IV (Later Wednesday)

"Now... whatever you do, you are not to utter a single word, is that understood?"

Carla nodded as they walked toward a bluff outside of town.

"No, no," Nick said, "you can talk for now.  It's just that if you're gonna pretend to be a boy, you'll need a cover and we can't have you slipping up.  So as long as there’re other folks around, you’re just gonna have to pretend to be mute, all right?  Plus, if we tell everyone you're mute, that lets me do all the talking.  But don't worry, you can still laugh and stuff—just do it silently.”  Nick looked to the heavens like he was praying to God that this would work.  “Besides, you're a terrible liar, so we’re better off if you don't speak anyway.  Anyone ever tell you that?”

"Oh.  No… but then I guess I never needed to lie all that much before," Carla admitted, fiddling with the straps of her new pack.  When they'd gone to purchase traveling supplies, Nick had made her sell her old valise and knapsack for a single bag that would be easier to travel with.  This new rucksack was made of sturdy leather with rivets and reinforced stitching so that it wouldn’t tear, and was coated in beeswax and tallow to make it waterproof.  They’d filled the bag with canteens, flashlights, clothing, and portable food, and Carla rather felt like she used to as a child, camping out in the woods with her father and brother.  However, unlike a camping trip, this journey would not end after a weekend of mosquito bites and poison oak, and there was no cozy house or family for her to return to.  For a moment, she was almost sad again but a remark from Nick distracted her:

“Also, from here on out your name is Carl."

"Carl?!  But that’s a boy’s—oh, right."

“Exactly,” Nick said.  “I can't exactly go around telling everyone you're a guy and still call you Carla, can I?  How's the new bag feel?" Nick changed the subject quickly as he noticed her shifting the pack’s weight.  "Not uncomfortable, is it?

"It's fine, not too heavy.  I'm just getting a feel for it is all.  So where did you say we're going?"

"On the other side of that low hill right there," Nick pointed, "is a place where the train track for the Greater Northwest rail curves right alongside the bluff.  It's close enough that you can jump down right onto the catwalk.  See up there, if you look closely, there's already a few people waiting for the next train to go by."

He was right.  Carla strained her eyes and could see three or four tiny figures silhouetted in the distance.  The sky behind them was a crisp cloudless blue, no longer as cold and biting as it had been in January, not yet as soft and mild as it would be in the spring.  The fresh hope that the open sky presented and the promises that coming spring held for her spurred Carla on.  "What are we waiting for then?" she asked, her heart starting to pound.  "I'll race you to the top!"  With that she dashed ahead.

Nick stood in her dust for a moment.  "Hey!  Car—uh, uh Carl!  Wait for me!"

It didn’t turn out to be much of a race.  Even though Carla had plenty of supplies to carry, Nick had a later start plus his own bag and guitar weighing him down as he chased after her.  Carla scrambled up the hilly rise, following the path as it wound through the brush and dry bramble.  Sometimes she looked back, laughing to see her travel partner on her heels.  After a while, though, when Carla stopped to wait for him, Nick didn't catch up and she couldn't see him anywhere.

She stepped off the path, wading into the crackling bushes to get a clearer look through the trees but there was no sign of Nick.  "Where did he g—" Carla tripped on a large exposed root and, before she could right her balance, tumbled headfirst down the slope.  She bumped and rolled unceremoniously downhill until the ground began to flatten out and stopped with a loud "Oof!" Clinging to a tree trunk, Carla struggled dizzily to her feet.  The world was spinning about her head and she hugged the large oak tightly, waiting for the whirling motion to still.  When all was calm, she dusted the dirt from her clothing and shook the leaves from her hair.  Fortunately, her knapsack had stayed shut, so there was nothing to retrieve from her fall from grace except her hat.

After a few unsuccessful attempts to scramble back up the slippery slope down which she’d come, Carla headed in the other direction towards a clearing.  What Carla found there surprised her greatly.  "Nick!" she called out confused, and then again louder, "Nick!"  The clearing had been converted into an unsettling sort of campground with felled trees around a circle of campfire ashes, filthy stained bed mattresses, and scattered bones.  The sickening smell of refuse and human waste overpowered her senses, and Carla clamped a handkerchief over her mouth and nostrils.  She wasn't quite sure what to make of this repulsive discovery.  She took a deep breath through her handkerchief and shouted, "NICK!!!"

Finally there was a faint answering cry.  "Carl, where are you?!"  They kept calling back and forth until Carla saw Nick thrashing through the bushes towards her.  He looked around the campsite in disgust.  "Pee-ew!  How did you get down here?"

"I—I fell," she pointed back towards the rise from which she'd tumbled down.  "Don't worry, I'm fine," she said in reply to the question on his face.  "What is this place?"

"It's a jungle.  A nasty one.  Come on, let’s get out of here and I'll tell you more about it later.  We got a train to catch."  Nick took Carla firmly by the arm and led her back the way he'd come.

...

"You've got a lot to learn, kid."

They sat with their backs to the wind so that Nick wouldn't have to raise his voice for Carla to hear.  He was glad the jump onto the train top hadn’t scared her and even more grateful that she seemed unfazed, calmly riding on the catwalk as the Northwest steamed along.  In his day, Nick had seen plenty of new hitchers scared to death and clinging for dear life to anybody and anything.  Those were the guys who rode inside the boxcars even when it wasn't necessary.

"First thing you need to know is how to whistle.  That way the next time you call for me, you don't hafta say a word.   Can you whistle?"

Carla puckered her lips and whistled a few notes from a popular radio tune.

"Not a bad start," Nick admitted, "but I'm gonna teach you how to whistle so loud a man can hear ya a mile off—you know, like they do at baseball games.  Now take your fingers like this," he lifted his hand with his thumb and index finger pressed together, "and then stick 'em in your mouth and give it a good blow."  He presented a short toot as an example.  "That was just a small one; it'll get much louder than that.  In fact, some folks can put a man deaf with a good whistle.  You try now."

Nick watched as Carla stuck her fingers in her mouth, filled her cheeks with air, and blew hard.  Nothing came out but a bit of spittle and a whooshing sound.  He laughed at her grimace.  "Not bad, not bad...  Okay, it was bad," Nick admitted with humor.  "But you're holding your fingers all wrong.  Here, like this—no, keep your fingers in your mouth."  He reached out and adjusted her fingers, "Go ahead, try aga—”

Nick clapped his hands over his ears as she whistled shrilly.  "Jesus!  You tryin' to kill me?"

Carla's eyes went wide and she opened her mouth to apologize.

"No, no talking, remember?  I was just kidding," he grinned.  "That was a good one, Carla—Carl.  Damn, that name'll take a while getting used to, eh?"

From somewhere down the catwalk another whistle came back in reply.  "Hey, looks like the guys approve of your whistling, too.  Well, let's see..."  Casually, Nick started cracking his knuckles.  He began with his pinky finger and went down the line, giving each one a little pop before he moved on to the next.  "There's a lot to teach you, kid.  I guess, the jungles are first, since you were wonderin' earlier."

Grabbing his guitar case, Nick laid it across his lap so that he could lean his elbows on it as he spoke.  To either side of them small dusty towns, plains of grass, and low rises of hills flashed by in a blur.  "Jungles are basically places to stay, campgrounds of sorts.  You usually find them nearby the train tracks because that's where railroad boys'll stay in case they need to rest while waiting for the next train to hitch.  The one you saw on the hill looked pretty bad, filthy as all hell, but for the most part they are decent enough places, I guess.  Some of the nicer ones have fire rings and supplies of wood to burn, bits of mirror stuck to the trees so you can shave, maybe a fishing pole or two if it's by the water."  Nick absently tapped his fingers against the guitar case.

"But sometimes, hobos will make permanent homes in the jungle, the poor bastards."  He looked up at Carla, "Excuse my language."  When she shook her head that it was fine, he continued on.  "Anyway, you usually end up camping in a jungle with other riders, and it's a friendly atmosphere.  If they're nice guys, you split your rations, boil the little that each one of y'all have together in a pot, and it makes a full meal—burgoo, or sometimes they call it mulligan stew."

Nick laughed, catching her expression, "Hey, you just wait until you get hungry.  Then you won't mind it so much."  He went on to discuss the different things that one would eat when traveling on little or no money, until he eventually noticed Carla's head nodding with sleep.  "Okay, I think that concludes the lesson for now.  Try and get some rest.  We won’t get to Belleville until almost evening anyway."

Nick helped her find a secure place to curl up without worrying about rolling off the catwalk, and before long she was fast asleep.  While she slept, he took a worn map book from his knapsack and spread it carefully on the train's top.  He pressed the sides down to keep them from flapping in the wind and pulled out a small bound book with the different train routes for the Greater Northwest Railroad Company printed inside.  With a pencil Nick chartered out the course to their destination.  They would pass through several towns before they reached the city of Belleville, but the train had no stops planned before then so they had a few hours’ ride ahead of them.

From time to time Nick glanced over at Carla, but she seemed to be sleeping peacefully despite the swaying and rumbling of the train.  It wasn’t usually easy for first-timers to sleep on the catwalk; the excitement of their morning preparations and the trek up the bluff to the jumping point for the train must have worn her out.  That's another mark in her favor, Nick thought.  Despite all her greenness, she takes to this whole business like a pro.

Nick had never had a permanent companion in his travels, not since he was younger and had journeyed the country with his band in comfort—back then they’d purchased tickets and ridden inside trains, not on top of them.  Instead, he’d teamed up with random strangers and made friends on the road, and they’d traveled together only as far as their mutual paths led them until they reached their destinations and parted ways.  Without a friend at one’s side, the life of a railroad boy could be lonely, even if one did occasionally run into old friends on the road from time to time.  Nick decided he would enjoy traveling the country with Carla.  The two of them seemed to get along well, and they’d already proven that they could make good money playing together.  Who knew how long their partnership would last, but Nick experienced a strange sense of comfort in knowing that for the foreseeable future he had a companion and wouldn’t have to travel the roads alone.