"So what you going to give the Birthday boy on his 14th?" Jamie asked
with a smile on his face.

    Sean leaned back on the hard pillows and closed his eyes, "Hmmm. I
don't know what a certain boy deserves for his birthday," he smiled softly,
never opening his eyes. "I do know one thing, I plan to lay here and drift
off to sleep, while it looks like some 14 year old boy is just going to sit
there and look at me, unless he wants to use me for a pillow, now that I
got rid of that pesky button that he loves to jam into me."

    "Sean, you know I didn't mean to jam ya with that button," Jamie whined
in a soft voice, "com'on!"

    "Well, what do you want me to do? I can't reach up my shirt sleeve
since I am not wearing one, nor can I reach in my pants pockets either
since they are on the floor with my shirt, and finally, I can't even reach
inside my underwear to pull out anything since like one and two I am not
wearing any, hmm... so what do you want me to do?"

    "I dunno, Sean, heck, I can't ask for nuffin' anyway. You already done
too much for me, and Joe and Scott and Bill and John, them too. I dunno what
a homeless street urchin deserves, not much for darned sure, well nothing at
all. My family never gave me a damned thing, always wanted from me and tried
to take whatever they could, hell...they...even...tried...to...sell meee!"
Jamie had tears in his eyes as he struggled for the words that softly
mumbled from his pink lips as the Mississippi sun shone into the small room
of the Railroad YMCA. He let out a deep sigh as he saw Sean open his eyes
and reach up for him and slowly, softly pulled him down to lie on his bare
chest.

    "Jamie, I don't have nothing to give either, I have no family and if it
wasn't for the luck of the draw, as papa said, I wouldn't be here. I
wouldn't have met Joe or Scott or the rest of the crew. I would still be in
New Orleans on the streets or hidden somewhere in a boxcar inside or ridin'
the rods below the floor, but there is one I can give you, that is, if you
want it?"

    "What is that, Sean?" Jamie softly asked.

    "My grandfather's gold watch, it's all that I have left of my family
and past, it's not a ring or a satchel full of golden coins, but it is part
of me, just like you are now. Jamie. How can I say this without making it
sound prissy or foolish, I love you, my friend, more than just as best buds
or best friends, it's that other differant special love, I am in love with
you."

    "Sean, that was not foolish or prissy, that was the most beautiful
thing anyone has ever said to me, and, no, I don't want your grandpa's
watch, but there is one thing I would like to have, I want that special
love you have for a 14 year old street urchin because he has that special
love for a 16 year old boy who is alone in this world. Sean... is it proper
to say I want to be yours forever, if the angels and the saints allow us to
be? I want to be your boyfriend, your best bud, your best friend and your
soul mate." The tears streaked down Jamie's face as the sun hit them,
making them shine like diamonds. Then and there Jamie looked like an angel
and to Sean he was.

    "No, we have not located your son, Mr. Parsons. We are still checking
around the railroad yards but so far no one has reported seeing a blonde
haired boy of 14."

    "Why not?" Robert Parsons asked. He reeked of whiskey and his clothes
were filthy.

    Officer Lewis adjusted his collar and replied, "Our forces are spread
thin as it is during these hard times, we are doing our best to locate him
and I can tell by your state of dress and the fumes of your breath, you're
not a taxpayer yourself at the moment, are you?" Lewis was getting tired of
this man, trying to order him around like he owned him. The sorry bastard
was a drunk and he heard rumors about the location of one Jamie Parsons but
he be damned to tell this son of a bitch even tho' it was his job. The boy
would be better off on the streets but Lewis let a small smile form in his
mind; Jamie was not in the streets, he in fact was no longer in the state.

    "I am too a fucking taxpayer," the big man growled, "and goddamn it,
you better find my son! I leave out this afternoon on the GREY OAK for
Vicksburg and I shall return in one week for a report or I will have your
ass!" Parsons stormed out of the building, his heavy boots echoing on the
hardwood floor.

    "Son of a bitch," Lewis said as he reached for the glass of cool water
on his desk and took a sip to calm his burning stomach. "The nerve of that
bastard!" He leaned back against the brick wall and just shook his head.
"Boy, wherever you are, be safe because if your papa ever finds ya, there
will be hell to pay." Lewis stood and stretched his arms before reaching for
his policeman's hat and plopping it on his black mop that never seemed to
stay combed and he picked his badge up off the scarred desk and fastened it
to his royal blue blouse and walked by the desk sergeant Maxwell. "I am
headed to the railyards again!"

    "Very well, Lewis, but I think it is a lost case. That boy is no longer
in the city," Maxwell said as he took a sip of coffee from his mug. "While
you out, pick me up some cigarettes!" He dug into his pocket and pitched
Lewis two small gold coins. Lewis caught them and placed them in his pocket
as he headed for the double doors and the steaming southern sun that
continued to bake the brick streets of New Orleans.

    The sun hit him in a blast compared to the coolness he felt in the brick
police station. He blinked his eyes before turning and walking south toward
the sprawling web of railroad tracks that entered the city from every
direction on the compass. He walked past the down-on-the-heels vendors and
street people who walked everyday, looking for work in the few places that
were still hiring. The depression was growing worse as more and more
factories shut their doors, some for good, as banks scrambled to hide their
money, well what was left of it, as more and more customers cleaned out
their savings and decided it was best if they kept it at home where it
would be safer. Some greeted the young officer as he walked in his starched
pressed uniform, his green eyes sparkling as he walked. The people of the
district liked Lewis, he was on their side and he was respected. He walked
past the fire station, heading on down past the burnt out tenant building
and continued down the hill to the Railyards.

    Lewis stopped at the edge of the sprawling yards and waited as a switch
engine chuffed past with a string of boxcars. He grimaced as he watched the
black smoke and stepped back; he did not want the coal cinders to burn holes
in his uniform. He pulled the brim of his duck-billed cap down closer onto
his black curly hair and quickly moved across the tracks to the three story
brick station that served the Illinois Central and Yazoo and Mississippi
Valley Railroads. He entered the building through the main entrance and
instantly heard the clacking of the telegraph keys as messages were being
sent. 'Must be trouble on the line somewhere,' he thought as he listened to
the dots and dashes on the brass sounders as the messages flashed long
distance. He was always fascinated with the telegraph as he was with many
other things.  Lewis stopped at the water cooler and placed the tin cup
under the spigot and turned it till the cup filled. He placed it to his
lips and felt the flash of pain hit his brain as the icy water hit his
throat. "God damn, you know you're in high cotton when you have ice water
from the spout!"  What Lewis didn't know was the water he was drinking came
from the ice house located across the tracks from the station where the
refrigerated cars were loaded with blocks of ice and the water in the cooler
flowed from the dripping ice in the house to the cooler and in fact was
cleaner than the rest of the water in the Crescent City.

    "Why, Sergeant Lewis, what has the Illinois Central done to deserve a
visit from the district's finest young man in blue?" Sid Johnston asked as
he looked up from his large desk in front of the first floor bay window that
looked out upon the sprawling yards and passenger loading area of the
station.

    "Well, Mr. Johnston, I am looking for a 13 year old boy by the name of
Jamie Parsons. His father has reported him missing."

    "What does he look like?" Sid asked as he continued to click the
telegraph key.

    "He is about 5 foot 6 inches, with blue eyes and blonde hair, weight I
say about 125 or so, with pale skin. Last reported seen near the Hotel
Lafayette on the date of May 12th. I believe he may have hitched a ride
north onboard one of your company's trains."

    Sid rubbed his square jaw and thought for a moment, "Yes, I think I do
remember seeing a boy about his age hanging around here around the 13th, is
he in some kind of trouble?"

    "No, but if his father finds him, he will be."

    "I see, so do you want me to telegraph north to see if I can locate
him?"

    "Yes, please do, also see if anyone has seen another boy by the name of
Sean Davis. Some gentlemen are very worried about him after he vanished
from their care while they were fighting a fire."

    Sid's eyelids perked up, "Sean Davis? Charles Davis' son?"

    "Yes, that's the one. Captain Ross is very worried, so is two of his
young firefighters - Sims and Williams. They are the ones who rescued him
from the tenant building and they want to know if he is safe."

    "Let me see what I can find out on your boys. Do you have a moment? We
had a bad wreck last night and at the moment we are diverting traffic on our
other routes to keep freight and passengers moving and it is taxing the
Yazoo and Mississippi Valley, just was not built to handle such a traffic
overload."

    Lewis nodded his head yes, "Just where does the Yazoo and Mississippi
Valley run?"

    "The YM&V leaves the main ICRR line at Kenner Junction right outside of
the city headed north for Baton Rouge, Slaughter, and Natchez, on north to
Vicksburg and all throughout the Mississippi Delta to end in Memphis. Miles
upon miles of feeder lines that feed our lines at Jackson, Durant, Grenada,
and other places. The bad thing is the wreck took place north of Hammond so
right now we have a bottleneck. You see," Sid stood up and walked over to
the rear wall of his office and pulled down a large route map, showing all
the lines from New Orleans to Memphis and he pointed on the map, "the wreck
happened here." He tapped his long slender finger on a spot north of
Hammond, "So what we have to do is this, send our trains up our line to
Hammond, then detour them onto the east-west YM&V line to Baton Rouge, then
north to here - Harriston, Mississippi, located just south of Port Gibson.
Then up the "Little J" to Jackson."

    "Little J?" Lewis asked.

    "Yes, you see, when the line was first built before the Civil War it was
three foot gauge and was called the Natchez and Jackson. Well, you see, our
mainline at the time was the New Orleans Jackson and Great Northern, five
foot gauge and was called the "Big J". So the names stuck and we still use
them to tell the differance between the lines."

    "Ahh, now it makes sense, I am sure glad I don't have your job!" Lewis
smiled.

    Sid looked at Lewis, "And you couldn't pay me to do yours."  Sid walked
back over to his desk and reached for the chains that ran to the large home
signal that stood outside with its large double semaphore blades and began
to lower the blades for northbound traffic to SLOW WHISTLE FOR ORDERS which
the engineer would see as a blade at 45 degrees and a burnt amber lens.
"Come on, Lewis, let's step outside and once I get this northbound her
orders, I will hop on the key and wire north for you."

    Lewis smiled, "Thanks, Uncle Sid!"

    "Hey, no mixing family ties with business, my boy, there might be rumors
started."

    "That's the main reason to come down here and not the main offices,
because I know I got connections here!" Lewis laughed as his uncle shook his
fist at the young man that was following him out the door as the the big
2-8-0 Consolidation began to blast for the signal.

    Sid reached up and passed the rolled orders to the engineer, using his
train order hoop, then once more put the 2nd set in the hoops for the
conductor riding the caboose. Once the conductor grabbed them, Sid motioned
for Lewis to step back inside the cool brick station. He dropped the order
hoop against the wall and reached over and tapped the telegraph key,
sending word that the manifest freight had departed New Orleans and noted
the time on the big Regulator clock.

    "Lew, take a seat, I know I ain't supposed to let any non-employee past
the door, but it is just me here today, so here, sit. So tell me what you
don't want to know first?"

    "Uncle, a lot of things I don't want to know, but... find out where he
is and if he is safe, both of them, so I can tell the guys at the fire
station and when I get back to the station I can give Parsons a report. If
the boy is headed north, I pray it is away from the Mississippi River and
if he is going north his father will be told he is headed west on the Texas
and Pacific. I know what you thinking, Uncle Sid, it ain't right to lie,
but when a man walks in and the first thing he asked me, 'Have you found
the little son of a bitch', he not worried about the boy's safety or health,
he wants him back for some other reason and the last location he gave me,
the hotel, well .......I am not supposed to say this to anyone, but the desk
clerk reported seeing the father and a guest talking about a boy for hire
and I am thinking the father was talking about his own son." Lewis let out
a sigh as his uncle pulled out two Lucky Strikes and handed his nephew one.

    "Now I know why you came to me, boy, your golden heart is heavy and I
believe you may just be right again, that is why the people of this city,
even the crooks, respect you and that is why I will help you in your quest
and I will help you cover any tracks of these boys if the need be." Sid
started to tap on his key, sending the request for information on the
location of two young boys, saying that friends are looking for them, and
that the boys had not broken any laws and that the concerned party just
wanted to make sure they were safe. "Now we wait."  The two men sat there
in the cool of the station office, talking about the depression, the storms
that had hit the city, and the heat wave that had come back with vengeance
after the cooling showers had left. They talked about family and friends as
the cigarette smoke drifted up in curls of blue, rising toward the ceiling
of grooved pine boards painted in white. The telegraph key continued
clicking, sending messages to the main offices located south of Sty Docks
and the freight yard. The open windows seemed to beg for a breeze that
refused to come, the coal smoke from the switch engines blacking the skies
above; even it shot straight up, not a breath of air to lay it back.

    Sid reached over to the key when he heard his station's call sign. He
tapped it to answer and listened to the information, the dots and dashes of
the Morse code he read by ear. He then clicked back, sending he had
received the message.  Sid turned to look at Lewis, "Both boys are safe at
McComb, Mississippi, out of your jurisdiction and out of the bastard's
reach, anything you want me to tell them?"

    Lew let out a sigh of relief, "Yes, tell Sean there are two young men
and one Fire Chief that loves him if he ever decides to come home and tell
Jamie his father is hunting for him and to be careful."

    "OK, Lew," Sid tapped the brass key again and sent the short message
north along the strands of copper wire to their destionation over 100 miles
to the north and clicked 'end'. "There you go, my boy."

    "Thanks, Uncle Sid." Lewis smiled as his green eyes seemed to glow a
little brighter. He stood up, "I better get back to the station, after I
pick up some smokes for Maxwell and let Captain Ross know about his boy,
that is Ross' wording, not mine, "his boy", this Sean Davis must be
something else."

     Sid looked at his nephew, "Because he is. If I would have told the
operator at McComb that you was hunting him for breaking the smallest law
or capital murder, they would have wired back they haven't seen him even
if he was standing over the key, because, my boy, he is the son of a
Railroader and just like your bunch, you stick together. Now go, I am
about to get busy, got 15 trains coming in and 5 are headed to grain
elevators here at Sty docks, 5 more to the banana sheds, the other 5 thank
goodness are going to the main yard to be broken up and interchanged with
the Texas and Pacific, Louisville and Nashville, and the New Orleans and
Northeastern."

   Lewis smiled, "I knew I didn't want to be a telegrapher for some
reason!" He laughed as he headed out of the office and into the waiting
room of the station.

    Sid watched the young man through the iron bars of the ticket window,
"Get yo' butt out of here before I swat it like I used to have to do!" and
he smiled, and waved to the boy as he walked across the tracks and
disappeared up the hill. "Damn, there goes a good kid, if he stays safe
he'll make chief for sure. He tapped the telegraph key to thank the
operator at McComb and asked if he would deliver the message in person
so it would stay between just them. He got a yes in return. He tapped the
key once more on the lines to let the others know that he would be away
from his post for a few moments. Sid stood and grabbed his cap and placed
it on his salt and pepper hair, grabbed his smokes and matches, and walked
out the door to just stand for a few minutes looking at the busy yards
and the bustling grain elevators as he smoked and looked and remembered..

    Once more Sean stood on the waiting platform of the same small
station that was located in the green lush valley, everything around him
was quiet, peaceful, no hustle or bustle of the busy world around him. He
looked around from the tall telegraph poles that held crystal insulators
for the telegraph wires that gleamed and sparkled unlike any he had ever
seen, not the green corroded brass or the green glass that usually
paralleled the common lines. The shining golden rails held down by the
silver spikes drove deep and even into the laurel wood ties and crystal
ballast below. He began to wonder had something happened while he and
Jamie slept. A chill swept his body as he shivered, standing there in the
sunlight that shone low above the mountain peaks in the distance. Just
why he was standing here once more was confusing. The surroundings were
beginning to become common sights while he slept at times. The dream was
becoming commonplace. Sometimes there was no train, just him in this
paradise where golden rails passed through this mountain valley flowing
down to the blue-green sea. He felt light at heart in his dreams just as
he did before drifting back to sleep with his boy on his chest.
 

    Storm clouds rumbled in the north as the tired boys and crew slept and
the freight yard and shops hummed with life. The coolness of the chilling
wind was welcome as men rushed to cover papers with something to hold them
down as the windows in the offices were closed except for small slits to
let the refreshing air inside, yard crews sighed at the refreshing wind as
it dried their sweating brows, while others sat in doorways enjoying the
break because of the slowdown in traffic after the derailment; only the
local freights and passenger trains were running between Kentwood and
Jackson. The rest were slowly making their way down the curving, twisting
rails of the Yazoo and Mississippi Valley lines to the west. The YM&V was
controlled by Illinois Central since the day it was born, laying its first
tracks northwest out of the state capital of Mississippi to Yazoo City 40
miles to the northwest and the gateway to the Yazoo and Mississippi River
deltas. The small railroad slowly grew, soaking up feeder lines and
logging lines in the delta to soon encompass the western part of
Mississippi and parts of the southern Louisiana and connecting Memphis.
The lines were booming, hauling the bounty of the farmers to market and
the cargoes that once went by steamboat now rode the rails - cotton, corn,
lumber, and other goods clicked and rocked along these feeder lines to
reach the Crescent City and to head north to Memphis and on to Chicago for
now the rails continued to boom as the the financial uncertainy gripped
the nation in his iron fist and the grim reaper swished his sickle over
the weaker banks and industries but by the time it was over no one would
be left untouched. It was like the black death, causing men to lose
fortunes and then taking their own lives, leaving shattered families like
twisters left shattered lands, homes, and destruction. In some parts of
the nation many didn't know there was a depression as the rural life
continued harvesting the crops and livestock, planting fields, and doing
their daily routines in the rural landscapes of the south and west, where
big financial mergers meant nothing and the stock market was something
most never heard of. The rails continued to bring them their goods and
ship their cargos and life continued on.
 

    Sean continued his dream as the room began to chill from the rain that
splattered the window seal and his exposed body and in his dream it started
to rain as well. Crystal droplets fell from the skies as he searched for
cover in the small station that looked so cosy and dry. He ran in his dream
across the slick platform and ducked through the door. There standing
before him was an angel, the golden wings flat against the young man's
back. "What.... has... happened... to me?" Sean struggled for the words in
his throat that was dry as cotton.

    "My young one," the angel spoke in soft velvet tones, "nothing has
happened to you, you still live and sleep and your soulmate sleeps upon your
chest. It is raining in Dixie, my young one, so once I finish, you will
waken to your new love. I was summoned to give you blessings from your
family now in Heaven as they look down upon you and smile, but he is in
danger; the man who tried to sell his son is now looking for him, but
you're not alone, a man who will go far is on your side to help protect your
love, and friends that will let no harm come are close by. So, my young one,
rest easy but don't let down your guard. He needs you as much as you need
him. Blessings, my child." With those words, the angel vanished.

    Sean struggled to open his eyes to find himself covered in sweat and the
chilling water from the open window splattering upon both him and his love.
He moved over and shut the window, blocking out the chilling rain and
rumbling thunder as he looked at his golden boy under the dim arc of the
lights from the yard and the feeble gaslight from the street below.

    "I love you, Jamie, with all my heart and soul forever." He kissed the
sleeping boy on the forehead lightly, gently, lovingly, because this boy
had entered a realm in his heart that had been empty, this innocent boy had
broken down the walls that had stood trial by fire, but Jamie had won his
heart. "Now I know why Williams and Sims are so happy, it's called love."
Sean sat there stroking the smooth skin of the chest and stomach up and
down with a featherlight touch of this boy who called himself a street
urchin. "You're no street urchin, my love, you're a special boy who has just
turned 14 and I be damned to hell before I let anyone lay a harming hand
upon you again."

    "Parsons, I don't think the fuckin' cops are givin' ya' the whole story
on your boy."  Eric spoke with scorn as they stood in the grubby pilothouse
of the freight boat GREY OAK, once a fine river packet; now all it carried
was freight, pushing barges up and down river to ports. The railroad robbed
the packet boats of mail and passenger freight and they still steamed with
contempt when it was even mentioned. The once pristine white paint was now
cracked and peeling from the ceiling and walls, the glass chipped and
cracked in places, the once well oiled wheel now was dry and beginning to
splinter.

    "Shove off," they heard Captain Hawk call from below as the engine
bells chimed below deck. The old engines wheezed and panted as the massive
26 foot paddle wheel in the rear began to turn as the steamboat pushed back
from the landing. The rocker arms and cranks spun, moaning in the bearing
boxes as the steamboat turned to head up Ole Man River to the port of
Vicksburg. "1/4 speed," Parsons growled as he spoke into the speaking tube
leading to the engineroom on the boiler deck.

    "I know that cocksucker Lewis is hiding something, saying I was not a
taxpayer, so why should he help me find that little bitch boy. Eric, I know
why you want him found and brought along on this trip, you want my boy's hot
little ass, that wife of yours is just like mine, spread her legs for the
cash but not for their old man. When we find Jamie you can have him once I
wear that ass out with my belt and if you still want to fuck him I'll even
gag him for ya, if I get a piece of your boy." Parsons smiled as he turned
the wheel to ease past a set of barges close to the shoreline in the narrow
channel.

    "Sounds like a deal, Parsons," Eric smiled, showing his perfect white
teeth. "I am sure Marky can handle that tool of yours. If not we'll just
have to lube him up with some axle grease. I want to find that son of a
bitch who killed our contact at the hotel. I was looking forward to making
some extra cash."

    "Yeah, I know, I have an idea who it was, I think it is time we
contacted the Ku Klux Klan to find out the rest of the story on who and
where they are hiding the ones who did it and my bitch of a son." Parsons
yanked the whistle cord, blasting the 3 tone whistle for a skiff to get out
of the way. He didn't even try to avoid the small boat; they either moved
or he was going to plow them under.

    Eric smiled, "I got my dues paid up in full, about time I asked for
some membership benefits. To get rid of two little faggots, well, that is
what we'll tell them, my fellow white knight!"

    The steamer blasted her whistle again and again at the small skiff, in
the river the fishermen doing their damnedest to get out of the way of the
steamboat that was not going to move over in the narrow channel, the
deckhands shouting for the boat to move, then it was too late. The bow of
the GREY OAK plowed headlong into the helpless skiff as timbers groaned
and the boat splintered, only to be churned up in the wake of the paddle
wheel along with the lifeless bodies of the two fishers.

    Captain Hawk stormed into the pilothouse. "Why didn't you stop,
Parsons?"

    "No time, sir, this steamer is overloaded and there was no time to
reverse the wheel and if I would have moved over I risked the danger of
hitting a loaded barge, sir!"

    "Very well, Parsons I trust yor judgment and you're right, what is it
worth anyway, two drunk fishermen are now fish bait. Set course for main
channel. I am headed to my cabin."

    "Yes sir, Captain Hawk!" the two men replied as they watched the river.
Once the captain was out of earshot, Parsons leaned over and asked Eric,
"You bring that flask?"

    "Yea, it's hidden in the coal stove."

    "Good man, Eric, damned good man!"

    "So are you, Parsons." The two rivermen stood in the pilothouse,
watching the river not just for hidden danger and river traffic but for a
bit of fun as well, you never knew just when you would see a hot boy
cooling himself on a sand bar between New Orleans and Vicksburg.

    "Once we return, we'll find wild eyed Pierre and see what he can do to
make a certain police officer talk about what he knows! You know what I
mean, Slawson!"

    Eric smiled, "Yea, I do, Parsons."

    "Pass the flask, we need to wet our whistles!" Parsons smiled as he
reached up and yanked the whistle cord, sounding the call down ole man
river.

    The deckhands looked up toward the pilothouse, Parsons was a damned
fine pilot if he could only leave the whiskey and moonshine alone, but
they were not about to complain to the captain, they were lucky just to
still have jobs.

    As the steamboat GREY OAK steamed north on the river. Sean was
watching Jamie continue to sleep as his fingers continued to explore the
smooth pale skin of the boy-god as he dozed, sleeping peacefully,
knowing in his own mind that he was safe from harm as he slept his
dreamless sleep. As his mind slept his body began to react to the soft
caress of the strong but gentle fingers of his friend. His mind told his
body that was wrong, it was his soulmate who urged to touch his skin as
he slept. The gentle softness on his cooled skin felt wonderful and his
sleeping mind agreed. Jamie gently began to roll over in his sleep as
Sean moved his hand back and out of the way of the rolling sleeping boy.
Jamie came to rest with his arms under his head and his strong back and
behind in full view, legs lightly spread, giving Sean a peek at the heavy
low balls. Jamie was surely blessed in many ways, Sean thought as he lay
back down beside Jamie, reaching his free hand out to lightly rub the
scarred skin on Jamie's back. Anger flashed through his mind, 'How could
anyone beat this boy and for what reason?' The anger quickly died away and
was replaced by the love he had for Jamie, sweet powerful love, as his
nimble fingers traced the fading bruises and welt marks and the light scars
that crisscrossed the skin like the rails of a yard. Sean smiled as his
fingers traced lower down to the lower part of the back and to the edge of
the two pale mounds of flesh that were separated by the crack of the
handsome ass like a valley between two mountain peaks. The fingers
continued to run down between the cheeks, just feeling the warmth of the
skin. Sean thought, 'If my fingers was a passenger train this would be one
ride through paradise.' He smiled as he looked down at his own boyhood that
pointed out from his dark pubic hairs, straining for release and begging for
attention. He stroked his penis, the burning heat radiating from it and the
blood filled veins, the sheath of skin pulled back tightly, exposing the
head that began to leak the clear fluid that preceded the 'mother load' as
he called it. He continued to stroke his penis in slow motions, sliding his
hand from base to crown as he looked at his sleeping love. He moved closer
so when he stroked out to the full length it would brush Jamie's side,
sending little pleasure shocks through his body.

    Sean rose up and sat back on his knees, leaning ever so closer to the
sleeping god. He balanced himself as he reached out with his hands to once
more rub the pale skin of his very own boy. He decided what he wanted to do
and slowly moved over between the spread legs and lowered himself down on
top of Jamie's back, his hard boyhood pressed now into the smooth valley
between the cheeks as the rest of his bronzed upper body made contact with
the pale skin, his face inches away from the blonde hair that flowed down
Jamie's neck. Sean sighed as his warm breath bathed the golden hair of his
boy. "Oh, my handsome boy, I love you so," Sean whispered as he lay there
feeling the heat that began to rise from being pressed so close together.
His youthful body told him he was ready to take the next step across the
divide that separated boys from men and men from boys, but was it really
love or was the evil of lust creeping in on him and his friend, was Jamie
ready for it or not? These questions raced through his mind like the
Panama Limited as she raced through the heartland of the United States but
the warmth of the skin and the feelings in his heart told him it was not
lust that was causing these fantastic feelings that now flooded his mind
and body as his young manhood rubbed the smooth valley between the two
cheeks. He knew where the uncovered red flared head was pointing and a
teasing smile creased his face as he leaned closer to the blonde wheat-
colored hair. He gently kissed the ear lobes and stuck his tongue out to
rim the edges of the cute ears as soft muffled moans escaped Jamie's throat
and Sean's boyhood pulsed against the smooth skin of Jamie's backside.

    Sean wanted to so bad it hurt, but at the same time he did not want to
hurt his friend. The mixed emotions ran wild in his mind about what was
right and what was not right. Images of the fading dream were still in his
mind and he wondered just who this man was who wanted Jamie back so badly
and for what reasons. Sean eased up off his friend as not to awaken the
boy from his gentle slumber and walked toward the window away from the bed
but he stopped and picked up his jeans and pulled the gold pocket watch
from his jeans, a gift to him from his father who recieved it from his
grandmother who in turn received it from the Railroad after his
grandfather's death. He plucked the watch from his pants pocket, then
walked slowly toward the window with the shades drawn. Sean reached out and
opened the shades and raised the lower part of the window and sat down on
the edge. The town slept while the busy freight yard continued to hum with
life. He looked from his perch down the dim gas-lit alley and across the
street to where the yards stood out under the arc sodium lights and he
could see the switcher hooting and shuffling freight cars back and forth.
He clicked open the gold plated cover of the watch and slowly began to wind
it, listening to its ticking as his eyes scanned the yards through the fog
that had began to form, rising slowly from the hot streets to mix with the
cool night air. He sat there with his foot resting on the ledge so it hid
his most private parts from view. Even with the dimness of the gas lamps he
still did not want to risk full exposure. The sliver moon shone through the
building clouds, another storm was on its way, the rumble of the thunder to
the north sounded the approach as lightning once more flashed in the dark
skies. The farmers were glad to see it approach, maybe this time the storm
would deliver the life giving rain without destruction of the landscape the
rain would bring back to life. His sharp eyes missed nothing as the events
of life took place in front of him as the switch engines chuffed back and
forth in the drizzling rain and lightning flashed as thunder rolled. The
ticking of the pocket watch told him of the passing seconds in which he
watched life. He saw an old man limping past his perch and the man looked
up and smiled a warm smile and Sean smiled back.

    "Lad, hold on to that smile, it is worth its weight in gold, hold on to
your hope and pride and never let someone rob it from you, never do any
wrong, always do right and you shall go far. Now, my lad, excuse me while I
rush home to my dear wife. Goodnight, laddy!"

    "Thank you, sir, and may God Bless you!" Sean called down to the old
man as he hobbled along a little quicker down the alley toward his home. He
felt the chill of the rain and wind hit his naked form and he shivered but
remained there, watching the yards and glancing over at the handsome boy
that lay sprawled on the hard narrow bed, the pale skin lit by the
flickering gas street lamps and the sliver of silver moon that still shone
from the clouds that began to darken the skies, blocking the twinkling
stars. He heard the hoot of a steam whistle as the 2-8-0 Consolidation
returned from the south, pulling her now empty cars, ten empty flatcars and
the wooden caboose, her markers burning brightly as the engine began to
slow down and ease to a stop in front of the water tower. As the engine
took on water the caboose was uncoupled and pulled back and the little #9
took it to the service yard where it would receive maintenance and be
readied once more for departure as #11 rolled over and coupled onto the
empty flats and tugged them back and then pushed them back to north yard
to be reloaded with supplies.  Number 665 eased from under the water spout
and chuffed slowly toward the coaling tower to be refueled, then she would
be put to rest in her stall at the roundhouse for the night, her work for
the day was done, both wreckers would return with the Mikado when she
returns north from the wreck site.
 

    Jamie rolled over in the bed and felt the empty space where Sean should
have been but was not, he opened his eyes to look around the dim room and
he saw Sean holding the gold watch and staring out the window at the busy
yards. The water droplets from the misting rain glistened on his cheeks and
what to Jamie looked like tears. Jamie wondered what his boy was thinking
as he sat there in the window staring at the yards that never seemed to
grow dull or boring to him, just like the wharves that lined the great
river at New Orleans, how he used to sit there for hours watching the
steamboats coming and going up and down the great river. He slowly got out
of bed and on featherlight feet walked over to the window ledge where his
naked god awaited, staring out at the world beyond the cold bricks of the
YMCA room. Jamie slowly wrapped his arms around Sean's neck and hugged him
as he kissed the back of Sean's neck. "What's wrong, Sean?" Jamie asked in
a low soft voice. "You look worried."

    Sean jumped a little when he felt the warm hands encircle his neck, but
he knew whose hands they were and enjoyed the warmth and caress that they
gave his body and the soft lips that planted the tender kiss on the back of
his neck.

    The bronze bell tolled on the Hurricane deck, eight deep throated rings
to signal the hour of 8 pm. The winds that blew out of the north began to
grow stronger, causing the waves to began to rise and lap stronger against
the bow of the steamer and the old glass to shiver and shake in the
pilothouse. Parsons had his keen eyes on the river as he watched for snags
and sandbars, using the flickering lightning to help guide him. The coal
stove had a fire burning brightly in the grate, a tin coffee pot on top
steamed as the coffee continued to lightly boil. Both pilots sweated from
the extra heat, the door was swung open to catch some of the breeze, but at
the same time if the windows began to fog over they would have to find a
place to dock for the night. The trees swayed in the heavy northern winds
as they blew south, causing the steamer to rock as each gust hit the boat
as she rode low in the water, overloaded with cargo. To the north another
mournful cry was heard coming from a southboound boat. Parsons reached up
and pulled the whistle cord and answered the other steamer, the mournful
cry sounded like a ghost ship in the fog, the low deep tones echoing over
the dark water, even now the moon had vanished from the skies.

    The GREY OAK passed the mouth of the Red River, the water rolling down
to mix with that of the Mississippi.  "Damn, that water always looks so red.
I still won't forget the stories of how my great uncle was killed at
Alexandria during the war helping to man the guns. They said a shell hit
him square and there was nothing left of him afterwards for the undertaker.
Captain Wood was killed as well. His grandson is now a captain on the
MAYFLOWER." Parsons shifted his pipe as he spoke, him and Slawson watching
the river like hawks over the henhouse.

    The deckhands had the large iron briers filled with oil-soaked pine
knots burning brightly over the bow of the steamer to help spot snags and
sandbars, whatever might be floating toward the steamer. Her mournful
whistle sounding every 10 minutes in answer to the cries of the other
steamer so they would know where each one was in the channel. The two
signal lights burned brightly high upon her chimmeys; one red, one green;
they twinkled in the darkness of the night. Her cabins glowed with the
light of kerosene lanterns, her few passengers already safe in their bunks,
the rest of the crew in the Texas playing cards or snoozing until time for
them to take the watch, Captain Hawk lying in his bunk, reading the latest
racy novel he picked up in New Orleans. Life on a steamboat hardly changed
as the minutes ticked by as she slowly pushed northward toward Natchez, her
first port of call after Baton Rouge. It had been a day since they had left
New Orleans, steaming north on ole man river. Parsons glanced around the
pilothouse, Ah, it was good to be home again but something was missing. He
looked over at the two high chairs, one was empty, the one that his boy
used to sit in, "Oh, Jamie, where are you, my boy?" Robert's eyes grew
misty as he thought about his youngest boy somewhere in the world, "Why
now?" He cast a glance over at Eric, and thought, 'If he was here, your
dirty cock would not even get close to my boy!' He turned back to the river
and pulled the whistle cord long and hard, making Eric jump and almost
tumble out of the chair, 'and when I return to New Orleans that whore I
have for a wife will be out on her ass if she does not learn how to keep
her legs closed when someone waves a gold piece at her face!' Robert looked
at the flask that Eric had slipped onboard. Eric offered him a drink and he
refused, "Pour me some coffee! No time for me to get drunk, you ass!"

    Eric poured the coffee into a tin mug and passed it to Robert. He knew
something was bothering his friend but he dared not to ask; the last man
who pried into Robert Parsons' business never had any business after that,
in fact the man's business was turned over to the six men who shoveled dirt
into his open grave to finish all business that was left.
 

   Jamie continued to stand behind Sean with his arms wrapped around the
smooth bronze skin of the boy in front of him, feeling his warmth as the
chill of the wind and misting rain blew in the open window. "What you
thinking, Sean?" Jamie asked, his warm breath blowing into Sean's left ear.

    "Nothing really, my lovely boy." Sean spoke softly but in his mind the
dream was still fresh as the image of the angel that stood there in that
small station in his dream.

    "The wind is cold, Sean, come on back to bed and keep me warm, I liked
it when you laid on top of me, that felt so good."

    "You liked that, Jamie?" Sean asked as he began to stand up and ease
the window closed to shield them from the cool damp wind.

    "Yes, I did, Sean, it felt so wonderful," Jamie grabbed the gold watch
and wrapped his arm around Sean's right and began to pull him back toward
the bed as the thunder grumbled louder, sounding like small artillery
explosions. They lay back down on the narrow bed and once more arms became
entangled in each other as they looked into each other's eyes. The hands
that reached out for a friend touched each other's hearts and souls as
they talked about the future, as the GREY OAK steamed north and the repair
crews struggled loading tools and equipment as motorcars putted north or
south away from the completed repair work. Their jobs were done and the
main line reopened as the lightning flashed and the thunder rumbled, soon to
be followed once more by the rain.  The work lights of the derricks and
wrecking cranes were shut off as the steam engines backed up and coupled
on. Soon their big hooks were swinging as the the Mikados pulled their
heavy loads to sidings and out of the way of the northbound NEW ORLEANS
SPECIAL, the section men stayed huddled by the fires at the site waiting as
the engineers cleared the track of the work trains. The two derricks headed
for McComb would wait at Kentwood, while the smaller one would once more be
parked on her dark siding north of town.

    Number 1176 yanked on her long heavy train of work cars and the two 250
ton cranes, her drivers slipping on the wet iron rails as the dead weight
fought being moved, streams of sand shooting on the rails as smoke belched
from her stack and steam chests as the big drivers spun, then stopped, spun
again, and the couplers clanked as the heavy load began to move, the drivers
made purchase on the rails, and the gleaming black steamer began to walk off
with the train like a racehorse at the starting gate. Some of the work crews
smiled and joked, "That's a damned good engineer to make that engine walk
off like that with that train!" Bob was in the cab of #36 waiting for #1176
to get a head start, then he opened the throttle and eased off behind the
long train for the trip back to Kentwood, then the track superviser would
wire south to Hammond to let the NEW ORLEANS SPECIAL loose for her run
north to Jackson.  She would be the first revenue train over the now
repaired bridge. Once the varnish had passed, the weary workers would throw
their motorcars on the track and head home to rest and sleep until time to
be called out again. The main line once more was open as the men waited for
the NEW ORLEANS SPECIAL, then they saw her light, heard the whistle crying
in the night as her drivers rolled and flashed and she came into view like
a ship out of the fog, she swung around the curve as the torpedoes on the
track exploded, telling her to slow down. The 4-6-2 Pacific class
locomotive slowed to a crawl as she glided across the bridge, the rails
clanking as her drivers rolled across the joints, then her 12 cars of mail,
baggage, and people followed. A section man waved his lantern high in a
full circle, giving the engineer the highball and she was off, her exhaust
becoming louder for a moment as more steam was fed into her pistons, then
all was quiet, her red markers fading in the distance as the motorcars were
heaved back onto the rails and the handles spun to crank them and weary men
climbing aboard to return home, leaving the scattered freight cars clear of
the main line as a reminder of what happened there, but the derricks would
return and load the cars and carry them to be repaired, but not tonight as
the storms blew in, covering the area once more with rain as two boys
cuddled in each other's arms, dreaming of each other.

Hello, Dear Friends, It has been hell these last weeks here in Mississippi.
We had more storms to blow across Mississippi, flooding the railroad and
homes. Then Friday the 6th the parents of a great friend of mine were in a
wreck, hit by a drunken driver. The worry I had for my friend and his
parents was compounded the Tuesday after I was on my way to the denist in
Yazoo when a young boy was hit and killed by a Illinois Central train, I
learned it was no accident, it was his way of committing suicide.
Wednesday the 11th was no better, a close friend at the ripe old age of 19
decided that life was no longer worth living and put a shotgun to his chest,
something in the past I thought of doing the same but I had friends to
pull me back from the edge of forever. Friday the 13th passed by quietly,
it always has been a good day for me. Saturday the 14th, the 87 year
Anniversary of the sinking of the RMS TITANIC was a day that was tiring but
rewarding in ways. Dave, our Railroad president, was hit by a teenaged
girl who ran a stop sign; both are ok, then work was begun on the long
overhaul of a Missouri Pacific caboose that we bought, so life continues
as I must end this part of my tale of the High Iron.

I must thank all my friends for their support, my readers as well. Joe, Ed,
Andrew, Mike, Willy B., JC, Bill, Peter, and my sunshine out in California,
Chris, keep on smiling, it makes my darkest days a little brighter over here
and many others.

I must recommend several fine stories for you to read. Will and Tyler's
Odyssey in HS and Willy B's Sharpshooter in Historical, two wonderful tales
that I know you will enjoy.

Last but not least, hat's off to Ed, my wonderful Editor, all the best, my
dear friend. Well, until next time, Dear Readers, all the best to you.

Comments are always welcome, let me know how I am doing! Swarri1349@aol.com
and my home on the web is located at:  https://swarri1349.tripod.com/  The
door is always open so come on in.
 

How long ago a Railroad's flag fell will not matter so long as there are
railfans and modelers to pick it up again and hand it off to the next
generation and the men who refuse to let it die.

Stephen