearing a voluminous raggedy coat, purple plaid vest, tweed pants and long green striped scarf with a fringe on the bottom. The wispy gray hair sticking out from under his battered felt hat looked like it hadn't seen a comb in a long time, and the man's scruffy beard would have made Henry's mother frown. She would have called him grizzled. Henry thought he was disgusting.

“What do you want?” the old man growled as Henry walked up.

Henry held out his father's picture. “My name's Henry Dafoe, and I was wondering when this man came through here?”

The hobo screwed up his face and spat
a wad of chewing tobacco into the dirt at Henry's feet. “Never did.”

This wasn't what Henry wanted to hear. “Are you sure, mister? His name is Michael Dafoe. Could you look again?”

“Are you deaf, boy? I said he was never here.” The old man spat again, then started rolling up a well-used blanket.

Henry felt anger welling up inside him. What did this old coot know anyway? He looked around at the sprawling hobo jungle. “Just because you never saw him doesn't mean he wasn't here. You could have missed him. My father came here to work on the Glenmore Dam and Reservoir Relief Project, and I intend to find him.”

The old hobo looked at him with stone gray eyes. “Did you say the Glenmore Dam Project?”

“Yes, that's right,” Henry said with confidence. “He's there right now!”

Clickety Clack shook his head. “Young pup. You don't know a dang thing.”

“I don't have time for this, old man.”
Henry had never been much good at controlling his temper, and he was getting desperate.

Clickety Clack coughed—a wet, gooey sound. “Let me finish tying up my old turkey here and maybe I'll tell you something about the Glenmore Dam Project.” The tramp calmly went back to rolling his blanket and securing it with a worn belt.

Henry's limited patience was gone and his temper fast taking over. Finally Clickety Clack stood and stretched his back lazily.

“Well now, if you're headin' to the Glenmore Dam, you're a might east of where you want to be.” Clickety Clack's lip twisted into a crooked half smile. His teeth were stained yellow.

Henry wished he had a big stick so he could poke the aggravating old derelict. “How far? One block, ten blocks, a mile?”

Clickety Clack looked to the west as though he could see the dam right up the road. “Oh, a little farther than that.”

The hobo paused again. Henry was about to blow a gasket.

Clickety Clack went on in his slow, aggravating way. “Not a block… not a mile…” He scratched absently under his arm. “More like two…
provinces
.”

Henry didn't understand. “What?”

“You need to head two provinces to the west, boy. The Glenmore Dam is in Calgary,
Alberta
. It'll probably take you a while, especially as I don't think you've ever ridden the rods before.”

Henry swallowed. Alberta! His parents had never said anything about his father leaving Manitoba. One thing was certain; he wasn't going to let Clickety Clack know how shocked and scared he was. No sir. He'd do what Tom or Huck would do. He'd find a way to get there by himself.

“Of course I've ridden the rods,” he blustered, not knowing what the rods were, let alone how to ride them. “It's been a while, that's all.”

“Is that a fact?” The hobo stuck a fresh plug of chewing tobacco in his cheek.

Henry felt a little foolish, but it was too late now. “I used to ride all the time, but that was ages ago, when I was just a kid. Remind me again how it's done?”

Clickety Clack roared with laughter, almost spewing his tobacco into the dirt. “You forget, do you? Well now, don't that beat all. You plan on hopping a freight to Calgary? Because that's about the only way a pup like you is going to make it out there. I was thinking of heading to Calgary myself, but I have to plan for it. It's a long way.”

Henry knew the jig was up. “So what would it cost for you to take me with you?”

Clickety Clack spat a new gob into the dirt. “I travel alone, boy.” A greedy gleam came into his eye. “But for curiosity's sake, what do you have?”

Henry thought of the five one-dollar bills in his pocket. He also remembered the desperate farmer who'd tried to rob him. He wasn't going to trust this old man for a minute. “I'll pay you five dollars
cash
to
take me to Calgary.” The mention of money immediately got the tramp's attention.

“You have that much on you? Where you hiding it?” Clickety Clack's hungry eyes went to Henry's book bag.

“All you need to know is that I won't pay until we get to the Glenmore Dam.” Henry stuck his chin out defiantly. He wouldn't be tricked again.

“That's a long way to go on faith, boy. I'll have to see it before I take a step.” Clickety Clack clasped his hands as though praying.

Hesitantly, Henry pulled the cash out of his pocket for the hobo's inspection.

Clickety Clack reached out a gnarled hand, but Henry snatched the bills back. “Is it a deal?”

The hobo rubbed his bristly chin. “Deal!” He grinned, then spat into his dirty palm and held it out for Henry to shake.

Reluctantly, Henry clasped the hobo's disgusting hand to seal the bargain.

This was not how he'd imagined today would go. He'd thought by tonight he'd

be eating dinner with his father, but instead it looked like he'd be with this raggedy tramp, hopping a freight train to Alberta!

“Okay, boy, this is where we catch our ride. As soon as I spot a train heading for Alberta, we wait for it to start rolling, then it's
all aboard
.” Clickety Clack stuck a fresh plug of tobacco in his mouth and settled in to wait.

They'd managed to sneak through a hole in the fence at the railway yards and were hiding near the tracks. It was well after noon, but the June sun was still a blistering ball in the clear blue sky.

“And how do you know which train is going to Alberta?” Henry asked his gruff guide.

Clickety Clack winked at Henry. “That's why you're paying me the big bucks,
boy.” Several trains went by but the hobo ignored them.

Bored with the endless waiting, Henry absently reached into his pocket and felt something wedged in the bottom. He pulled out the stub of red crayon he'd used to leave the hobo sign for his pa. As he doodled on the fence, he saw that his drawing resembled a locomotive. Henry blinked.

Why, he'd created a hobo sign! This one would let other boys know they could catch a train here. Henry wondered if there were any other boys in the world having adventures like his.

Clickety Clack glanced at Henry's drawing, narrowed his eyes and grunted.

Henry watched the engines pull into the yard, then slow to a stop with a loud whoosh and a huge cloud of billowing steam. He wondered if they were ever going to find a train bound for Alberta. “Which one are we going to take?” he asked impatiently.

A noise from the far side of a stationary boxcar made Clickety Clack grab Henry's arm. “Hush up, boy!”

“What's wrong?” Henry asked.

“Quiet! Over there, behind that boxcar—
bulls
.” Clickety Clack crouched even lower behind the large wooden crate they'd been using for cover.

Henry couldn't imagine why livestock would be roaming loose in a train yard, but when he stood to get a better look, Clickety Clack yanked him down.

“Didn't you hear me? I said there are two bulls behind that car and they've got a dog. Do you want us to get our heads busted open?”

The alarm in the hobo's voice alerted Henry to the seriousness of the situation. “We're not talking about cattle, are we?”

Clickety Clack shook his head. “No, fool! I'm talking about the meanest, toughest, worst kind of two-legged critter that ever walked the earth—railway police. Why, those guards would as soon crack your skull as give you the time of day. If they
catch us, we're dead meat. We've got to hide.”

Henry glanced around. “Hide? Where?”

Clickety Clack spat out a messy glob of greenish brown ooze. “Over there, in that water tank. The dog can't track our scent once we're in the water. Come on!” Clickety Clack made a dash for the tall wooden tower.

Henry followed reluctantly, fear making his feet drag. Did the old man really expect him to climb inside this huge vat and hang there like a rat in a water bucket?

“Come on, I'll give you a leg up onto the ladder.” Clickety Clack made a cradle out of his hands and lowered himself so Henry could get a boost.

“I—I don't want to,” Henry stammered, taking a step backward.

The hobo frowned, then rubbed his whiskers. “Oh, I get it. You can't swim. Don't worry, boy. I can't swim a stroke either, but we won't be in for long and we can hang on to the top.”

Henry clenched his teeth. “No. I won't do it.”

The hobo clambered onto the ladder that ran up the side of the water tank. “I'm telling you, it ain't safe out here. Now come on before you get us both beat up.” He scrambled up the rungs with surprising speed and disappeared over the edge.

Henry looked behind him. The guards were almost at the end of the boxcar nearest him. He had to hide, but not in that water-filled casket!

He sprinted for a tall stack of crates at the end of the narrow alley between the rows of cars. Darting behind the wooden boxes, he ducked as two burly railway policemen rounded the end of the freight car. With them was a huge dog with a hungry gleam in its beady black eyes.

Henry's breath caught when he saw the vicious-looking beast. As the guards passed the crate where Henry and Clickety Clack had been hiding seconds before, the big dog stopped.

Its nose dropped to the ground. It sniffed a couple of times, then lifted its huge head to stare at where Henry was hiding.

Henry edged farther away as the dog padded toward him. He increased his speed as the two guards followed the dog.

Ducking under a boxcar, Henry ran to the next set of tracks and squeezed between two more cars. He snatched a look over his shoulder. Having caught his scent, the animal was now loping after him, foam-flecked drool sliding in slimy trails out of its massive jaws.

Henry sprinted to the edge of the train yard and came up against the high fence that he and Clickety Clack had found their way through earlier. Turning, he saw the animal closing on him. There was nowhere to run, nowhere to hide! Frantically, he dug through his book bag. His fingers closed around the remains of his food.

He tore off a piece of cheese and tossed it on the ground. The dog halted its headlong attack, sniffed the tidbit and then slopped it up. Henry held out the rest of his food. The dog stopped, lifted one paw off the ground and whiffled the air.