just on the edge of it over by the door. I’d bought her the rug for a
Christmas present last year, and she liked it better’n anything she had
in the house, but it was beginnin’ to wear out some. A part of the blood
was on the floor and a part on the rug. So I went and got another pan of
water and the soap and towel and washed the floor; then I washed the rug
the best I could, and lifted it up and washed in under it, and then
threw away the water and got some more and washed it all over again.
When I seen that the last water was a little bloody I thought mebbe I’d
better go over it again, so I got some more water and went over it the
third time, then I threw the water out and washed the towel as good as I
could, and went back in and looked ‘round the room to see if there was
anything else to do. Just then I noticed the poker that I hadn’t thought
of before. I took it to the kitchen and washed it all over and then
dried it and then put it in the stove and covered it with ashes, and
then laid it down on the hearth; then I went back in and seen that
ever’thing was finished and that she was all right, and there wa’n’t
nothin’ to do except to make my plans. But before I go on and tell you
what I done with her, let me speak to the guard a minute.”
Hank and Jim got up once more and looked out through the bars. The guard
was still sitting on the stool and asked what he could do.
“What time is it?” said Jim.
“Oh, it’s early yet, only a little after twelve,” he replied. “Wouldn’t
you like a little more whiskey? I’ve got another bottle here, and I can
get all I want down to the office. If I was you I’d drink it. I don’t
think whiskey does any hurt. I’m always arguing with that other guard
about it. He’s bug-house on whiskey.”
Jim took the whiskey and then turning to the guard, with an anxious
face, said, “You’re sure nothin’ has come for me?”
“No, there’s nothin’ come.” But after a few minutes he added, “I’ll go
over to the telephone pretty soon and call up the telegraph office and
make sure.”
Jim’s face brightened a little at this. “I’m much obliged. It might be
sent to me, and it might be sent to the jailer or the sheriff. You’d
better ask for all of us.”
VI
“That whiskey makes me feel better. I’ve been takin’ a good deal tonight
and I s’pose I’ll take more in the mornin’. That’s one reason why I’m
drinkin’ so much now. First I thought I wouldn’t take any tomorrow—or—I
guess it’s today, ain’t it? It don’t seem possible; but I s’pose it is.
I thought I’d show the newspapers and people that’s been tellin’ what a
coward I was to kill a woman! but now I think I’ll take all I possibly
can. I guess that’s the best way. It don’t make no difference—if I take
it they’ll say I’m a coward and if I don’t, it’s only bravado. Most
people takes so much that they almost have to be carried up, and they
don’t hardly know. I guess that’s the best way. Some people take
somethin’ to have a tooth pulled, and I don’t see why they shouldn’t for
a thing like this. Mebbe the whiskey makes me talk more’n I meant to,
and tell you a lot of things that hain’t nothin’ to do with the case,
but it’s pretty hard for me to tell what has and what hain’t.
“After I got her laid out and the floor cleaned, I set down a minute to
think what I’d do next. First I thought I’d go in and get the kid and
take him away, and leave her there, and I guess now that would have been
the best way, and they wouldn’t found it out so quick. But then I
thought the people next door, or the postman, or milkman, or somebody,
would come along in the mornin’ and find her there, and I couldn’t get
far with the kid. Besides I only had about ten dollars and I knew that
wouldn’t last long. Then I thought I’d just go out and jump onto one of
the freight trains they was makin’ up in the yards, and leave her and
the kid both; then I couldn’t bear to think of him wakin’ up and comin’
out into the settin’ room and findin’ her there. He wouldn’t know what
it meant and would be scart to death and ‘twouldn’t be right. Then so
long as I couldn’t do either one, I had to get her out, but I didn’t
know how to do it, and what was I goin’ to do with her when I got her
out. First I thought I’d try to put her in the sewer, and then I knew
someone would find her there for that had been tried before; then I
studied to see what else I could think of.
“Finally I happened to remember a place she and I went once picnickin’,
just after we was married. I don’t know how I happened to remember it,
‘cept that I couldn’t think of anything to do, and then I was kind of
goin’ over our life, and it seemed as if that was the nicest day we ever
had. One of the boys had been tellin’ me about the new street car lines
that run way off down through Pullman and South Chicago, and out into
the country, and how nice it was out there away from all the houses. So
one Sunday we went over to the street cars and started out. I don’t know
whether we found the right place or not, but I remember just when we was
goin’ to turn somewhere to go to Pullman or South Chicago we saw some
trees off in a field, and thought that would be a nice place to go and
set in the shade and eat the lunch we’d brought along. So we went over
under the trees, and then I saw some rock further over, and then she and
I went over where they was and there was a great deep pond with big
stones all ‘round the edge. I heard that it was an old stone quarry that
had got filled up with water. But it was awful deep and big, and we set
down under a little tree on top of one of them big rocks and let our
feet hang over the sides, and the water was way down below, and I said
to her just in fun, ‘Now, if I wanted to get rid of you, I could just
push you over here and no one would ever know anything about it.’ She
kind of laughed at the idea and said if I ever wanted to get rid of her
I wouldn’t have to push her off any rock, that she’d go and jump in
somewhere herself, and I told her if I ever wanted her to I’d let her
know, and for her to just wait till I did. And we went all ‘round the
pond, and I threw stones in it and tried to see how near across I could
throw, and we stayed ‘round until it was time to take the car and go
home. And I don’t believe I ever had a better time. Now and then when we
was friendly or had got over a fight, we used to talk about goin’ back
there again, but we never did.
“Well, after thinkin’ of ever’thing I could, I made up my mind that the
best thing was for me to put her on the express wagon and take her out
there, if I could find the place. I didn’t believe anybody would ever
know anything about it, and if they did ‘twould be a long time and they
wouldn’t know who she was.
“Then I thought it might be dangerous gettin’ her out of the house and
gettin’ the wagon out on the street that time of night. If anyone seen
us they’d be suspicious and want to know what I was doin’, and then I
was afraid the policeman would be watchin’ for suspicious people and
things along the street. But I didn’t see anything else to do, and I
knew I had to take chances anyway and would most likely get caught in
the end. I looked at the clock and found ‘twas only ten, and I felt as
if that was too early to start out. The people next door wouldn’t be
abed and if they ever saw me carryin’ her out they couldn’t help
noticin’ it. So I set down and waited. You hain’t no idea how slow the
time goes in such a case. I just set and heard that clock tick, and the
boy breathin’ in the other room; it seemed as if every tick was just
fetchin’ me that much nearer to the end—and I s’pose mebbe that’s so,
whether we’ve killed anyone or not, but you don’t never think of it
unless it’s some place where you’re waitin’ for someone to die, or
somethin’ like that. Then of course I kept thinkin’ of ever’thing in my
whole life, and I went over again how I’d done it, but I couldn’t make
it come out any different no matter how hard I tried.
“Then I wondered what I was goin’ to do next, and how long ‘twould be
before they’d ketch me, and if I’d stand any show to get out, if I got
ketched. Of course, I thought I’d have to run away. I never seemed to
think of anything but that. I guess ever’body runs away when they do any
such thing; ‘tain’t so much bein’ safer, but they want to get away. It
don’t seem as if they’d ever be any chance anymore where it’s done. But
I couldn’t just figger out where to go. Of course, I knew I’d take the
cars. There ain’t any other way to travel if you want to go quick. Then
I thought I’d have a long enough time to figger it out while I was
takin’ that drive down across the prairie. Anyhow I’d need somethin’ to
think about while I was goin’.
“That feller that talked to us in the jail said the real reason why they
hung people and locked ‘em up was to get even with ‘em, to make ‘em
suffer because they’d done somethin’. He said all the smart men who’d
studied books claimed that hangin’ and punishin’ didn’t keep other
people from doin’ things. But if it’s done to make anyone suffer they
ain’t any use in doin’ it at all. I never suffered so much since as I
did when I was settin’ there and thinkin’ all about it, and what I was
goin’ to do, and what would become of the kid, and how she was dead, and
ever’thing else. You know it takes quite a while to get used to a thing
like that, and while I was settin’ there beginnin’ to realize what it
all meant, it was awful! If I’d only had the nerve I’d just cut my
throat and fell right over alongside of her. A good many people does
that and I wish I could’ve. But every time I thought of it I kind of
hung back. I don’t ever want any more such nights; I’d rather they’d
hang me and be done with it. I didn’t suffer so much when I was runnin’
away or gettin’ caught, or bein’ tried; even when I was waitin’ for the
verdict to come in; nor I didn’t suffer so much waitin’ for the Supreme
Court or the Governor, or even since they give up hope and I can hear
‘em puttin’ that thing up over there in the courtyard.
“I don’t s’pose hangin’ will hurt so very much after all. The main thing
is, I want ‘em to hurry after they start out. Of course, I’ll be pretty
drunk, and won’t know much about what they’re doin’, and I don’t s’pose
they’ll take long after I put on them clothes until it’s all over. Goin’
from here to the place won’t hurt, though I s’pose it’ll be pretty hard
work walkin’ up the ladder and seein’ that rope hangin’ over the beam,
and knowin’ what it’s for. But I s’pose they’ll help me up. And then
strappin’ my hands and feet’ll take some time. But they don’t need to do
that with me for I shan’t do a thing;—still mebbe if they didn’t I’d
kind of grab at the rope when they knocked the door out from under my
feet. I might do that without knowin’ it. So I s’pose it’s just as well.
It must be kind of sickish when they tie the rope ‘round your neck, and
when they pull that cap over your head, and you know you ain’t never
goin’ to see anything again. I don’t s’pose they’ll wait long after
that; they oughtn’t to. You won’t feel anything when you’re fallin’ down
through, but it must hurt when you’re pulled up short by the neck. But
that can’t last long, can it? They do say the fellers kicks a good deal
after they’re hung, but the doctors say they don’t really feel it, and I
s’pose they know, but I don’t see how they can all be so smart about
ever’thing; they hain’t never been hung.
“I s’pose the priest will be here; he’s a trump, and I think more of him
than I ever did before. He’s been a great help to me, and I don’t know
what I’d done without him. Of course, he talks religion to me, but he’s
kind of cheerful and ain’t always making out that I’m so much worse than
anyone else ever was. I ain’t much afraid ‘bout God; somehow I kind of
feel as if He knows that I’ve always had a pretty tough time, and that
He’ll make allowances on account of a lot of them things that the judge
ruled out, and He knows how I’ve suffered about it all and how sorry I
be for her and the kid, and He’ll give me a fair show. Still sometimes I
can’t help wonderin’ if mebbe there ain’t nothin’ in all of it, and if I
hain’t got through when my wind’s shut off. Well, ‘scuse me, I didn’t
want to make you feel bad, but I’ve thought about it so much and gone
over it so many times that it don’t seem as if it was me, but that
someone else was goin’ to get hung; but I hain’t no right to tell it to
anybody else, and I didn’t mean to.
“Well, I set there and waited and waited, until about eleven o’clock,
and then I thought mebbe ‘twould be safe enough to start, just then the
boy woke up, and I heard him say ‘Mamma,’ and it kind of gave me a
start, and I hurried in and asked him what he wanted and he said he
wanted a drink of water, and I came out to the kitchen sink and got it
and took it back and gave it to him. Then he asked me what time it was,
and I told him about eleven o’clock, and he asked me why I had my
clothes on and where mamma was, and I told him we hadn’t gone to bed
yet, and for him to turn over and go to sleep, and he said a few more
words and then dropped off.
“Then I went out to the barn to hitch up the rig. The horse was layin’
down asleep, and I felt kind of mean to wake him, for I knew he was
about played out anyhow; but it couldn’t be helped, so I got him up and
put on the harness. I s’pose he didn’t know much about the time, and
thought he was goin’ down to Water Street after a load of potatoes. I
didn’t bring any lantern; I knew the barn so well I could hitch up in
the dark. Then I took the hay off’n the potatoes and put it in the
bottom of the wagon to lay her on, and then run the wagon out and turned
it ‘round and backed it in again. I ‘most always hitched up outside the
barn for there was more room outdoors, but I didn’t want to be out there
any more’n I could help, so I thought I’d get all ready in the barn so I
could just drive away.
“Well, I got the horse all harnessed and the bits in his mouth, and
ever’thing ready to hitch up, and then went back in the house. I’d been
thinkin’ that I’d better take one more look, not that ‘twould do any
good but just because it might. You know when you’ve lost a knife, or a
quarter, or anything, and you look through all your pockets and find it
‘tain’t there, and then go back and look through all of ‘em again and
don’t find it; then you ain’t satisfied with that and mebbe you keep a
lookin’ through ‘em all day, even when you know ‘tain’t there. Well,
that’s the way I felt about her, only I s’pose a good deal worse, so
when I got in I looked her over again just the same way’s I had before.
I felt for her pulse and her heart but ‘twa’n’t no use. Then I got my
old overcoat and my hat and got ready to start, but before I left I
thought I’d just look out once to see if the folks in the next house was
abed, and I found they wa’n’t, for there was a light in the kitchen
right next to mine, and I knew ‘twould never do to carry that kind of a
bundle out the back door while they was up. So I waited a little while
until the light went out and ever’thing was still, and then put on my
coat and hat and picked her up in my arms. It was an awful hard thing to
do, but there wa’n’t nothin’ else for it, so I just kind of took my mind
off’n it and picked her up. When I got her kind of in my arms one of her
arms sort of fell over, and her legs kind of hung down like they was
wood, and then I see I had to fasten ‘em some way or I couldn’t never
carry her. It wa’n’t like a live person that can stay right where they
want to; it was more like carryin’ an arm full of wood that would
scatter all around unless you get it held tight.
“Then I laid her down and found some string and tied her arms tight
around her body, and then fastened her ankles together. Then I went into
the bedroom and got a quilt off’n our bed and rolled her up in that. You
know at my trial they made out that ‘twas bad for me to tie her that
way, and if I hadn’t been awful wicked I wouldn’t have done it. But I
can’t see anything in that; there wa’n’t no other way to do it. Then
they said it was awful bad the way I took her off and the place I dumped
her, and the newspapers made that out one of the worst things about it
all; but I tried to think up something else to do and I couldn’t, and
there she was dead, and I had to do the best I could. I washed her and
fixed her all up before I went away, and if there’d been anything else I
could have done I know I would.
“When I got her fixed up, I went to the door and looked out, and I saw
some drunken fellers goin’ along in the alley, so I waited a minute for
them; and then I got her in my arms and opened the door and then turned
off the light and went out and shut the door as soft as I could. It
wa’n’t but a few steps to the barn, but I hurried as fast as I could,
and just as I was takin’ the first step I heard the most unearthly
screech that scart me so I ‘most dropped her; but in a minute I knew it
was only a train pullin’ into the yards and I hurried to get to the barn
before the engine come up.
“Well, I guess nobody saw me, and I got her in the wagon and laid her on
the hay. I fixed her head to the end and her feet reachin’ up under the
seat. I didn’t want her head so near me in that long drive down over the
prairie. Then I covered her up the best I could with one of the old
horse blankets, so it wouldn’t look suspicious if anyone seen me.
“I tell you it was awful pokerish out there in the barn, worse than in
the house, for I had a light there. I didn’t want to stay in the barn a
minute longer than I could help, so I hurried and hitched the old horse
onto the wagon, then went out to the alley and looked up and down to see
if anyone was there. Then I got on the seat and put a blanket around me
and drove off. I was afraid the neighbors would notice me drive out of
the barn, but they didn’t. The moon hadn’t quite got up and there
couldn’t anyone see unless they was right close. When I got about a
block away I seen a policeman walkin’ ‘long the street and goin’ up to
pull a box. Of course I was scart; he looked at me kind of suspicious
like, and looked at the wagon to see what was in there, but it was
rather dark and I braced up the best I could and drove right ‘long and
he didn’t say nothin’. Then I found a lot of fellers that was comin’
down the street makin’ a lot of noise. They was a gang of politicians
that had been goin’ round to the saloons and was pretty full. I was
afraid some of ‘em might know me, but they didn’t pay any attention and
I went along up to the corner of Halsted and turned south. I knew
Halsted was a pretty public street, but the roads was better and I had a
long way to go, so I thought I might just as well chance that.
“I got along down about Twenty-ninth Street and met a gang of fellers
that was makin’ a lot of noise singin’ and talkin’, and braggin’ and
tellin’ what they could do. I was a little ‘fraid of ‘em, not because I
thought they’d hurt me, but I didn’t know but what they’d see what was
in the wagon. When I come up to ‘em they told me to stop, that they was
the ‘Bridgeport threshers’ and no one had any right there but them, and
they wanted to know what reason I had to be out at that time o’ night. I
told ‘em I was just gettin’ home, that I’d been kep’ late up town. Then
one of ‘em said, ‘What you got in the wagon?’ and I said, ‘Potatoes.’
Then one feller said, ‘Let’s see ‘em,’ and started for the wagon. But
another one spoke up and said, ‘Oh, Bill, leave him alone, he’s all
right.’ And then they all started up another road and went away. That
was a pretty narrow escape and I was ‘most scart to death for fear
they’d look under the blanket. I met a good many teams but nothin’ more
happened till I got down to Fifty-fifth Street Boulevard, where I turned
east to go over to the Vincennes road.
“By this time the moon had come up and it was about as light as day. It
had stopped snowin’ and the wind had gone down but it was awful cold. I
never saw a nicer night. You could see everything almost as well as
daylight. I hurried the old horse as much as I could, but he couldn’t go
fast. He hadn’t got much rested from the day before. Every once in a
while I looked back at the load. I kind of hated to look, but I couldn’t
help it. The blanket commenced to kind of take her shape so it looked to
me as if anyone would know that someone was under there. So I got out
and moved the blanket and fixed it up more on one side. But I didn’t
look at her. Then I drove on across to Vincennes road and turned south.
Every once in a while I’d meet someone, and I was afraid all the time
that something would happen, but it didn’t and I drove on. The moon got
clear up high and I could see everything on the road and around the
wagon, and see where her feet came through under the seat and almost
touched mine, and could see all the horse blanket that covered her up. I
hadn’t got far down the Vincennes road until I thought the blanket had
changed its shape and was lookin’ just like her again so I got out and
fixed it up and went back and drove on.
“While I was goin’ ‘long I kep’ thinkin’ what I was goin’ to do and I
s’pose it was the cold that made me think I’d better go south. I always
did hate cold weather, and this winter I thought I’d have to stay out
and run ‘round from one place to another, if I didn’t get caught the
first thing.
“Then I thought I must take the horse and wagon back home, and I wanted
to see that the boy was all right; so I thought it might bother me to go
clear out to that quarry and get away from Chicago before daylight. But
anyhow I could go until one o’clock and then get back by three, and
probably ketch a train before mornin’.
“After a while I begun to have a queer idea about her. I thought I could
feel her lookin’ right at me,—kind of feel her eyes. I drove on, and
said it was all bosh and she couldn’t do it, and I looked down at her
feet and I seen they was in the same place, but still I couldn’t get
over that feelin’. I thought she was lookin’ at me all the time, and I
kind of ‘magined I could hear her say, ‘Where ‘re you takin’ me? Where
are you takin’ me? Where are you takin’ me?’ just about the same as when
she said, ‘Kill me! Kill me! Kill me!’ and no matter what I done, or how
hard I tried, I could feel her lookin’ and hear them words in my ears.
“By this time I was gettin’ ‘way down the Vincennes road. You know it
gets wide ‘way down south, and it ain’t much built up nor very well
paved. There’s a lot of road-houses along the street; most of ‘em was
open and a good many fellers was ‘round ‘em, just as they always is
‘round saloons. I’d like to have had a drink, for I was awful cold and
scart, but I didn’t dare go in, though I did stop at a waterin’-trough
in front of one of the places and watered the horse. He was pretty well
blowed and was hot. I had urged him pretty hard and the road was heavy.
Wherever there was mud it was frozen so stiff that it could almost hold
up, and still let you break through, the very worse kind of roads for a
horse to go on.
“After I got him watered I went on and kep’ meetin’ lots of wagons. I
never had no idea how many people traveled nights before. I s’posed I
wouldn’t see anyone, but I met a wagon ever’ little ways and I was
always afraid when I passed ‘em. A great many of ‘em hollered out,
‘Hello, pardner,’ or ‘What you got to sell,’ or anything, to be
sociable, and I would holler back the best I could, generally stickin’
to ‘Potatoes,’ when they asked me about my load. I thought I knew
potatoes better’n anything else, and would be more at home with ‘em if
anything was said.