On Track for Treasure Read Free Page B

shoulder. Anka had crept over to where the boys were sitting. Anka, who had come all the way from Poland when she was younger—and now she was still traveling, still searching for a home. But somehow nothing seemed to get to her too much; she could always find a reason to laugh.
    She smiled and took something out of her skirt pocket to show Jack and Alexander. It was the little painted wooden doll that she had brought out on her first night in Wanderville. Frances had made a small shelf in the crook of one of the trees, and it had been the perfect place for the doll to stand. It was one of the things that had made the wooded ravine feel like home.
    â€œRemember the third law of Wanderville,” Anka told them.
    Jack understood. Back in the woods, he and Alexander and the rest of the children had created this last law—the law that meant that Wanderville could be anywhere they decided to build it. But Jack couldn’t stop thinking about the Wanderville they’d just left.
    Alexander grinned. “We’re just on our way to the next place, that’s all. Right, Jack?”
    â€œRight,” Jack said.
    But he didn’t mean it. Alexander
wasn’t
right. They should have stayed in Kansas.

3
    B RETHREN OF THE ROAD
    â€œD o you think we’re in California yet?” Frances’s little brother whispered. “I want an orange.”
    â€œ
Harold
,” Frances whispered back, “it’ll be a long time before we get there.”
    Frances guessed that it had been about an hour since they left Whitmore. She was starting to get used to the jostled-all-over feeling that came from sitting on the floor of a moving freight car. The constant motion made the straw on the floor slowly travel across the boards, like a gently drifting current, and it was mesmerizing to watch. She began to think about California, too, and wondered whether she’d get to see the ocean. . . .
    She was just starting to doze off to these thoughts when she felt the train slowing down.
    â€œWhy’s the train stopping?” Harold asked.
    Jack crept over to look out the side door, which had been left open a few inches. Alexander and Nicky were peering outside through wide chinks between the boxcar planks.
    â€œI don’t see a town or a station or anything,” Nicky reported.
    â€œMaybe it’s a water stop,” said Frances. “For the engine.”
    Just then, the hobo with the thousand-year-old voice sat bolt upright. “Kid sister is quite correct. And high time for some of my traveling brethren to join us here in the luxury coach.”
    Jack looked around the freight car and laughed. “Luxury coach?”
    â€œCompared to riding the bumpers, ’tis,” the hobo said. “You can call me Jim, by the by.” Then he reached up and knocked against the side of the car. Three knocks, loud.
    A moment later three knocks came from the outside. Then, suddenly, the side door slid open wider, and three dusty figures climbed in out of the sunlight.
    Harold’s face lit up. “Are you hoboes, too?” he asked them. He nudged George in excitement.
    â€œIndeed we are,” said one of the dusty men, who licked the palm of his hand and used it to smooth back his hair. Frances could see he was the youngest of the three; he seemed to be about eighteen. He looked around and gave a big grin, followed by a sputtering cough.
    â€œRiding the decks, eh?” said Jim. “Sounds as if you ate some dust.”
    â€œYou were riding up
on top
of the train?” Frances couldn’t believe it. The young hobo just nodded and grinned again.
    â€œTime for introductions,” declared Jim. He pointed to the sleeping man. “You’ve already met Dead John over here, and this here’s Cooper and Fingy Jim.” The two older hoboes shook hands with some of the boys.
    â€œWait, there are
two
Jims?” Frances asked.
    â€œShow them what for you got your