Forty-one Thieves Part 12

A few months after his return from California, the tangled web of my yarn began to unravel. Mat Bailey had reported that nothing had been heard of the highwaymen "from that day to this." But John Keeler's work had not been done in vain. O'Leary of You Bet, the Nevada City jail-bird, had been duly impressed with the handsome reward offered for the apprehension of the murderers. So every time he met an old acquaintance he talked about the murder of Will c.u.mmins. It was a simple method of procedure, and it did not prove immediately successful. As it was about as easy to be a vagabond in one locality as in another, he drifted from place to place--first to Sacramento, then to San Francisco, then over the Sierras to the mining camps of Nevada, then through Utah and Wyoming, till at last he found himself in jail in St. Louis.

There, three years after the murder, he found his old pal J. C. P.

Collins--but how changed! Could that coa.r.s.e and bloated countenance belong to the fastidious and pleasure-loving Collins?

"Well, Collins, I hardly knew you. How does the grub here compare with what we used to get at Carter's boarding-house?" O'Leary referred to the jail at Nevada City.

"This must be your first week in St. Louis," replied Collins, "if you haven't put up at this hotel before. Been caught stealing again, I suppose?"

"That's me. Only the matter of a lady's purse that was of no use to her."

"Well, women are the cause of all my trouble. They drag a man down worse than drink. They are a bad lot, are women."

"Why, you're a regular preacher, ain't you? You used to be a ladies'

man."

"That was in California."

"How's the wild and woolly?" asked Collins, presently, looking his old pal over contemptuously.

"Oh, I know I ain't stylish like you Eastern dudes. I'm a honest miner, I am. And I don't wear boiled s.h.i.+rts like you."

"You're honest, all right. We'll leave that to Sheriff Carter. Remember how he caught you stealing that Chinaman's dust? I can see that Chinaman's sign now: 'Heekee & Co., Gold Dust Bought.' By the way, what's become of my old flame back there?"

"Oh, a lady? I don't remember no ladies that was acquainted with gents like us."

"I don't reckon you know the girl I mean. She wasn't in your cla.s.s, that's a fact."

"Maybe I can tell you if you'll just say her name."

"Well, I'm inquiring after Miss Mamie Sloc.u.m, the sweetest little girl in Nevada City."

"You're joking, sure. That girl never had any use for the likes of you.

Mat Bailey would knock your head off if he heard you breathe her name."

"Insult me as much as you like. 'No fighting' is the rules of this hotel. I asked you, how is that little girl? Sweet on Mat Bailey, is she? Well, I'm glad of it."

"Yes; she and Mat have been good friends ever since Will c.u.mmins was killed."

"So? How's that?"

"Why, you know she came down on the stage that day, and saw it all. Some say she knew the robbers and helped them find c.u.mmins' bullion. I guess Mat was in the deal, too. Anyhow, she and Mat have been good friends ever since, as I tell you."

"Now look here, O'Leary, you're dead wrong. That girl is as innocent as you are."

"Sure! The judge just sent me up for s.n.a.t.c.hing a purse, you know."

"I tell you that girl knew nothing about the hold-up."

"It must have happened after you left California, or you wouldn't be so sure. I'll tell you about it. Stage comes down from Moore's Flat. Mamie Sloc.u.m talks and laughs with Will c.u.mmins. Sees where he stows his old leather grip. Sings out to the robbers, 'That's Mr. c.u.mmins' valise under the seat there.'"

"That's a lie, and you are a fool to believe it!"

"I'm telling you the facts."

"The facts! Why, man, wasn't I there? And don't I know just what happened?"

Astonished at this outburst, O'Leary looked hard at Collins. There was no mistaking his earnestness; and he only leered at the other's astonishment. O'Leary was discreet enough to say no more; and Collins seemed to think his secret safe enough in the keeping of an old pal two thousand miles from the scene of the murder. But that very night O'Leary telegraphed to Sheriff Carter of Nevada City:

"Man who killed c.u.mmins in jail here. Come at once.

Pat O'Leary."

John Keeler and Henry Francis happened to be at the railroad station the next morning, when Carter started for St. Louis; and he showed them the telegram.

"When thieves fall out," remarked Keeler; and Francis winced. Was it because he foresaw that the ten thousand dollar reward would be claimed?

or was it for some other reason? Keeler wondered.

CHAPTER XVII

Brought To Justice

There was no serious doubt in Sheriff Carter's mind as to the importance of O'Leary's telegram. He hoped that the murder of Will c.u.mmins was, at last, to be avenged; and, as he had admired and loved that chivalrous man, he resolved to use every means in his power to bring the murderers to justice. But he realized what a difficult task it would be to get them hanged.

There was a strong sentiment in California against capital punishment.

There seemed to be little objection to murder committed by private citizens, but people raised their hands in horror at what they were pleased to call judicial murder. What right has the State to take so precious a thing as human life, even though the life be that of a hardened criminal? Carter was sick at heart. He had watched the most depraved characters, fed and clothed and guarded at the public expense, spend their days in shame and utter uselessness. It would have been a mercy to have terminated their existence; and it would have instilled respect for law in the minds of other criminals.

But the immediate problem of Sheriff Carter, as it is the immediate concern of this story, was to capture the murderers. Carter went armed with proper legal doc.u.ments, handcuffs, and a pair of derringers--for the sheriff of Nevada County could shoot straight simultaneously with both hands. Two faithful deputies accompanied their chief, and all three were well supplied with the sinews of war in gold and bank-notes.

Arrived at St. Louis Carter immediately got in touch with O'Leary, and cautioned him not to alarm Collins, for proper circ.u.mspection might lead to the capture of both murderers. Showing his credentials to the proper authorities, he took them into his confidence, and thus made sure that Collins would not be discharged from jail without his knowledge. Then he and his deputies retired to their hotel for rest, refreshment, and poker.

In less than three days the chief of police showed him a letter written by Collins to Thorn. The missive ran:

"dear Thorn, alias Darcy,

don't let your old pal bother you eny I suppose you are having a revival in your church about this time and converting a great many sinners. give my kind regards to the widow Brown, and I hope she will marry you soon. I expect to leave this hotel in ten days, so will need $50. send post office order, St. Louis, general delivery.

Your old partner, J. C. P. Collins."

It was evidently a blackmailing letter. The sheriff remembered Darcy of old, and the chances seemed good that Thorn _alias_ Darcy was the other highwayman. So, taking O'Leary along to a.s.sist in the identification, he set out for Union City to deliver Collins' letter in person. No doubt this Thorn was a harder man to catch than Collins. He had had sense enough to change his name and to join a church. So Carter approached Union City rather cautiously, leaving O'Leary with one of his deputies in Chicago with orders to wait for a telegram. Accompanied by the other deputy he arrived at Union City rather late at night, to avoid publicity.

There he learned that Thorn had been in town nearly three years. That he was engaged in the lumber business, was prosperous, highly respected and was prominent in the leading church of the town. He was away on business in Chicago at the time, but was expected to return in a week or two, as it was rumored that he was soon to marry.

The sheriff's disappointment was much relieved by the receipt of a telegram the next morning:

"We have got Darcy corralled here. Come at once.