when his wildest dreams came true, he went down to the crossroads to wait for the evening train.
the most beautiful woman he had ever seen was waiting there.
she was sitting on a large suitcase, and chewing on a straw..
her golden tresses flashed in the setting sun.
she had a somewhat world weary smile on her face, which was largely hidden by a large white hat with a pale blue flower on it.
the suitcase, what could be seen of it under her green dress and shapely leg, was covered with stickers exhibiting the names of cities like paris and hong kong and cairo and san francisco.
“good evening, ma’am. are you waiting for the evening train?”
“yes, i am.”
“does it come through here often?”
she looked up at him with her enigmatic world weary smile. “you are a strange man. to be coming down here with a suitcase to wait for the train, and not evem know how often it cones through?”
“i am afraid i have led a rather sheltered life and am somewhat of an innocent, although my wildest dreams have just come true. permit me to introduce myself. my name is manfred pennington, and my ancestors fought at the alamo with davy crockett.”
“my name is genevieve st genevieve, and my ancestors fought at valley forge with general george armstrong custer.”
“what can you tell me about the evening train?”
“it only stops for a few seconds, so you have to be quick. see that cactus plant over yonder. the best place to get on it is in the shadow of the cactus plant. a bocxar half filled with miming equipment for denver usually pulls up right beside it. but be warned - deacon jones, the meanest railroad bull in five states, rides this train, and rules it with an iron hand.”
“i see you have been around the block a few times, and know the ropes,” manfred observed.
“on some nights, though, when he has had a good hired man’s dinner at mrs smith’s in thomasville, and he is enjoying one of his world famous cigars, he is not quite such a beast as on others.”
“well i thank you for all that information.”
“you are welcome. we learns many things as we pass through this world, and it is the part of a good christian to share them.”
“that is a fine sentiment,.” manfred agreed.
just then they heard the clop clop of a horse and wagon, and sure enough an old wagon pulled by a single old horse emerged from the brow of the hill.
a man with a huge black beard and a wide black hat sat alone in the driver’s seat, the wagon behind him was filled with suitcases.
“evening, jenny,” the man in the black hat addressed genevieve st genevieve.
“evening, will.”
“i can give you a ride as far as easterville, if you like, where, as you well know, the train stops for a full thirty seconds., and the deacon is often engaged in talking trash with his friend sheriff jake brown.”
“why thank you, will, that is right neighborly of you.” genevieve st genevieve tossed her suitcase into the back of the wagon, and jumped up beside him, showing a flash of leg.
they drove off , leaving poor manfred to his thoughts. he would have liked to make the further acquantance of miss genevieve, but he supposed it was just not meant to be.
he decided to sit down, and looked around for a good spot.
he picked up his suitcase. it felt strangely light.
he looked down at it. it was not his suitcase at all!
he hefted it. it felt empty.
was it locked? should he try to open it?
as manfred was pondering the matter, he heard the whistle of the train.
he decided to wait until he got on the train before investigating .
genevieve st genevieve had given him some advice on the best way to get on the train, but he could not remember what it was.
but it did not matter. the train roared on through the crossroads without stopping or slowing down, leaving a trail of red sparks behibd it, and covering poor manfred with a shower of soot, dirt, and pebbles.
deacon jones looked contentedly out at the landscape from the open door of the boxcar full of mining equipment bound for denver.
the smoke of his world famous cigar was carried away in the evening breeze.
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