Browning chief. [volume] (Browning, Mont.) 1941-1953, 1948-10-29
Ue
FICTTI ION
Corner
Eoeoe the end the line for John Todd and he arrived there
q blaze Of glory the ciizenry would never forget
corner
Nogales. end of the line.

Nogales. end of the line.
When the three-car train pulled
slowly alongside the tile-roofed,
stone depot building and stopped.
John Todd moved tircdly from his
seat and from the car. Within him
was strange depression; feeling
that for him, too, this was "the end
of the line"
He walked away from the tracks,
a tall figure in big city dress that
hung on his thin frame poorly. He
followed the traffic and made his way
through the gate in the Information
al Fence. Long legs carried him
past the slower moving, dark-clad
Mexican women returning from
their marketing in Arizona stores.
He had seen them before. He was
not curious But he envied them
the comfort of the homes they
would go to, though they might be
only mud huts, with roofs that
leaked and windows patched against
the weather.
He carried no luggage, so the
Mexican customs men barely
glanced his way. and then nodded
him through. He knew where he
was going; this was all part of the
plan. A plan only half-formed, per-
haps, but one that had been long
in the back of his mind. All he
needed to carry it out was nerve.
Desperation was taking care of that.
His hands had new tremor. To
still it he showed them deep into
the pockets of his slack coat. Fun
bling there, they found pipe and to-
bacco. He stopped, stepped out of
the moving pedestrian traffic into
the vestibule of curio store, load
ed and lit up. With the pipe clenched
between his teeth and drawing we'll,
he glanced over the passersby. 1t
was funny, he was always looking
for familiar face, yet even friends
were of no use now. He knew what
he had to do and at last, his mind
was made up.
There was even more purpose in
his stride as he left his temporary
shelter and headed across the street
to the ticket office of the Mexican
railroad. He was a young man, yet
hollow cheeks and grazing temples
made him appear much older. He
looked as sick as he was. Well,
South Mexico was his last hope. just
as far south as he could get. They
said there was health to be had in
the hot, high climates.
But it was here in Nogales that
the trail branched. Even in Mexico,
where it was said one could live so
big on so little, money would be
necessary. Almost his last cent
went for the railroad passage, but
he knew where there was more for
the taking. So, with the ticket safe
ly in an inner pocket, he moved out
into the Sonora sunset, found a
place to sit, to rest and to wait, and
gave himself up to his own bitter
thoughts.
Somewhat later he looked up to
find swift-coming night had fallen.
He was worried that perhaps he
had dallied too long. He pulled
roughly away from a small and
very dirty shine boy who tugged at
his sleeve. He walked across the
street, back into the United States,
and moved by the border officials
with his new assurance to hurry
down the main street of the little
Arizona border town. He glanced
into darkened store windows, looked
into shadows, testing and feeling
the night and the tenor of the town
with his senses.
He walked past an open door; the
neatly lettered sign that hung above
it read: Money Exchange" His
heart action quickened as he looked
inside.
The room was divided by high
counter. Behind were two objects
that called for his attention. One: