CHAPTER XVII.
JIM CUMMINGS IN CHICAGO--THE SPOTTED HOUSE--SHADOWED BY CHIP--JIMCUMMINGS ARRESTED.
When Jim Cummings, by his bold strike for liberty, escaped the trap setfor him, he pushed his horse to its highest speed until he had putmiles between himself and the spot where the detectives had made theattempt to capture him.
He saw that Dan was captured, and with Cook also in jail he felt thetoils of the law tightening around him. He must get out of the UnitedStates. To Canada, Mexico, Brazil, it mattered little, but he mustfirst secure some of the money he had taken from the express car. To goto Kansas City or Leavenworth to raise it was like putting his headinto the noose.
Chicago was the only place open for him, and to Chicago he must go asfast as horse and steam could get him there.
While he was thinking of all these things his horse was plungingthrough the dark over the plain, skirting the timber, dashing throughstreams of water without staying his speed, and at last the ring of itshoofs striking the steel rail, and the crunching of the gravel informedJim that he was crossing a railroad track.
He pulled in his panting steed, and, far on the horizon, he saw theapproaching head-light of an engine.
In the hurry and confusion incident to his escape, the outlaw had losthis bearings, but knew that this must be the M., T. & K. R. R., andshining over the head-light he saw the Great Dipper circling in theheavens.
The train was, then, a south-bound train, either passenger or freight.Looking south along the track, he spied a small light twinkling throughthe night; and now, having recovered his reckoning, he surmised it wasthe water-tank some miles below Blue Jacket.
He must reach that before the train arrived. Putting spurs to hishorse, he flew down the track, the gravel flying in all directions, hissure-footed animal keeping the ties, nor did he pull rein or slack hisspeed until the large tank of the water station rose above him. Jumpingfrom his horse, he walked to the keeper's shanty. The man was awake andtrimming his lantern, nor did he exhibit any surprise at the advent ofhis belated visitor.
"What train is this coming?" asked Jim.
"Galveston express," answered the man.
"Does she take water here?"
"Every time."
"By Jove, that's lucky. I was on my way to Blue Jacket to catch it andgot turned around."
"Where's your horse?"
"Out near the tank. I will be back in five days and if you will takecare of it I will make it all right for you."
"That's O K. I often do that for the boys; but here's your train."
The long train of cars drew up and came to a standstill as Jim left theshanty. Climbing aboard the smoker he found a seat and was soon on theway to Galveston Arriving there he took a gulf steamer to New Orleans,where he boarded an Illinois Central train and came to Chicago, wherehe arrived a week after his escape from the detectives.
Late in the evening of the day on which he arrived he boarded a WestLake street car and jumping off at--Lake street, knocked at the door ofa small frame building over which was the sign "F. Wittrock and Co.,Hard and Soft Coal."
No lights were visible and for some time no answer came. Finally thenoise of shuffling feet were heard and a clear voice inquired:
"Who's there?"
"It is I, be not afraid," answered Cummings.
"Thunder and lightning, it's Fred," exclaimed the voice in accents ofgreat astonishment.
"Well, why the devil don't you let me in, then?" asked Cummings, hismouth close to the keyhole.
"Not the front door, Fred. Go to the corner, then up the cross streetand come back through the coal yard."
Cummings did as he was told and entering the yard was met by Weaver,who dragged him into the house, and after carefully closing the door,lit the lamp and said:
"Dan's arrested."
"Tell me something I don't know, you fool."
"So is Cook."
"If you have any news to tell me out with it; if you haven't go get themoney. This cursed country is getting too hot for me. I'm off forBrazil."
"The money is safe. Haight will be here soon. You are safe here."
"Don't you be too sure about that. I thought I was safe down atSwanson's ranche, and damn it, two of those Pinkerton detectives atewith me, slept with me and gambled with me. They had their hands on meonce but I floored one and got away. Dan, the coward, threw up his handthe first bluff and was walked off with the darbies on him."
"Jim, suppose he should turn informer?"
A terrible frown blackened the outlaw's brow, his eyes became hard andsteely, and raising his hand above his head, he said:
"So help me God, I would hunt him up, tear his cowardly heart from hisbreast and choke him to death with it, if I had to go to prison to doit and was hung for it."
An involuntary shudder passed through Weaver as he heard these fearfulwords and he hastened to say:
"No danger of Dan's squealing, Fred. He's true blue."
"If he don't give the express robbery away he can easily get out ofthis other scrape. You see we had a lay to get away with Swanson'smoney and the two detectives went in with us. That is how they got Danand nearly captured me. If Dan keeps his mouth shut they can't proveanything against him on account of the Adams Express affair. So, yousee, if he is wise he will keep mum."
While the two men were thus conversing Chip and Sam were seated beforean open window on the second floor of the house opposite the coaloffice. The city directory readily gave them the address of Wittrock'scoalyard, and securing this room a constant watch had been kept on thespotted house.
Nothing suspicious had been noted during the day; customers had passedin and out, and Sam had even bought a half ton of coal which wascarried to his room. The two men who ran the coalyard, whose names werefound to be Weaver and Haight, were well spoken of in the neighborhoodand did not look to be the sort of stuff out of which train robberswere manufactured.
While buying the coal Sam had purposely called Weaver "Mr. Wittrock."
"That isn't my name," said Weaver, "Me and my pardner bought outWittrock last October."
"Excuse me," said Sam; "I saw the name over the door and thought youwere the gentleman."
"We don't like to pull down the sign. People know the yard by thatname, an' we don't care, so long as they buy the coal."
This was said so frankly and openly that Sam almost believed it to betrue. But the case was beginning to be too interesting to allow risksto be taken, so the detectives kept their long and tedious watch nightand day. They had failed to see Cummings when he leaped from the car,for a team crossing the track had delayed the car long enough for himto get into the shadows on the other side of the street, so that thedetectives little knew that the man they wanted was only just acrossthe street from them.
They recognized Haight when he let himself in with a latch-key, but asthis was not unusual, they thought little of it.
When Cummings left the coal office, he passed through the alley, andgoing south to Randolph street, returned to the hotel for the night.
The next day two of the Pinkerton force relieved Sam and Chip, whoimmediately went to their room at the Commercial Hotel, where theyboarded.
As Chip was eating his supper that evening and glancing over theEvening Journal, a large broad-shouldered man, wearing a heavymustache, passed the table, and, seating himself at another one, facedthe detective.
It was part of Chip's religion never to allow any man to pass him orremain near him without looking at him carefully, so lowering the paperuntil his eye could see just above the upper edge, he glanced at thenew-comer. A thrill like an electric shock passed through him, for inevery feature, except the heavy mustache, Chip saw Jim Cummings, theAdams Express robber.
The broad girth of his shoulders, the triangular gold-filling of hisfront tooth, the peculiar manner of hanging his head slightly on oneside as if he were a trifle deaf, all belonged to Jim Cummings, all butthe mustache. Was it real or false? If real, the man was not the notedrobber,
but if false--well, if it were false Chip had a bit of paper inhis pocket which would take it off.
He felt in his pocket for the warrant, and to his disgust recollectedthat Sam had it.
He could do nothing without it.
He timed his supper so nicely with that of the suspected man that theyboth rose together, Chip passing out first; but going down the stairshe fell back and the electric light revealed to the keen eyes of thedetective that the mustache was false.
It WAS the train robber.
Cummings, simply stopping a moment to buy a cigar, walked through theoffice, then crossed Lake on Dearborn street and walked to Randolph,closely followed by Chip.
A Randolph street car came along and Jim sprang on the front platform,Chip jumping on the rear one. Passing through the car, he opened thefront door and stood beside Cummings, who was puffing his cigar, hiscoat collar pulled up and his fur cap drawn down over his ears.
Pulling a cigar from his pocket, Chip felt for some matches, butapparently not finding any, he asked:
"I beg your pardon, but would you mind giving me some fire?"
Cummings held out his lighted cigar, at the same time darting asearching look at his questioner, but in the handsome, well-dressed,almost dandified young man before him, he failed to recognize theuncouth, grimacing Scip of Swanson's ranche.
The pair rode along together, and after passing Halsted street somedistance, Chip saw that he was getting ready to jump off at the nextcross street, so, as soon as the car reached the street, Chip steppedoff and walked briskly toward Lake street.
Cummings rode to the other crossing and did the same, utterly withoutany suspicion whatever.
Although Chip walked straight ahead, he kept his eye on the dark figuremoving parallel to his course on the other side, and saw it turnabruptly to the left and enter the alley.
Quickening his steps, Chip hurried to the house in which the watch waskept, and bounding up the steps, to his delight, found Sam in the room.
"Cummings is over there," said Chip, excitedly.
"Sure?"
"As certain as I am that I live."
"Come on, then!" and Sam ran down the steps, followed by Chip and theother two detectives.
As they reached the foot of the stairs the door of the coal officeopened and three men stepped out on the sidewalk.
"The devil," said Chip, "that is more than I bargained for."
The three men stood a moment conversing, then the detectives heardCummings say:
"I'll be back in an hour," as he turned east and walked away.
The other two, Weaver and Haight, turned in the opposite direction andsauntered slowly along.
Turning to the two men who had been sent to relieve them, Chip said:
"Follow those two, and arrest them if possible without any noise; yourwarrant covers them."
By this time Cummings was some little distance below them, strollingleisurely along, and at the next corner the detectives saw him enter asaloon.
Crossing the street, their revolvers in their side coat-pockets readyfor use, Sam and Chip entered the saloon.
Cummings, without the false mustache, which he had either removed orlost (in fact it dropped off as he entered the coalyard) had justordered a drink as the detectives entered.
Without a second's hesitation Chip stepped up to him, and placing hishand on the train robber's shoulder, said quietly:
"Fred Wittrock, alias Jim Cummings, I want you."
Wittrock sprang back as though he had been shot, and glaring like anenraged lion, seemed about to rush upon the audacious detective.
In a twinkling the cold barrels of two revolvers were leveled at hishead and, with the address and skill of a practiced adept, Sam passedhis twisted steel wire "come alongs" around the outlaw's wrist, and JimCummings' career stopped short. Any attempt at escape was hopeless, andin silent surrender he held out his other hand and Chip snapped thehand-cuffs on him.
Before the people in the saloon had recovered from their astonishment,the detectives had taken desperate prisoner away, and finding a liverystable near drove to the Pinkerton headquarters. Haight and Weaver hadnot gone a block before the two detectives arrested them without anystruggle, so that within one short half hour the three principals ofthe GREAT ADAMS EXPRESS robbery were placed behind the bars.
CHAPTER XVIII.
JIM CUMMINGS IN PINKERTON'S SWEAT-BOX--HIS CONFESSION.
All night long "Jim Cummings" walked the narrow limits of hisroom--still undaunted and fearless as of old. The gravity of hisposition only made him the more daring, and when the first beams of themorning broke through the barred window he had recovered his usual gritand nerve, and determined to die hard and game. Mr. Pinkerton, alone,came into the room just as the outlaw had finished the excellentbreakfast which had been served him. Jim looked up, and holding out hishand, in a cheery voice said:
"Good morning, Mr. Pinkerton."
For a second Mr. Pinkerton hardly knew what to say. He was prepared toencounter either a desperate or a sullen prisoner, and was somewhattaken back when he received such a cordial greeting. It was but asecond, and fully alive to all the tricks and maneuvers practiced byarrested criminals, he was on the qui vive.
"Good morning, Mr. 'Cummings'. I trust you have had a good breakfast?"
"Oh, fair."
"You slept well?"
"Tip-top."
"I trust you will be able to amuse yourself during the day."
"I won't amuse you, that's certain."
"You have been doing that for some time."
"That's all right. Now, what am I here for?"
"Just so. What ARE you here for?"
"You've got the wrong man, Mr. Pinkerton."
"Indeed?"
"Just now you called me 'Mr. Cummings'."
"I should, perhaps, have said Mr. Wittrock."
"What did you call me 'Cummings' for, then."
"As you christened yourself you ought to know."
"I'm arrested, of course, now for what?"
"To tell the fact, Mr. Wittrock, it is because some time last Octoberyou played a little joke on the Adams Express Company, and theyappreciated it so highly that they hired me to find you so that theycould tell you so."
"You dare accuse me of committing that robbery?"
"That's about the size of it."
"Why, man, I wasn't within five hundred miles of the place when itoccurred."
"Where were you?"
"I was in New Orleans."
"Positive of that?"
"I can PROVE it."
"You can?"
"Yes, I can. You go over to my coalyard at--West Lake street, and askmy partner, Weaver. He will tell you where I was at that time."
"Is he your partner?"
"Yes."
"Strange, very strange. He said he bought you out last October."
"You've been there, have you?"
"That is what he said."
"He lies."
"Or you do."
"You wouldn't dare say that outside of this room."
"Don't get excited, Mr. Wittrock. We have had enough bantering. Youmight as well make a clean breast of the whole affair, for we have aclear case against you."
"I tell you I was at New Orleans at the time."
"You were not. Listen to me and I can prove you are a liar."
Wittrock flushed, and he began to get angry, which was just what Mr.Pinkerton wanted, and glaring at his persecutor he folded his arms andsettled defiantly back in his chair. Mr. Pinkerton quietly continued:
"A week before the robbery was committed you and a man named Haighttook a room at Chestnut street. On the twenty-third of October you senta valise to Daniel Moriarity at Leavenworth, Kansas, and a letterinstructing him to give its contents to Oscar Cook, of Kansas City. Afew days after you committed the robbery, and in a cave near Pacific,you, with Moriarity and Haight, divided the ill-gotten wealth. You thenrowed down the river to St. Louis, or near there, and from thence wentto Kans
as City. You were often seen playing faro at the White Elephant,and one night you knocked one of my men senseless when he had arrestedMoriarity, and took him to old Nance, the widow. Still later, you, Cookand Moriarity took refuge at Swanson's ranche in the Indian Territory,and after attempting to rob your host, which attempt was frustrated bymy men, you came, in some roundabout way, to Chicago, where you put upat the Commercial Hotel, disguised by a false mustache. Every eveningyou went to West Lake street, and last night you were arrested. Now,Mr. Wittrock, what have you to say?"
"That's a very pretty yarn; but as I don't happen to be the man thatdid all that I don't see how it concerns me."
"Look at that and tell me what you have to say," and Mr. Pinkerton laidbefore him the sworn deposition of Daniel Moriarity, in which all thefacts that Mr. Pinkerton had been relating were set forth, Wittrock didnot show a trace of feeling other than amusement, as he read the longand legally worded document, and passing it back to Mr. Pinkerton witha gesture of disdain, he said:
"So on the strength of that cock-and-bull story you mean to hold me forthat robbery?"
"Partly so."
"There isn't a word of truth in it. That man, Moriarity, is a notedliar."
"Ah!" said Mr. Pinkerton, quickly, "you know Moriarity?"
"That is--I mean--yes, I sort of know him," stammered Wittrock, inconfusion; "I have heard of him."
"You are in desperate straits, Mr. Wittrock," said the detective. "Insuch desperate straits that you are doing the worst possiblething--denying all that is proved true. We have you safe and secure,and enough evidence against you to send you to Jefferson City for along term of years. You can lighten your sentence by one thing."
"You don't catch me that way, I am not to be taken in by soft words,and all the traps you set for me won't make me confess that I hadanything to do with the robbery. You've arrested me without cause, andif there is any law in the land I'll make you suffer for it," andWittrock walked excitedly around the room.
Mr. Pinkerton did not reply to this, but touching a bell, told the manwho opened the door to bring in the other prisoners.
Wittrock had resumed his seat, his head bowed forward and eyes castdown, but hearing the door opening, he glanced up and saw Weaver andHaight, followed by two detectives, ushered into his room.
Both of them looked discouraged and broken-spirited. The heart had beentaken from them by their arrest, and Wittrock's boldness and defiantmanner began to melt as he saw his faint-hearted accomplices.
"You here, too," he exclaimed.
"Looks like it, don't it," said Haight, with a grim smile.
"You may as well own up, Fred," said Weaver, "they have the drop on us."
"Coward!" hissed Wittrock. Then turning suddenly to Mr. Pinkerton, hesaid:
"That cur is right, you have the drop on us."
"Then you confess you committed the robbery?"
"Yes," he answered, curtly.
"Was Fotheringham in the ring, too?"
"Fotheringham hadn't a thing to do with it."
"How came it, then, that we found some of the Adams express letterheads in his trunk, and which were not the ones printed for thecompany?"
"Did you do that?"
"Yes; ten or twenty sheets."
"He never got them from us. The first time I ever saw him was when Ijumped on his car in St. Louis."
Mr. Pinkerton looked at the frank, open face of the train robber, andwondered that such a man could have committed the crime for which hewas now locked up in the "Pinkerton strong box." His manner and tone ofsincerity, when he declared Fotheringham innocent of any complicitywith him or his companions, carried conviction with it. He believedhimself that a blunder had been made, and Fotheringham was wrongfullyaccused.
"I said, a short time ago," he continued, addressing Wittrock, "thatyou could lighten your sentence if you wanted to do so."
"How?"
"Tell me where you have hid the money."
Wittrock hesitated, and glanced at his companions. Perhaps he saw intheir faces, that if he didn't tell, they would. He was willing,however, to give them the same benefit accorded him, and pointing toWeaver, he said:
"Weaver knows where the money is planted in Chicago, and Cook has somehid around his shanty in Kansas City. I put some under the large tree,just east of the gate of the old graveyard at Leavenworth."
A sign from Mr. Pinkerton to one of the detectives, and taking Weaverwith him, the man left the room.
Shortly after, Mr. Pinkerton, with the remaining detectives, also tookhis leave, and the two express robbers were alone.
The door had scarcely closed, when, dropping his cool and calmdemeanor, Wittrock sprang from his chair and confronting Haight withflaming eyes, he whispered in terrible tones:
"Moriarity turned informer, he swore away our liberty, and all our workhas been turned to naught by the cowardly traitor. Listen to me,Haight, listen well, and when you see the poltroon tell him that JimCummings swore he would cut his heart out. Aye! _I_ WILL DO IT, thoughhe were guarded behind double bars. I'll search him out and tear thetraitor heart from his breast and make him eat it, by God--make him eatit."
A gurgling sound and hissing gasps recalled the furious man to hissenses, and he saw that in his frenzy of anger he had clutched hiscompanion by the throat and was choking him purple in the face.
A few gasps, and Haight had recovered his breath, rubbing his throatruefully, and edging away from his dangerous and excited companion.
His passionate outburst over Wittrock regained his composure, andlighting a cigar, gave one to Haight, remarking in a light tone:
"I beg your pardon, old man, I didn't mean to hurt you."
"Next time don't take me for Moriarity," puffing the peace-offering.
"Do you know whom I would like to see? Those two chaps that arrestedme."
As if in answer to his call the door opened, and Sam, with Chipfollowing, entered.
Wittrock recognized them, and with a hearty "Good-morning, gentlemen,"motioned them to a seat, with as little ceremony as if the room was inhis own house.
"Good-morning, Jim," said Chip, "I'm sorry we had to pull you in lastnight."
"It was a ground-hog case, eh?"
"You don't seem to recognize us," said Sam.
"Yes, I do; you gave me enough cause last night to remember you all mylife."
"Suah enough, Massa Cummins," broke in Chip, imitating Scip's voice.
Wittrock gazed at the speaker, and in astonishment, cried:
"Scip!"
"Suah as you bawn, honey, I's de same ole Scip."
"And you?" turning to Sam.
"Doctor Skinner, at your service,"
"Then you're the two I have to thank for my being here."
"We helped the thing a little."
As they were talking, Weaver returned with the detective, bringingseveral packages of money, still in the original wrappers, whichWittrock had taken from the safe of the express car.
The sight of the recovered plunder placed a quietus on the arrestedmen, who now saw that the last link in the chain had been forged, andfelt the walls of the penitentiary looming up before them.
Settling into a stubborn silence, they sullenly refused to utteranother word, and maintained this position until they were placed onthe train for St. Louis, where they were locked up to answer theindictments which the grand jury had already found against them.
*****
Fotheringham, who had all this time laid in jail, still protested hisinnocence. He stated that the letter heads found in his trunk he hadtaken from the general desk in the company's office, and that thereason the signatures of Route Agent Bartlett was found on the paper,was due to the fact that he was about to write for a permit for avacation Christmas, and simply practised writing the name.
This explanation was received with smiles, but his friends came to therescue, and proved that he was in the habit of writing names on everybit of paper which came to hand. That this eccentricity was well known,a
nd his explanation should be received with favor. The grand jury,however, found an indictment against him, and he was held as anaccomplice to the robbery.
APPENDIX.
WHEN the now noted express car robbers, Wittrock, Haight and Weaver,were brought up for trial, they pleaded "guilty," and were sentenced toa term of years in the Missouri State penitentiary at Jefferson City. Afew days later the train carried them to that city, and as they passedthe various places, Wittrock pointed out the gully in which was locatedthe moonshiner's cave where the plunder was divided, and then, as thetrain rounded the curve, he depicted, in graphic language, the strugglebetween Moriarity and himself, which was only ended by the freighttrain bearing down on them.
When the train arrived at Jefferson City the three prisoners weredriven to the warden's office of the penitentiary, and, after goingthrough the regular formalities, the striped suits were put on them,and they became CONVICTS.
Oscar Cook was sentenced to a term of years on the charge of being anaccessory after the fact, but Moriarity, in consideration of thevaluable services he had rendered the State, was not prosecuted.
The house of Nance, the widow, fortune-teller and "fence," was brokenup, and with it the rendezvous of one of the most daring bands ofhighwaymen which had ever infested that section of the country, Nanceescaped the clutches of the law and disappeared from sight.
The detective work in connection with this case was as skillful, daringand successful as any that have made the detectives of Paris worldfamous.
Starting with the bit of torn express tag and following, thread bythread, the broken bits of clews which were discovered by the hawk eyesof the operatives until the arrest of Cook, it was as pretty a piece ofbusiness as ever brought criminals to their just punishment.
A most remarkable fact connected with the robbery and the subsequentdetection of its participators, is that from first to last not a singlehuman life was taken.
Unlike Jesse or Frank James, Redney Burns, Frank Rande or other notedoutlaws, who always shot before a move was made, Jim Cummings pittedbrute strength and brain power against brute strength and brain power.He doubtless would not have hesitated to take life if pushed to thelast extremity, but he placed more reliance on his cunning, shrewdnessand ready brain than on the deadly bullet.
Jesse James on a fleet horse, a revolver in each hand, and surroundedby his band of horse thieves and cutthroats, was audacious and bold,and would not hesitate to take desperate chances, but it is doubtful ifhe would have quietly and with business-like foresight, prepared forevery emergency, forged a letter on a forged letter-head of an expresscompany, gained access to the car, and, single-handed, attack and binda man nearly as strong as himself, and then leisurely helped himself tohis booty.
The writer is not holding Jim Cummings up in a laudatory spirit, or asan object to be envied and imitated, but as everything else has itsdegrees of comparison, so has the methods employed in committingrobbery, and the address, audacity, skill, success and intelligencedisplayed by Jim Cummings in robbing the Adams Express Company of acool $53,000, cannot help but excite a feeling akin to admiration. Asthis was his first attempt, it would take subsequent years to measurethe height which he might attain as a highwayman. It may be that themodern Jack Sheppard had his career nipped in the bud by the PinkertonDetective Agency. That "eye that never sleeps" must have winked prettyoften, when it learned of the various and narrow escapes Jim Cummingshad from its agents, and Mr. Pinkerton confessed afterward, that hepassed many anxious nights and days on account of Jim Cummings. Themoney was gathered together from the various sources designated by therobbers, and when counted was found to be almost the whole sumoriginally put in the safe, The robbery was committed in the latterpart of October, and the early part of the following January found theprincipals wearing the convicts' stripes.
* * * * *
The foregoing narrative would be incomplete did it not relate theincidents which brought Swanson's ranche to a pile of ashes, andSwanson himself to an untimely end.
When Cummings and Moriarity, with Sam and Chip, the detectives,disguised as the Doctor and Scip, his negro servant, dashed away fromthe ranche, carrying the greater part of his wealth, Swanson was lying,an unconscious man, on the floor of the large room. The blow whichfelled him to the ground had been given with the full force ofCummings' right arm, and partly overcome by the copious libations ofwhich he had partaken previous to his short but decisive fight with thetrain robber, it was several hours before he regained his senses. Hismen had rushed to the pony herd at the first alarm, only to find astampede had loosened all the horses, and they were helpless to pursuethe robbers.
Swanson's rage, when he fully realized that he had been robbed, wassomething terrible. He roamed the vicinity of the ranche armed to theheel, cursing and foaming at the mouth, pouring maledictions of themost blasphemous character upon the men who had repaid his hospitalitywith such a scurvy trick.
When finally the ponies had been corralled, he vaulted on one, andgalloping with the speed of the wind, set out in pursuit of the robberswho had mulcted him of his wealth. All the day he ranged the country,until his horse, completely exhausted, refused to move another step.His own excited passion had calmed down somewhat, so hobbling hishorse, he threw himself on the open prairie and sank into a deepslumber.
During his absence a strange procession rode up to the ranche.
A large band of Cherokee Indians and half-breeds, headed by a chief ofthe tribe, loped up the trail, and dismounting, asked for Swanson.
The angry tones and flashing eyes of the red men portended a storm, andsuspicious of coming danger to the master of the ranche, a cowboymounted his pony and galloped off to warn Swanson.
For several months previous the Indians had been missing stock fromtheir herds of cattle. Steers and yearlings had mysteriouslydisappeared, even under the keen eyes and sharp ears of the Cherokeesthemselves. All efforts to discover the thieves had proved fruitless,until chagrined and mortified by their ill success, the Indiansresolved to let nothing escape nor a stone unturned which would lead tothe detection of the parties making away with their cattle.
Relays of scouts were detailed, and a few days previous to theirappearance at Swanson's ranche the first trail had been found, whichthey followed with all the skill and cunning that have made the red menof America peculiarly famous. Day and night the pursuit had beenfollowed, and it led them direct to Swanson's.
He had long been suspected of such methods of procuring his stock, butso cunningly had he managed to cover his tracks that he had escapedbeing caught lip to this time.
His day of punishment had arrived, and his executioners were gatheredaround the ranche awaiting his return.
The cowboy had failed to find him, and the early morning found Swansonreturning home. The Indians had posted scouts in all directions, andwhen one of them galloped in, conveying the intelligence that Swansonwas coming, the temporary camp was awakened, and with their blanketsover their heads, the Indians patiently waited for their victim.
All unsuspicious of danger, he came at a hard gallop over the range,nor did he discover his visitors until he wheeled around the corner ofthe house and found himself in their midst.
A dozen hands immediately grappled him, dragging him from the saddleand pinioned his arms behind him. Not a word had been spoken, theirsilence and his own guilty conscience told him that he had no mercy tohope for. As husband of a Cherokee squaw, he was looked on as a memberof their tribe, and as such would be tried by their methods, foundguilty or not guilty; and if guilty, he knew he would be shot at once.
His reckless, bold spirit asserted itself at this critical period, andholding his head erect, he asked, speaking the Cherokee tongue:
"Am I a coyote, that my brother traps me in this way?"
The dignified chief, folding his arms across his breast, his face sternand forbidding, replied:
"Coyote! No, dog of a pale-face. The coyote would yelp in mockery tohear
you call yourself one."
"That isn't answering my question, Eagle Claw, What I want to know is,why am I jumped on in this way?" asked Swanson, his tone pacific andcalm, and his manner free from anger, for he saw that it would requirea deal of diplomacy to get him out of the scrape.
"You shall be answered, but not here," and the chief, Eagle Claw,placing his curved hand to his mouth, emitted a shrill, piercing yellwhich was repeated by the line of scouts until the most remote videtteheard, and headed his horse to the ranche. The Indians in some parts ofthe Territory are partly civilized and live in organized towns andvillages, electing their head men from time to time. Others are wildand uncivilized, wandering from place to place, pitching their tepeesof buffalo hide on the bank of some rippling stream, or, sequestered insome lovely valley, engage in the pursuit of game and in the care oftheir herds of ponies and cattle.
It was to the latter class that Eagle Claw and his band belonged. Gaudypaint, vemillion and yellow, smeared their faces in all the fantasticdesigns which their grotesque imaginations could invent. The tannedbuckskin leggins, fringed and beaded, were supported at the waist by abelt of leather embroidered and figured. A blanket thrown carelesslyover the shoulder completed the costume, with the addition of mocassinsmade of rawhide. Their ponies were selected from the cream of theirstock, and the gorgeous trappings of the saddles and harness made amost picturesque scene as the cavalcade filed over the plains.
Riding between two stalwart specimens of the Cherokee tribe, Swansonwas closely guarded. All the answer he could get for his indignantquestionings was a surly "Humph," or a sullen admonition to keep quiet.The chief led the party due southwest from Swanson's ranche, and allday long the sturdy ponies were kept at the long, swinging lope whichenables them to cover miles during a day.
Late in the afternoon the chief, raising in his stirrups, gave apeculiar, vibrating yell, which was immediately taken up by hisfollowers until the welkin rang with the penetrating sounds.
Like a faint echo an answering yell came back, and soon the forms ofhorsemen, dashing over the range, could be discerned.
Familiar with all the Indian customs Swanson recognized the yell. Ittold the camp that the scouting party had returned successful.
A short canter and the entire band wheeled around the edge of a tractof timber and came out upon the village, pitched on the banks of astream of water, the tepees grouped in a circle around the chief'swigwam, the blue smoke curling lazily through the aperture at the top,and the welcome smell of cooking meats permeating the place. Swansonwas given in charge of a guard and escorted to a vacant tepee, where hewas firmly bound, hand and foot, and thrown upon a pile of fur robes.
A large fire had been built near Eagle Claw's wigwam, and one by onethe sub-chiefs, head-men and old Indians of the tribe gravely stalkedtoward it and seated themselves in the circle.
Rising from his place Eagle Claw ordered the prisoner to be broughtforward.
As Swanson caught sight of the council-fire, the stern facessurrounding it, and the grave air of his captors, his guilty heart sankwithin him, and, trembling in every joint, he was hardly able to totterto the place assigned him. The Indians noted his condition withscornful eyes, and Eagle Claw, advancing from the rest, said:
"How now, does the coyote tremble because he is asked to join thecouncil with his brethren?"
The mocking words brought Swanson's pluck back again, and drawinghimself to his full height he answered:
"You red devil! Don't brother me. Drop that beating around the bush andout with the truth."
"'Tis well. A liar is a curse to his people. The Cherokees are men oftruth and have but a single tongue."
"The Cherokees are the biggest rascals in the Territory, the meanesthorse-thieves, and couldn't tell the truth to save their rascally necksfrom the halter," said Swanson.
The Indian's eyes flashed ominously at these words, and rising hisvoice, he said:
"My brother has a long tongue. It might be well if it were cut out; butwe know he is joking, for is he not a Cherokee himself?"
"Not I. You can't make a mustang out of a broken-down broncho and youcan't make a white man out of an Indian."
"But you took one of the fairest of our young maidens to your tepee,and--"
"Fairest young maiden? I took the skinniest rack-a-bones in the tribe.The old hag! She was too lazy to earn her salt, and was the biggestfool that ever wore calico."
A terrible look of rage came into Eagle Claw's face, for Swanson hadmarried his own sister, and such an insult was not to be brooked. Butwith all the powers of dissimulation which the Indian possesses, heforced a smile to his lips, and, blandly speaking, pointed to thethongs around Swanson's arms.
"It is not well that our brother should be tied that way," and drawinghis keen knife, he cut the thongs, and Swanson freed his arms.
His arms free, all of Swanson's courage returned. Hastily glancingaround the circle, he suddenly shot out his right arm. Reelingbackward, Eagle Claw fell to the ground, and the Indians saw somethingpass them like the wind, straight for the pony herd.
In an instant the camp was in commotion, hoarse yells came from tawnythroats, and in swift pursuit of the flying Swanson the braves ranafter him.
He had the start, however, and agile and athletic to a remarkabledegree, his hands pressed to his side, his mouth closed and saving hiswind, he sped before the pursuing red men and gained the corral of theponies.
The Indians had not taken his knife from him, and hastily selecting hissteed, the leather lariat was severed in a trice, and vaulting on hisback, Swanson made a dash for life into the darkness. The thundering ofhoofs told him that the red devils were close after him. Turningabruptly to one side he rode at right angles to his former course, andsuddenly drawing up his horse he stood still. The sound of the chaseneared him, and presently he heard them sweeping past, the darknesscompletely shrouding himself and his horse from their keen eyes.
Leaping to the ground, he placed his ear to the earth, and the faintthrobbing of the horse hoofs beating the ground grew fainter as hispursuers rode further away.
Mounting his horse again, he commenced slowly and stealthily tocircumnavigate the camp, and it wasn't until he had gained the oppositeside, that he ventured to put his horse to a gallop.
He had never been in that section of the country before, but it did notmatter so long as he could put a good distance between himself and hiscaptors in which direction he rode.
The dawn of the next day found his horse loping along, Swanson keepinga sharp eye out for Indians.
He was satisfied that he had at last eluded pursuit, and turning into aclump of timber he tied his horse with the remnants of the lariat andthrew himself on the ground near it.
All day long he slept, and as evening closed in he turned his horsefrom the timber and mounting a slight elevation near it, he gazedaround for landmarks. To his surprise, he recognized the country asthat near his own ranche, and feeling the pangs of hunger in a mostdistressing degree, he urged his horse in the direction of the ranche.
He had ridden several hours, and he knew that he must be somewhere nearhis place, when, rising before him, he discerned the house.
Almost simultaneous with his discovery a wide sheet of flame burst fromthe roof and, dismayed and astonished, Swanson checked his horse.
A multitude of yells rent the air, and Swanson, turning his horse againfled before the avenging Cherokees, but a hissing whistling sound washeard, a long, writhing lariat shot out, and the noose, falling overSwanson's shoulders, drew together with the run, and, lifted completelyfrom the saddle, Swanson was thrown senseless to the ground. Abucketful of water was dashed over his face, and recovering he saw thedemon faces of Eagle Claw and his band surrounding him.
"My brother was cold and we started a fire that he might get warm. Hewas lost and we made a light to guide him here. We love our brotherSwanson. We would always have him with us," jeered the Indian.
To this Swanson was incapable of replying. His se
nses were benumbed andhe hardly realized what was going on around him. Staggering to his feethe reeled to and fro like a drunken man.
As he walked toward the fire, he was suddenly grasped from behind, andagain were his arms pinioned. There was no escape for him this time.Forced to his knees, he was placed facing half a dozen of the bestmarksmen of the tribe. His shirt was torn open, exposing his hairybreast. A signal was given, and the sharp reports of the rifles rangout in tune with the crackling timbers of the house, and falling to hisface, Swanson gave a convulsive struggle and died as his own roof fellin; and a mass of blackened timbers marked the place where once stoodSwanson's ranche.
THE END.
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