Read Online Doubtful Canon by Johnny D. Boggs - Free Book Online Page B

up tempo. The freight rocked as the train’s speed increased.
    My heart pounded.
    “Run, Ian Spencer Henry!” Jasmine yelled. “Run!”
    “I can’t see y’all no more!”
    “Run! Run!” I shouted.
    “Hurry, boy! Watch them rails. Get run over, it’ll mangle you somethin’ fierce!”
    “RUN!”
    Clickety. Clickety. Clickety.
    Faster. Faster. Faster.
    Whitey Grey groaned, leaned forward. “Just one more….”
    And…he was gone.
    A crash sounded, faint above the metallic noises of the train, followed by a curse, then Ian Spencer Henry’s scream.
    “Oh, no!” Jasmine yelled.
    The freight rocked violently now, the wind blowing into the open car. In the darkness, cold wind numbed my face as I looked outside, but saw nothing.
    “JACK! JASMINE!”
    It was Ian Spencer Henry’s voice.
    “Shut up, kid!” Whitey Grey yelled back. We could just hear them over the train. The whistle blared again.
    Both still lived. I mouthed a quick prayer.
    “What’ll we do, Jack?” Jasmine asked me, her voice so close, I was startled and almost fell off the rolling train.
    The question took me by surprise. What now? Indeed!
    The train lurched, wobbled, sped.
    “JUMP! GET OFF THAT TRAIN!” Whitey Grey screamed, ignoring his own admonishments for quiet, but his voice sounded fainter, growing farther and farther away.
    While the train rolled faster, I felt Jasmine’s hand grab mine.
    “Jack?” she asked.
    I peered into the darkness, wind whooshing through my hair.
    “JUMP!” the albino screamed. Ian Spencer Henry echoed his voice in a distant shout.
    Jump.
    I looked at Jasmine Allison, saw only a faint outline. I squeezed her hand, felt her return the action, and without a word, as the whistle blared somewhere ahead of us, we leaped into the nothingness.

Chapter Seven
    Somewhere, during our brief flight, Jasmine and I had let go of one another. Probably a good thing, for I surmise we could have broken our arms, and it’s a miracle neither of us cracked our necks, or any bones, in the mêlée that followed. I landed on my feet. At least, I think I did, immediately ricocheting off the sand and brush, spinning head over heels in the air, to crash even harder on my back, tumbling here and there, a roaring in my ears—perhaps that sound came from the train, now speeding along at close to fifteen miles an hour—as I bounded, rolled, and ached my way near the rails. I seem to recall seeing the light from inside the caboose as it rolled on past. Maybe, though, I just saw stars.
    In any event, I slid to a rest on my face, head pounding, ears ringing, nose and lips leaking blood and sand, both ankles throbbing. I pushed myself up on my arms, gasping for air, shaking my head, spitting out sand, then fell face down again.
    “No time for that, boy. We gots to move out muy pronto on the ankle express.” The voice, Whitey Grey’s, sounded so far away, but the toe of his shabby boot felt all too near when it poked my aching ribs.
    “Ups. Run, boy. All of you! Railroad curs is comin’!”
    Barks and shouts penetrated my ringing ears. Opening my eyes, I made out a torch, then another, heard an Irish voice curse the Apaches, which startled me before I understood that the men from the Lordsburg depot thought we were the Apaches.
    “Come, on,” a gentler voice whispered, and Ian Spencer Henry helped me to my feet. Weaving unsteadily, I took a few tentative steps before remembering something.
    “Jasmine?”
    “I’m all right,” she said a few rods up the tracks. “Think I am….”
    The albino swore another oath, then his footsteps sounded as he ran westward into the night.
    Savage barks. More shouts. The torches kept creeping closer. Swallowing blood and sand, I suggested that we follow the albino. “Can you run?” I called out to Jasmine.
    Her footsteps answered me.
    Dawn found us by the playas southwest of Lordsburg, where I saw, in addition to felt, just how hard a tumble I had taken. Dried blood, peppered with sand, caked