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    The Kansas City Yards
    The Kansas City Yards
    The Kansas City Yards
    Ebook107 pages1 hour

    The Kansas City Yards

    By William R. Luse

    ()

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    About this ebook

    Bobber and his friends didn't mean to run away, but on their own in the locomotives and steam of Kansas City's turn-of-the-century train yards, adventures just seem to happen! Further and further they go into this exciting world of trains, as the children spend five days exploring the vast fields of the behemoth railway system. But are they prepared for the dangers that may await?

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherWilliam R. Luse
    Release dateFeb 21, 2014
    ISBN9781311425126
    The Kansas City Yards
    Author

    William R. Luse

    William R. Luse was born in 1946 and raised in Kansas City, a self-taught, mixed-media illustrator and muralist. He has published and illustrated two books concerning railroads in Kansas City and written and illustrated six novels.His most admired artists are Reginald Marsh, Thomas Hart Benton, Chas. Dana Gibson (inventor of the Gibson Girl) and James Montgomery Flagg.Mr. Luse has traveled much of the world through his service in the United States Navy, and thereafter for his own pleasure.

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      Book preview

      The Kansas City Yards - William R. Luse

      THE KANSAS CITY YARDS

      By William R. Luse

      Smashwords Edition

      Copyright 2007 William R. Luse

      This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

      For Adrian David

      CHAPTERS

      I. CROSSING

      II. THE NIGHT WINDOW

      III. HILL FULL OF WALLS

      IV. BUCKET OF BEER

      V. HOBO

      VI. TOAD-A-LOUPE

      VII. THE TREK OF THE ANARCHIST

      VIII. MIDNIGHT GULLY

      IX. FISH IN CANS

      X. BEST LAID, GONE AWRY

      XI. NEVER GOT TO CHICAGO

      XII. NUTTIER THAN A PET COON

      XIII. FIELD OF TRAINS

      XIV. GOOSENECK

      XV. THE ROARING DREAMS

      XVI. SMUDGE AND SPLENDOR

      XVII JIM

      XVIII. AT DINNERTIME

      I

      CROSSING

      Chester stepped over the rail. The large shirt he wore made him tangle footed when he lifted his foot high. His brother’s old shirts were the only clothes he owned aside from a few sets of red flannels. It would be a happy day next year when he grew old enough to inherit Bobber’s cast off trousers. Also a pair of boots that fit would be admirable –– and new on top of all. Bobber’s old high-top shoes were worn out. Even the patches were coming off.

      Dang it, Bobber! Slow up ahead, will ya?

      Aw, hurry up, why can’tcha?

      C’mon Bobber. You know I can’t.

      Train cars rattled slowly across their path, sometimes shrieking, steel on steel. Atop some of the cars sat alert brakemen, never glancing at the two small boys trudging along the cinders, paying them no more attention than they would insects.

      Bobber helped his small brother, Chester, over another rail. It was difficult to do, being hit in the shins with a lard pail at every other step.

      Bobber, what if we get stuck between two trains?

      Just scrunch down and let’im go.

      A large black locomotive far down the yard began marching towards the two boys with an exploding exhaust. Smoke burst high into the sky. The hogger had received the highball. That meant that the locomotive engineer had been signaled to speed the train under Southwest Boulevard streetcar tracks.

      Scrunch down and cover your eyes, Chester. He’s gonna highball.

      The tiny boy shuddered and dropped down.

      Aww . . . why do they always do that?

      The huge locomotive pounded past close enough to touch; its exhaust barked like shotgun blasts. The noise crashed through the limestone hills of Rosedale then reported back. Cinders spattered the boys’ faces.

      Chester was afraid. Bobber never minded crossing the yards. He felt himself courageous. But hauling his small brother along changed things. Even at ten years of age the responsibility of tending his five year old brother weighed on his mind like a leaden crown. Chester made him cautious –– and afraid.

      O. K. He’s gone out of here now, Chester. Let’s get on over to Jerry’s Milk Stand. All the trains are cleared out. No more train sandwiches.

      The two boys clambered over more railroad tracks, staying clear of switch points. They went across the gravel road over to a tiny shack with a raised cover exposing a shelf and forming an awning of sorts.

      Mr. Gleeson was never called Mr. Gleeson. He was always called Jerry at his own insistence. The boys had five cents for a gallon of milk, a gunny sack of corn and two peppermints. Mr. Gleeson took the sticky coin from Chester who insisted on being the one to pay.

      Where did you two birds come from? You didn’t cross them yards, did’ya? asked Mr. Gleeson. He scooped fresh milk into the boys’ lard can and replaced the lid.

      Yup. It was a shortcut, Jerry. said Bobber.

      It was a shortcut, replied Chester.

      "Fine and dandy. But you two be careful. Remember, never cross trains. And go around switch points. Don’t stand on rails. As a matter-of-fact, figure out another way.

      Would you care for some butter?

      Nope. But we’re supposed to bring home some corn, said Bobber as Chester handed Mr. Gleeson a neatly folded gunny sack from beneath his huge shirt.

      How many?

      That’s all the money Ma gave us.

      Okey-doke. That’ll make four ears, but I’ll give ya five . . . plus two peppermints. Mr. Gleeson flung five plump ears into the gunny sack. How is your blessed mother?

      Aww . . . she’s O. K., said Bobber.

      Yeah . . . she’s O. K., repeated Chester.

      That’s glorious, said Mr. Gleeson. Thanks for the report and all the details.

      Aww . . . that’s O. K., said Chester, wiping his runny nose along his shirt sleeve. Bye, Jerry."

      Yeah. Bye Jerry, repeated Bobber.

      You two devils be careful. I mean that! said Mr. Gleeson.

      O.K.

      O.K.

      O.K., Chester, you grab the corn, I’ll take the milk.

      Hey, Bobber? Can I go with you guys over to the roundhouse in the morning?

      Yeah, I ‘spect so. There ain’t many tracks to cross getting over there.

      The cars in front of them had been shuffled and now a standing train was in their path. The boys would have to cross the couplers –– or walk around. Bobber was flustered.

      Dang it. That trains not going to move. We’ll have to climb across. Boy I was wish I was stuck with somebody besides you, Chester.

      Chester tried to crawl under the airlines dragging the corn, but Bobber grabbed him. Bobber tossed the bag of corn across the tracks and lifted Chester over the coupler.

      Help me with this milk and try not to dump it over, he said. Bobber told Chester to get off the track and hopped across the couplers like a cat, grabbing up the lard pail as he crossed the far rail.

      Cars setting along the track were liable to get bumped. Bobber hated crossing couplers. Their mother had told him not to do that. Though he could see both ends of the train, in the yards things went quickly and the car still might get bumped.

      Bobber was not so afraid for himself, but he did not want his small brother to try and imitate him. Although he, himself, was bulletproof more or less, his brother stood a lot of watching after.

      The two boys clambered over the tracks and were about to make the long climb into Rosedale, but first waited as another train rattled by.

      Look here, Chester. Don’t tell Ma we took the shortcut. She never wants us crossing the yards.

      O. K. Are we still going to the roundhouse tomorrow?

      Sure, that’s different, Bobber said, although he was not certain that it was different.

      II

      THE NIGHT WINDOW

      That’s way the hell too dangerous and you’re supposed to be old enough to know better. Your Ma can’t be there watching you all the time. Father paused a moment, then continued. But what topped it off was hauling your little brother along.

      Father quit scolding again and took up another pork chop. Dinner was one of Bobber’s favorites –– pork chops, sweet potatoes, fried apples and fresh bread, still warm from baking and loaded with butter. But, even at that he was having a tough time digesting.

      Now Robert,

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