The Fiery Ring by Gilbert Morris Page A

rode in the empty cars. She had seem them sitting there dangling their legs, sometimes waving at her as they went by. They seemed happy enough, she thought.
    But I’m a girl. I’ll be easy to find among all those men.
    Joy was terrified over what she had done, but some part of her mind still worked rapidly. “I’ll put on boys’ clothes, some of Travis’s old ones,” she said aloud. She ran to pull out a trunk in the attic next to her room where they had hidden some of their possessions. She found a pair of overalls Travis had worn when he was younger, a pair of his old shoes, several shirts, and a floppy hat he had once loved—an old fedora. It was shapeless now but big enough to tuck her hair into and pull down over part of her face. She also found an old green-and-white mackinaw, worn but usable. Quickly she stripped off her own clothes, shoved them in the trunk, and donned her disguise.
    She ran back into her room and grabbed her journals, the thirty-eight pistol, and her egg money. It wasn’t much, but it would have to last her. She stuffed the money into one pocket and the pistol into the other. Then she crammed the journals, some underwear, and a few other items into a gunnysack, knowing she could not carry much.
    Moving cautiously downstairs, she started to leave. Expecting to see Witt’s lifeless body on the floor, she was startled to see that he had turned over onto his back and was breathing regularly. Blood flowed from the cut over his eyes, but he was not dead!
    Relief washed over her, and she tiptoed quickly past him toward the front door. She stopped only to glance at the clock and saw that it was fifteen minutes past two. The two-thirty freight was nearly always on time. She had to hurry. The train stopped to add water at a tank a mile from the farm. Realizing she was going to need some food, she went to the kitchen. She got a few cans of food from the cupboard, a can opener from the drawer, a tin cup and plate, some utensils, and some matches that were by the stove. Then she stopped dead still. Her lips set in a straight line as a thought occurred to her. Going over to the counter, she reached into a jar marked TEA. She pulled out some bills and some change and stuffed themin her pockets. “He’s robbed me of everything, so I’m going to have this at least!” She did not count the money but knew she would need every penny.
    She hurried outside and headed toward the train tracks, then suddenly thought, I need to buy some time. The ax was stuck in the chopping block beside the house. Putting down her sack, she ran and got the ax and carried it to the car. She drew the weapon back and struck one of the balloon tires with it. The tire made a mild explosion, then flattened. She flattened all four tires, then threw the ax down. Retrieving her sack, she hurried west toward the railroad tracks, with one thought replaying in her mind: I’ve got to get to Galveston.
    She reached the water tank by the tracks, and within a few minutes she heard the lonely sound of a whistle. She hid herself behind a clump of dead grass, and when the train pulled up, expelling steam as it came to a stop, she watched to see if the brakeman would emerge. He did, and she saw him making his way to the water tank to release the water into the engine. She had watched him do it many times.
    She picked up her sack and moved nervously along the line of dull red freight cars. She came to one with the door open and saw that it was empty. She threw her sack on, then sprang up and pulled herself into the car.
    She pulled the door shut so that only a little light filtered through the bars. Then she sat down, her back against the side of the car. She closed her eyes and put her head back, pulling the soft cap over her face.
    As she sat there aware of every sound, fear quickened her breathing. She had nothing, not even friends, and she knew that her uncle would soon have the law looking for her. The fear grew until it occupied her