Author Note: This is part 4 of a series. It can be read independently, but it will make a lot more sense if you read the episodes in order.

The characters presented in this story are entirely fictional and not intended to represent any members of a real life railroading or model railroading organization.

Background Info: The Scioto River runs through central Ohio, emptying into the Ohio River south of Columbus. Scioto (pronounced SY-OH-TOH) actually means "deer" in the Wyandot language spoken by the branch of the Huron Indian tribe that once inhabited central Ohio. Railroads formed an important part of the local economy throughout the 19th and early 20th centuries. Both the Norfolk & Western Railroad and the Chesapeake & Ohio Railroad had branch lines running through the Scioto Valley. By the 1980s only a single line owned by the Norfolk Southern Railway was still in use. Many of the other railroad tracks in the valley were gone, having been torn out and replaced with hiking and biking trails that followed the meandering course of the river through the valley.

Local interest in railroading remained high, with a few small railroad and trolley museums located in some of the major towns along the old right of way. There was also the Scioto Valley Model Railroading Society, a group of men and boys who operated a large HO scale layout in the basement of a local church. The massive 24 foot by 32 foot layout modeled the local railroads as they existed circa 1950, when steam locomotives were still in use but diesel locomotives were being introduced. The members of the society dubbed their layout the Scioto Valley Railroad (SVRR).

In the summer of 1984 a car-load of members of the Scioto Valley Model Railroading Society went on a road trip...

Author Note: We pick up the story at the exact same place where we left our characters at the end of the previous episode. Sam Arden is still doing his "corner time" in Groff's Grove. The 12-year-old has his nose pressed up against a tree, hands behind his head, fingers laced together, clad only in soiled white briefs and a black tee shirt that is rolled up under his armpits. The rest of gang is sitting at a nearby picnic table. There is just under 30 minutes to go until our heroes can board the train for the return trip to Strasburg.

Thomas asked what Casey was talking about with his "three down and three to go" comment. Thomas and Sam had been in the National Toy Trail Museum hunting down Sam's baseball cap when Casey had made his prediction, so this was the first the man had heard of it.

"You see signs, Casey?" said Thomas, grinning after being told about Casey's prediction based on the six red cabooses. "Do you have psychic powers?"

"No," said Casey blushing.

"He has psycho powers!" said Rob.

"That's right," said Casey, chuckling. "Meet me in the shower and we'll see whose blood ends up going down the drain... in black and white."

"Eeeee! Eeeeee! Eeeeee! Eeeeee!" screeched Rob, mimicking the murder scene music from the classic film Psycho as he made a stabbing motion with his right hand.

After the laughter died down Thomas said, "Seriously, though. Casey, you think that all six of you will get spankings or whippings before we get home to Ohio?"

"Actually," said Casey, "it will happen before we check out of the Red Caboose Motel on Thursday morning. Or more likely, by tomorrow night. Each of us will spend at least one night sleeping in a caboose at that motel with a red caboose of our own."

"Wow!" said Thomas. "So those 'three to go' and you, Rob, and...Mark?"

"Yes," said Casey.

"So," said Thomas, looking at Rob and Mark. "How do you guys feel about all this?"

Mark grunted in disgust. "I said it when he reminded us of the count as we were sitting down... I just want him to shut up about it."

Casey grimaced. "Casey is my best friend and normally I love to hear what he has to say. But I'm with Mark on this particular topic. I'd be a lot happier if Casey just shut up about it."

All eyes turned to Casey. He nodded and put up his hands in a gesture of surrender. "Okay, I get the message loud and clear. I'll shut up about it." As people began to look away he added, in a quieter voice, "But that won't stop it from happening."

A few minutes later a man and his two teenaged sons came strolling west through the grove in their direction. Thomas went over to speak briefly with the man and then, to Rob's great surprise, he led the three newcomers back to the table for introductions. The man was introduced as Lloyd Paxton of West Virginia, and he introduced his sons, 15-year-old Lloyd, Jr., whom everyone calls Junior, and 13-year-old Michael. Thomas introduced Donald and the five boys at the table to the Paxtons, then he mentioned that his oldest son Samuel could not meet them as he was busy at the moment.

Mr. Paxton looked at the boy with his nose pressed against the tree and with fresh red stripes blooming from his thighs and lower buttocks. The man said that he recognized the situation and understood that young Samuel had other things to think about at the moment. He mentioned that he used switches to discipline his boys as well, and expressed his admiration for Thomas's technique. The two men soon got to talking shop and it turned out that Thomas did, in fact, thrash Sam and Jeff with switches back home.

That actually explained a lot. Clearly Sam's backside was used to that sort of treatment, although for Sam and Jeff's sakes he hoped they didn't get it quite that bad at home. Rob was certain that the skin of his own bottom would have been torn wide open by those switches, especially the last one that Mark had cut. If Thomas had given Rob that same thrashing he was sure there would be blood running down the backs of his thighs. Crap, here comes another boner! Time for a major subject change.

Rob turned his attention to a conversation that was developing between Casey and the Paxton boys. Junior said he had detected "a bit of corn-pone" in Casey's voice. Casey proudly admitted being from Alabama, although he had been living in Ohio for the past three years.

Michael Paxton was not impressed with his brother's detective skills. "He's wearing a 'Roll Tide' tee shirt, for heaven's sake. Of course he's from Alabama! At least originally."

"That doesn't actually mean anything," said Casey. "Rob here has a Michigan Wolverines tee shirt, and he's lived in Ohio all his life."

"Ah," said Junior, "So you're a Michgan fan?"

"Not really," said Rob, rolling his eyes, "My mother got me that as a gag gift to irritate my dad. He went to Ohio State and Michigan is their big rival in football."

"You wear a tee shirt specifically to tick off your dad?" said Junior, who looked astonished.

"Not usually," said Rob. "Like I said, it's a joke. I only wear it on 'Game Day', the day of the annual clash between the Michigan and Ohio State football teams because my mother makes me. My father knows I'm really a Buckeyes fan."

"So wait," said Michael, "If your mom went to Michigan and your dad went to Ohio State, how on earth did they meet?"

"What?" said Rob, who was suddenly very confused. "They both went to Ohio State. Who said my mom went to Michigan?"

"Well if she didn't go to Michigan," said Michael, "why would she make you wear a Michgan shirt? Is it really just to piss off your dad?"

"His dad's not pissed off!" said Casey. "He knows it's a damned joke!"

"Yes, I know it's a joke," said Donald. "But your language is not, Casey. What did your mother and I tell you about your choice of language?"

Casey gulped when he realized what he had said. "Sorry, Donald. You both told me to watch my language."

"Yeeooowch!" yelped Michael, whose father had just grasped him firmly by the right ear had was using that handle to pull his youngest son up on to his tiptoes.

"What did you say, young man?" said Mr. Paxton.

"I'm sorry, Papa!" said Michael. "Oooowww!" he yelped as his ear was twisted.

"No, Michael," said Mr. Paxton, "that's not what what you said. I want you to repeat exactly what you said about Robert wearing the Michigan tee shirt. Word for word."

Michael grimaced and fat tears began rolling down his cheeks. "I said, 'Is it really just to piss off your dad?'"

"That's right," said Mr. Paxton. "That't exactly what you said. Now, refresh my memory, please. How many times have I spoken to you in recent days about your cussin'?"

"Several times, Papa," said Michael, wincing in pain from the pressure on his ear holding him up on tiptoes.

"Yes, several times," said Mr. Paxton. "What did I promise would happen to you the next time you swore?"

"I'd get my mouth washed out with soap."

"Correct. We'll take care of that when we get back to the motel tonight. And what else did I promise you?"

"Ummm, a good whuppin'."

"Yes. That was it, a good whuppin'." Mr. Paxton finally released the boy's ear and Michael gratefully settled back on his feet. "Well, no time like the present, since we're not likely to find a better source of switches in these parts. Michael, go cut yourself a switch, and make it a good one."

Michael, rubbing his ear, swallowed hard and nodded. "Yessir." The boy turned and walked off in the direction of the smaller trees deeper in the grove.

During this exchange Casey and Donald had been staring at each other. Finally Donald said, "That sounds like a good idea, Lloyd. Casey, I want you to go cut yourself a switch, too."

Casey took a deep breath. "Yes, sir." With a resigned look on his face the 14-year-old handed his camera to Kenny, then he moved slowly back towards the younger trees, pulling out his pocket knife as he walked.

Rob couldn't believe how weird this trip was turning out to be. First Sam gets thrashed for his continuing nonsense, but at least he mostly deserved what he got. Now two teen boys were about to get severe thrashings for simple slips of the tongue. If they had said 'pee' instead of 'piss' they wouldn't be cutting switches to be worn out on their (probably) bare bottoms.

At that point Old #90 came chugging slowly past Groff's Grove pulling another loaded excursion train eastbound towards Paradise. The train only stopped at the grove on the westbound return leg of the trip back to Strasburg. This meant that nobody could get off the train, but anyone on board who cared to take in the view of Groff's Grove was treated to a profile view of Sam standing there in his briefs with his nose against a tree and his hands behind his head, fingers laced together.

It was unmistakable as the posture of boy who has just been punished and left to think about the error of his ways. Rob was pretty sure that the red stripes blossoming from below the briefs on Sam's lower buttocks and thighs were clearly visible to most of the people on the train. This was confirmed by the whistles and catcalls that could be heard coming from some of the coaches.
"Who's been a naughty boy?"
"Someone have a sore backside?"
"Quit cryin'! You'll probably live!"
"Is it over? Or are you gonna get more of the same?"
"Nasty little brat, probably deserves that and more!"

Sadly, not all of the catcalls were made by children. Well, at least nobody mentioned the skidmark or the piss stains. With any luck they weren't visible from the train. Frankly, Rob thought that Sam was due for a bit of good luck after what he had been through in the past half hour, no matter how much the kid had brought it all on himself.

As the last coach in the train, which bore the singular name of 'Grasshopper Level', passed them headed east, Rob became aware of more people headed their way. Good Lord! Apparently Junior had gone back and retrieved the rest of the Paxton clan. So now a woman and two girls were walking past the station with Junior, headed west.

Just what this scenario needed, female complications! Rob sighed in frustration. He sure hoped these newcomers weren't planning to witness the switching of Michael and Casey. Speaking of which, Rob noticed his father has stopped speaking to Mr. Paxton for the moment, since that gentleman was walking towards the inbound members of his family.

Rob walked up to his father and whispered urgently in his ear. "Dad! Please give Casey a break."

"I can't let him off completely, son," Donald whispered back. "But trust me, I just plan to give him a good, sharp warning."

"Not a real thrashing?"

"No, and not on the bare, at least if these girls stay for the show. But don't tip off Casey, I want him to think he's getting the real deal."

"Okay, Dad," said Rob, ending the whispered conversation as the rest of the Paxton family and the two switch-bearing miscreants converged on the scene.

Rob was profoundly glad that Casey wasn't about to get a serious whupping, especially pants down in front of all these strange females. But he had no problem letting Casey think he was gonna get it good. In fact Rob was hoping that Michael would have to go first so that Casey would get to suffer longer before he found out he wasn't quite as doomed as he thought. As far as Rob was concerned it served Casey right for inflicting all his "sign" garbage on them in the first place.

Mr. Paxton introduced his wife, Marie and their daughters, 11-year-old Lisa and 9-year-old Susan. Thomas introduced the members of the SVRR group, except of course for Sam, who was still doing his corner time. The girls giggled when they saw 12-year-old Sam in his pathetic position, his nose to the tree and hands behind his head. But all attention was soon turned to the two crestfallen boys who had just cut their own switches.

Mr. Paxton examined both switches and pronounced them acceptable. Hang on, was he gonna whip Casey? Donald had a brief conversation with Mr. Paxton in low tones, then he took Casey's switch from the big man. Donald put a hand firmly on Casey's shoulder, taking him under control. Well, at least his father was gonna whip Casey, so the fix was still in. A good thing too, since apparently the distaff side of the Paxton clan was staying for the show. Rob suddenly wondered if he would be pressed into duty once again as a horse for the switchings. At least he only had a partial boner so far. He hoped his naughty pecker would behave itself this time.

It turned out that there was no horsing of miscreants this time. In fact Rob's original expectation finally came true. Mr. Paxton had Michael approach the end of a nearby picnic table. The 13-year-old was ordered to drop his shorts and underwear and bend over the table. Michael then laid his upper body across the end of the table, reaching for and grabbing the edges of the table to hold on. The boy ended up staring out over the nearby double tracks of the Strasburg rail line at the Amish farmland beyond. He wasn't left lying there long enough to grow bored with the scene.

After making sure the audience was standing far enough back to give him room to swing - the girls had been standing a bit too close - Mr. Paxton lined the switch up on the white, unmarked backside of his youngest boy. The man reared back for a huge backswing, and slashed the pliable stick with great force right across the middle of the pubescent bottom. Michael's body jerked and his head flew back, but no sound escaped his lips.

Mr. Paxton waited a few seconds while a blazing red stripe formed, bisecting the pale twin cheeks. The cheeks twitched slightly as Michael dealt with the pain of the first stroke of his switching. Mr. Paxton reared back and then the second stroke of he switch connected, falling just below the first.

There were no further delays, and the switch kept rising and falling, each slash imprinting another nasty looking red stripe on Michael's backside as the boy struggled to stay in place over the table. He was yelping after the fifth stroke and howling by the tenth stroke. Meanwhile his painful bottom cheeks clenched and unclenched and he even kicked a couple of times, but he never actually tried to get off the table or reach behind to cover his searing backside.

Mr. Paxton was using a much bigger backswing than Thomas had during the last portion of Sam's thrashing. The switching looked very painful. Rob felt sorry for Michael as stripe after stripe was added to his rapidly reddening backside. Rob looked over at his father, who still had a hand on Casey's shoulder. Rob hoped that his father didn't hit Casey nearly this hard. Yes, his dad had promised to go easy on Casey, but he was also a competitive guy. If he got into some kind of crazy switching contest with Mr. Paxton it was Casey's backside that might pay the price. Casey was pale and looking rather ill as he watched Michael take his whuppin and waited his own turn.

Rob had lost count of the strokes, but guessed that Michael had taken 20 or more when Mr. Paxton finally stopped the switching. He asked his son if he would cuss again, and the sobbing Michael gasped out a fervent promise to never swear again. When told to get up the boy sprang up and began rubbing his well-striped bottom gently. After about 30 seconds he restored his underwear and shorts to their normal position. Mr. Paxton led the still-tearful Michael back to join the audience and make room for the Donald and Casey Show.

Here we go. Rob kept his fingers crossed that this would go well. Casey walked up to the end of the table and Donald moved into position behind him. Donald said, "Casey, pull down your shorts and bend over the table."

Casey unfastened his shorts and then lowered his shorts and underwear down below his knees with one smooth motion. Rob could see the stunned look on Donald's face as Casey laid down across the end of the table and grabbed for the edges with both hands. Rob exchanged a glance with his father and both shrugged slightly. Donald couldn't very well tell Casey to pull up his briefs now that they were already down and he was in position.

Oh well, Rob figured that it served Casey right for misinterpreting Donald's order to just lower his shorts. If his friend had followed directions he wouldn't be giving the Paxton Ladies Auxilliary a peek at his ballsack while he waited for his whuppin. It will be interesting to hear what Casey has to say once he finds out that he wouldn't have had to take his whuppin, no matter how minor, on his bare bottom.

Donald pulled Casey's crimson tee shirt up his back to bare the waiting backside for the tide of pain that was about roll over it. Donald lined up the switch and rested it briefly against Casey's umblemished white backside. The cheeks clenched involuntarily at the touch, but Casey kept looking straight ahead at the pastoral farm scenery stretched out before him. Donald reared back, almost as far as Mr. Paxton had, and slashed the stick into middle of the waiting backside.

Casey's body reacted, his legs and arms flexing, and his hands grasping the table edges even harder. His head did not move visibly, although a slight gasp could be heard.

Donald followed Mr. Paxton's example and waited a few seconds for the first welt to appear across the center of the pale twin cheeks. Then he reared back and slashed the switch into its target just below the first stripe. Four more rapid fire strokes were delivered each landing even lower on the lower curves of globes, which began to clench as Casey dealt with the increasing pain. The sixth stroke landed in the crease between the buttocks and the thighs. The seventh stroke landed right on top of it, finally causing an audible yelp from Casey. Donald twisted his wrist slightly on the eighth stroke and it landed diagonally across the other strokes, the tip of the switch biting into the top of the right thigh. This provoked a rebel yell of distress and a kick from the now obviously suffering Casey.

"Well, Casey," said Donald. "Are you gonna swear again?"

"No, sir!" said Casey, gasping slightly. "I'll watch my language." Casey's Southern drawl had returned with a vengeance under the stress of his whuppin.

"Consider this a warning," said Donald. "Just a small sample of what will happen to you if I hear you swearing again on this trip. Is that clear?"

"Yes, Mr. Chandler, it's crystal clear."

"Good. Oh, and remind me to wash your mouth out with soap before bedtime tonight."

"Yes, sir."

"Okay, son. You can get up and get dressed."

Casey stood up, then immediately pulled his clothing back up into place. Only after his shorts were safely fastened did Casey turn to look at Rob. His eyes looked quite watery, but no tears had actually run down his face.

Rob was proud of his friend. He couldn't help wondering if he could have taken those eight nasty strokes of the switch without crying. He eventually decided that he didn't really want to find out.

After exchanging a few pleasantries the Paxton clan said their goodbyes and moved off towards the east end of the grove. Apparently Mr. Paxton and Junior were having some sort of disagreement about one of the classic cars parked down there and wanted to go have another close look at the vehicle before the train arrived.

After the Paxton clan departed Rob checked his watch, less than 10 minutes until the train would arrive to take them back. He was about to ask Thomas when Sam would be released when he heard the distinctive sound of running water from the "Corner Time" tree. He looked and realized that Sam was flooding his briefs again, with pee running down the inside of both legs.

"Oh, Sam," said Thomas. "Why did you do that again? I'm not gonna whip you anymore. You know that, right?"

"Yes, sir," said Sam. "I couldn't hold it any longer. I'm not sure why I have to pee so much, but I do."

"Well, you drank about a gallon of lemonade at lunch," said Mark. "That might just have something to do with it."

"Well fine, Sam," said Thomas, "You're released from corner time. You really shouldn't have peed here so close to the picnic tables. Why didn't you ask to go use a tree at the back of the grove? That would have been no problem."

"Oh sure," said Sam, as he turned away from the tree and lowered his hands to his sides, "no problem at all. Those girls would have seen that I wet my pants. No way I was gonna move or say anything with them around."

"Oh, yeah," said Thomas. "I guess that would have been a problem. Okay, since you've already started peeing here you may as well finish up. When you're empty we have to get you back into your clothes before the train gets back."

"I'm not gonna have to wear these on the train, am I?" said Sam, tugging at the waistband of his sodden briefs.

"No," said Thomas. "You can take those off and throw them in the nearest trashcan, after using any remaining dry part of the cloth to clean off your crotch and legs as much as possible."

"Great," said Sam. He frowned slightly in concentration as he finished emptying his bladder into the saturated briefs. Rob wasn't sure that's what Thomas intended Sam to do, but the man didn't say anything about it. He supposed that at that point it didn't really matter.

After Sam cleaned himself off to best he could, he disposed of the ruined briefs. Jeff was holding Sam's clothes and helped his older brother get dressed.

A few minutes later Casey stood next to Rob at Groff's Grove station as the SVRR gang waited for the train. Occasionally Casey gave the seat of his denim cutoffs a gentle rub. His friend had a wry look on his face and Rob had a pretty shrewd idea why.

"Don't tell me," said Rob. "I know."

"Know what?"

"What you're dying to say."

"Oh," said Casey, "What might that be?"

"Four down, two to go."

Casey laughed bitterly and shook his head, "Don't I wish it were so. No, I'm afraid that it's still three down, three to go."

"Okay," said Rob, giving his friend a very skeptical look. "I'm pretty sure that one of us slept through the past 15 minutes and was dreaming. It was probably me, since I doubt that anyone could have slept through what just happened to your bare backside."

"I wasn't sleeping," said Casey. "You're not dreaming. But it doesn't count."

"It doesn't count?" said Rob. "Eight bright red stripes doesn't count as a red caboose? Is this some kind of weird hillbilly math they have down in Alabama?"

"Nope," said Casey. "Donald said it himself, what he gave me was a warning, not a real punishment."

Rob whistled slightly. "Well, if that wasn't a real punishment, it should hold you over nicely until a real one comes along."

"I definitely agree with that!" said Casey, ruefully rubbing the seat of his cutoff shorts again. "I am not looking forward to getting the real thing from your dad. He's way too good at punishing boys."

"Yeah," said Rob, "I'm afraid that Kenny and I have kept him in practice the past few years, especially Kenny."

"Ya big liar," said Kenny. "You get plenty of lickins from Dad too, Robby."

"True," said Rob, "but I don't have nearly as many Frequent Cryer miles as you have, Kenny."

Technical Note: A double slip switch is a complicated railroad switch used where two straight tracks intersect at an acute angle, forming an "X" pattern when viewed from overhead. The slip points can be arranged to allow a train approaching the switch to continue on straight ahead or to 'switch' over to the other track.

Dedication: I spent many happy hours of my childhood engaged in railfan and model railroading activities with my father. This series is dedicated to the memory of my dad, who was a wonderful man and a great father.

The author welcomes comments from readers. You can contact Bobby Watson by e-mail at: mrbwatson (at) gmail.com
Please be patient - Bobby doesn't always check his e-mail every day.