Hank Hudson

8 - The Secret Order of Hobos

8

The Secret Order of Hobos

August 25, 1933, Fruitland, North Carolina

Hank rolled onto his back, and Dog licked his face. He smiled and pulled Dog close. He let out a long breath as his heart rate worked its way back to a normal level. He scratched behind Dog's ears and sat up. Dog's tail wagged so hard it sounded like a beating drum as it hit the floor.

"I can't believe we made that," he said as he looked at the breadnapper. "How in the world did the deputy not—"

The breadnapper held up a hand. "Hold that thought, Hank. We're not alone."

Hank looked around the car. Two other hobos huddled against the far wall. Their clothes were tattered, and even in the darkness, Hank could see every inch of exposed skin was filthy with coal dust.

"Travelers, we apologize for crashing your car. I hope it won't be too much of an inconvenience to have us ride along." The breadnapper pulled a hard loaf of bread from his coat pocket. "We have a little to share if you're interested." He handed them the bread, and they snatched it from him, tearing it into pieces and devouring it.

The breadnapper motioned for Hank to sit next to him on the other side of the train car. Dog padded up and fell by Hank's side, dropping his head on Hank's thigh.

"Can we talk now?"

The breadnapper nodded his head while still watching the other two hobos.

"Why didn't the deputy see you? And what are you doing with Dog? And what's your name? Better question, how do you know my name?"

The breadnapper smiled. "Any more questions? Want to know who's going to win the World Series this year?"

Hank cocked his head.

"No? Okay, first off, the name's Stin. Dog found me, told me your name and where you were, and I already told you: People don't see me."

"They see you." Hank pointed at the two hobos still eating the hard bread.

"They see me because they're like me. That's what confuses me. Because you're not."

"What do you mean 'like you'?"

"Why, a hobo of course. People don't like to see us." Stin sat next to Hank.

Hank gave Stin a sideways glance. He wasn't convinced—not about the man's name, not about talking to Dog, and not about the hobo going unseen.

"My dad sees hobos all the time. He's always pointing them out and telling us how we need to stay in school and listen to our parents and teachers."

"Or you'll become a hobo?"

"Something like that."

"Well, not all hobos are the same," Stin said as he closed his eyes and leaned back.

"Why are you so concerned that I can see you?"

Hank waited for Stin's response. "Mr. Stin?" Hank looked over and saw Stin's chest moving up and down as small snores escaped his mouth.

"I guess I'll wait."

Dog whimpered.

"I'm glad you found me. I just don't know what we got ourselves into with him."

Hank leaned back against the hard wooden slats of the boxcar. He closed his eyes and tried to sleep. His body wasn't in agreement. His legs bounced, and his heart still beat just a little too fast. The escape played over and over in his mind. He wanted to shake Stin awake and demand real answers. He guessed that, in all the confusion, the deputy hadn't processed what he was seeing.