The night sky was like a black canopy shot full with every bullet man ever fired. The full moon sat on the horizon, seeming so huge you could almost count the craters. On the flat, pale grey desert plain the only thing moving seemed to be the stretched straight body of the freight train, The massive black engine poured out a trailing plume of smoke, white in the silver light, and sparks that danced like fireflies.

The box cars clung to each other like a string of blind men playing follow my leader, their wheels counting out the rail joints with a mixed syncopation. The night owl, sliding by the length of them, took no notice of the stencilled lettering, or the fact the door to the twenty second car was cracked open. He never wondered what cargo was inside, where it came from or where it was bound.

“Well if you ever go to Huston, you better walk right

And you better not stagger and you better not fight

‘Cause the sheriff will arrest you, and he’ll carry you down

And you can bet your bottom dollar, you’re penitentiary bound

On the Midnight Special, shine her light on me

Oh the Midnight Special, shine her ever loving light on me.”

Rogers stirred, sat up and stared at the ragged man crouched in the other corner of the box car, not appreciating being woken from his fretful slumber.

“Hey, Mack. Trying to sleep here,” he cried out against the creaking and rattling and the wind at the gap of the door.

“The names not Mack,” came the cheery response. “It’s Jangles.”

“Well just cause we’re riding the midnight train doesn’t mean I want to hear you singing about.”

The man laughed, and changed his tune.

Freight train, freight train, going so fast

Freight train freight train, going so fast

Please don’t tell what train I’m on

They won’t know what route I’ve gone.”

Rogers took out his knife and let a shaft of moonlight, entering through the slats, fall on it. The man took the hint and fell silent, but, as Rogers slipped the blade back into his boot and moved to settle again, the voice spoke.

“Riding the rail, that’s the life. Don’t it make you feel good to be heading out of nowhere particular, into somewhere it might happen?”

“What exactly might happen?” Rogers called back irritably. “Things are bad all over, no reason to suppose anything goods going to happen anywhere.”

“You’ll be one of the dust bowlers then? Or maybe a city gent? One of them that didn’t throw yourself out of a window?”

“Lost my job, that’s for sure. Lost everything , if you must know. In fact, that’s what I’m heading away from. Creditors and prison.”

The man struggled to his feet and staggered across the car, fighting the lurches of its steady progress. He settled himself alongside Rogers, took out the makings of a cigarette and offered the pouch. As he hadn’t smoked in over a day, Rogers set aside his independence and settled for a yarn. Jangles took half a cigarette from behind his ear but waited politely before lighting it.

“Ah, nothing like a stogy to cement a friendship,” Jangles sighed, after they had both exhaled thin, blue smoke with relish.

“I’m not your friend,” Rogers growled. “Just a passing ships in the night. A man between business and bum.”

“Sure we’re friends. Any man that’s happy to talk and not bash my brains out, well, I call that man friend.”

“You must have a lot of friends.”

“A whole heap. All over. Easier to find than enemies.” Jangles checked the end of his cigarette and blew on it.

“They aren’t friends,” Rogers insisted. “Most would stab you in the back the moment their interests come first. When push comes to shove, it’s every man for himself.”

“Being for yourself don’t set you against others.”

“It’s a dog eat dog world. Money talks. You haven’t got any? You’re struck dumb.”

“You’ve just had a bad experience,” Jangles assured him, nodding as if it would convince. “You’ll see. Things will brighten up. You’ll get back on your feet again. If that’s what you’ve a mind to.”

Rogers checked the man from the corner of his eye. The clothes were shabby, but hard worn and serviceable. The beard was trimmed, the eyes fixed on some spot in space, blue as cornflowers and sparkling as spring water. The weather-beaten features spoke of a life spent away from some dim office.

“So, what disaster befell you then?” he asked.

Jangles turned to look at him and split a white toothed grin. “Disasters? There’s no real disasters in my life. I’m foot-loose and fancy free as a bird.”

“But, what were you before the Depression? Or, before you took to the road?”

“Why, I was what I am now. A free spirit. A gentleman of the road.”

“A bum?” 

“That too.”

“But you seem not an uneducated man. Why would you choose a life of poverty and deprivation?”

Jangles threw back his head and laughed, so hard Rogers felt some thing stir in him. Could have been resentment, or maybe anger, yet strangely most like embarrassment.

“I’m the richest man you’re likely to meet,” Jangles said with conviction. “See here, is it so hard to understand. I’m happy to live in God’s living room. Free to do as I please. Beholden to no man. Reliant only on my own wits.”

“But surely, don’t you crave the comforts of home. Regular meals. A loving wife and family? A bed to sleep in?”

“I eat as regular as survival, known many women and sired more kids than I know of. And what sweeter bed can there be but the bosom of Mother Nature herself. Look now, how do you feel about being here, right now? Heading towards dawn?”

“Depressed. Desperate. Fearful even, if you must know.”

Jangles leapt to his feet, crossed the car and kicked the slats of the wall, before turning and flinging his arms wide.

“But don’t you see. Why, who knows what adventures are to be had? What people we may meet. Why tomorrow, it’s just a fun day out.”

“No,” Rogers shouted. “Tomorrow we could get thrown off this train. Tomorrow we could be stranded in the desert. Tomorrow we could die of exposure.”

“Exposure? Sure, anything’s possible. Why, this train could come off the rails. A meteorite might fall out of the sky on my head. My heart might forget to beat. What’s the odds? Why go through life betting of the long shots?”

Rogers stood up too, determined to make his point.

“Okay. Okay. So come on, tell me. We’re standing in the desert with nothing in sight but the track in either direction. No trains going to stop. What you going to do then?”

Jangles swayed towards him and clapped hands on both his shoulders, gazing directly into his eyes.

“Why, I’d suggest we just walk on five hundred steps.”

“Five hundred step?” Rogers was temporarily bemused. “That good would that do? Where would five hundred steps take us?”

“Five hundred steps closer to somewhere better.”

Rogers looked into the glinting eyes and at the grinning face. It was infectious, he felt like laughing.

“And then what?”

“Why, then I’d suggest we just stroll five hundred more.”

Rogers did laugh.

“You’re crazy.”

Jangles danced to the door and wrenched it back on its runners. He made a gesture that encompassed the slice of panorama framed there.

“Take a look, my friend. There it is. Infinite possibilities. Whatever you want, it’s right out there. Fame and fortune, if that’s what you crave.”

“You really believe that?”

“Sure. You just have to want it bad enough. Have a little faith. Look on the bright side. Believe.”

Roger crossed to his side and looked out at the hugeness of the night desert.

“And this from a man who’s achieved nothing?”

“Ah,” said Jangles, suddenly serious. “There you’re wrong. I have everything I ever wanted to achieve. I just didn’t want what you did.”

This brought Rogers up with a jolt. It was a notion he couldn’t argue against. He looked into Jangles face and knew for certain sure it was true. He’d never met a man so at ease with himself, so content. The concept stirred something in him. Not the desire to be a bum, but the concept that life’s setbacks might not be the end of the world. That there might just be something in the idea of thinking positively instead of surrendering negatively.

“You know, Jangles, you might have a point.”

“Sure. That’s the way.”

“Maybe there is a chance for me in the next town.”

“And if not, for sure the next one.”

“You’ve done me a favour, Jangles. You’ve given me food for thought.”

“No. Thought is the food for your brain. Feed it well and feed it full.”

Rogers held out his hand and grinned, like he remembered he used to do. Jangles took it and shook it enthusiastically.”

“Friends.” said Jangles with conviction.

“Friends for life,” replied Rogers.

A night owl flew past them unnoticed and began to climb, seeking some last prey before it was too late. It soared away from the box cars and pulled up high, till the train was just a thin ghost crawling towards the East. Dawn cracked the horizon with the first glimmer of a new day, and the train headed straight into it.