It’s a sight when that moon starts shinin’ on the river. I bet I rode that Portlan’ man hunn’erds a timems in the dark n’ ev’ry time I’ll sit in the door n’ watch the moon shinin’ on the water. It’s something to see. One night I was ridin’ with this fella, ‘n we’re lookin’ out over the river, passin’ a jug he had, ‘n he says, “Sights like that ya don’t’ get tired a. Not like a woman. Ya see the same woman enough, an’ she’ll wear on ya. But not sights like the moon on the river.  Ya never get tired a seein’ that,” he says.

It was somethin’. Ya should a heard him. Dunno whether it was the wine, the moon, the river, er all three, but whatever it was, brought out the poet in him. He started in ‘bout all sorts of ideas ‘bout that stuff. I ferget most of it. It was five years ago, but some of it made pretty good sense.

I fell asleep after awhile, ‘n when I woke up, he was nowheres aroun’. I wasn’t sleepin’ long ‘cause when I woke, I half sort a ‘spected to hear him still talkin’. I looked aroun’, ‘n his bedroll ‘n water jug was near the door where he’d left ‘em when he climbed aboard. It was still dark, so I checked both ends a the car, figgerin’ mebbe he’d gone off to sleep in one a the corners.  Nothin’, jus’ disappeared. That fella was nowhere to be foun’. Walked the car twice jus’ to make sure. Give it a good goin’ over. He was gone, an’ that Portlan’ man don’t make any stops, so he couldn’ a got off nowheres. And if he did get off, he’d a taken his things with him. Figgered he must a fell out the door. Dunno what happened to him.

First I thought I’ll jus’ tell the cops all I know, an’ that’ll be that. But I started givin’ it some thought, an’ I figger those cops ain’t likely ta believe me. They’ll say I pushed him er somethin’, ‘n I’ll get my ass in jail on a murder charge. Jesus, I started gettin’ scared. I didn’t need no murder rap. I been in jail b’fore. Got a record long as a grocery list, an’ this thing wouldn’t look too good on me.

When the train pulled in, I hopped off b’fore it hit the yards ‘n hid out by the tules, west a the bridge till the next northboun’ come in. Ya can bet yer life I was on that next train. Didn’t come back to this part a the country fer six months. Never did hear nothin’ ‘bout it. Never even touched his things, jus’ left ‘em in the car. I r’member watchin’ that empty pull away with nothin’ but his bedroll ‘n water jug in the door. Almost wish I’d gone through his stuff, ya know, to find out who he was. Happened five years ago, ‘n never mentioned it to anyone. It’s something stays on yer mind.

138.