bother me again. Then I kept hearin’ them words plainer than I had
before. Then I got to thinkin’ about all the things I had heard and read
about people who were dead, and about murders, and that seemed to make
it worse’n ever. Then I began to think of the things I’d read about
people that were put away for dead, when they wa’n’t dead at all, and
about mesmerism, and hypnotism, and Christian Science, but I knew none
of them things was done the way she’d been killed. Then I remembered
about trances, and how people was give up for dead sometimes for days,
and even buried and then come to life, and about how people had dug up
old graveyards and found out where lots of people had moved around after
they’s dead. And then I thought I heard her say, ‘You thought you’d
killed me! You thought you’d killed me! You thought you’d killed me!’
And the further I went the plainer it sounded. Finally I began to think
‘twas so and of course I hoped it was, and I kep’ thinkin’ it more’n
more and couldn’t get it out of my head. Of course, I looked around at
the houses and the trees and fences and at the moon. It had clouded up a
little with them kind of lightish heavy clouds you’ve seen that run so
fast; they was just flyin’ along over the sky and across the moon, and I
was wishin’ I could go ‘long with ‘em and get away from it all, and then
the voice would come back, ‘Where are you takin’ me? Where are you
takin’ me? Where are you takin’ me? You thought you’d killed me! You
thought you’d killed me! You thought you’d killed me!’ And I felt so
sure she wa’n’t dead that I couldn’t stand it any more, and I looked at
her feet, but they hadn’t moved, and then I stopped the horse and got
off’n the wagon and went back to the hind end and lifted up the blanket
kind of slow. For I felt as if I’d stand more chance that way than if I
did it all at once, and I got the blanket up, and then I got hold of the
quilt just by the edge and kind of pulled it back so as to uncover her
face, and just then the moon came out from behind a cloud and shone
right down in her face, almost like day, and she looked just as white as
a ghost, and the bandage had come off her jaw and it hung clear down,
and her mouth was open, and I knew she was dead.
“Then I threw the things back and jumped onto the wagon, half crazy, and
hurried on.
“It was gettin’ now where there wa’n’t no more houses, and I hardly ever
met any teams, and I was gettin’ clear out on the prairies, and I looked
at my old silver watch and saw it was close to one o’clock, and I
thought mebbe I might just as well get through with it now as to wait
any longer. So I looked along at the fields to find a good place, and
after a while I saw where there was a great big field full of hummocks.
It looked as if they’d been diggin’ for gravel or somethin’ of that
kind, and I thought that was as good a place as any. So I looked up and
down the road, and saw no one comin’, and I drove the old horse up in
the fence corner and got off the wagon, and then I fixed a good place to
get over, and fastened the quilt a little better, and took her in my
arms and started as fast as ever I could. I went past the fence and run
over to the first hummock, but the hole didn’t look very deep, and there
was some more further over. So I went to them, but they wa’n’t deep
enough either. Then I looked ‘round and saw one bigger’n the rest and
went there. I laid her down and looked over. The moon was shinin’ all
right, and I could see that the hole was pretty big and deep. I laid her
down lengthwise ‘long the bank, and then took one more feel of her heart
and ‘twas just the same. Then I fastened the quilt a little tighter,
lifted her clear over to the edge, and held her head and feet in a
straight line so she’d roll down the hill all right, and then I give her
a shove and turned and run away.”
VII
“Well, I hadn’t any more’n started to run till I heard a splash I knew
she’d got to the water all right and there wa’n’t nothin’ for me to do
but hurry home.
“I went right back to the wagon and climbed upon the seat and turned
‘round. The old horse was pretty tired but he seemed some encouraged,
bein’ as he’d turned home. Horses always does, no matter how poor a
place they has to stay. I urged him ‘long just as fast as I could;
didn’t stop for nothin’ except to give him some water at a trough down
on Halstead Street, and went right home. Then I put him in the stable
and took care of him, and throwed some hay in the manger. So long as I
hadn’t any oats I emptied about a bushel of potatoes in with the hay. I
thought they wouldn’t be any use to me any more, and they’d keep him
quiet a while and mebbe do him some good.
“Then I went in the house, and struck a match and lit the lamp. I didn’t
‘low to stay long for I’d got my plans all thought out comin’ home, but
I just wanted to look into the room and see the kid. I glanced ‘round
and ever’thing seemed all right, except I thought I’d better take the
coal pail out in the kitchen. Then I looked at the floor and the rug and
I couldn’t see no blood; and the water had pretty near dried up. Then I
opened the bedroom door and looked at the kid. He was sleepin’ all
right, just as if he hadn’t been awake once all night. He was layin’ on
one side with his face lookin’ out toward me, and was kind of smilin’
pleasant-like and his hair was all sweaty and curly. You’ve seen the
kid. You know he’s got white curly hair just as fine as silk. That’s one
thing he got from her.
“Well, I couldn’t hardly bear to go away and leave him, but there wa’n’t
nothin’ else to do. I guess I would have kissed him if I hadn’t been
‘fraid he’d wake up, but I never was much for kissin’; kissin’ depen’s a
good deal on how you’re raised. I guess rich people kiss a good deal
more’n poor people, as a general rule, but I don’t know as they think
any more of their children. Well, I just looked at him a minute and shut
the door and went out. Then I noticed the whiskey bottle on the table
that I brought out to try to wake her; I hadn’t thought of it before;
and I picked it up and drank what was left, and turned and blew out the
lamp and went away. That’s the last I ever seen of the kid, or the
house.
“I went right over to the yards to see about trains. There wa’n’t
nothin’ standin’ ‘round there and I didn’t like to ask any questions, so
I went down to the other end and see ‘em switchin’ some cars as if they
was makin’ up a train, and I walked out in the shadow of a fence until
they’d got it all made up and I felt pretty sure ‘twas goin’ south. I
knew them cars and engines pretty well. Then I jumped in a box car that
was about in the middle of the train. There was a great big machine of
some kind in the car, so there was plenty of room left for me, and I
snuggled down in one corner and dozed off. I don’t think I’d been
sleepin’ long till a brakeman come past with a lantern and asked me who
I was and where I was goin’. I told him I was goin’ south to get a job,
and wanted to get down as far as Georgia if I could, for my lungs wa’n’t
strong and the doctors had advised a change of climate. I had read about
the doctors advisin’ rich people to have a change of climate, but of
course I hadn’t ever heard of their tellin’ the poor to do any such
thing. I s’pose because it wouldn’t do no good and they couldn’t afford
to leave their jobs and go. But I didn’t see why that wasn’t a good
excuse. He asked me if I had any whiskey or tobacco, and I said no, and
he told me that I oughtn’t to get on a train without whiskey or tobacco,
and I promised not to again, and then he let me go.
“It was just gettin’ streaks of light in the east, and I thought I might
as well go ahead and prob’ly I’d better ride till noon anyhow, as
nothin’ much could happen before that time. Then I went off to sleep
again. The sun was pretty high before I woke up. I looked at my watch to
see what time it was but found I’d forgot to wind it the night before
and it had run down. Well, I concluded it was just as safe to stay on
the car so long as it was goin’ south and so I didn’t get off all day,
except to run over to a grocery when the train stopped once and get some
crackers and a few cigars. I thought I’d have ‘em when the brakeman come
‘round, and then I fixed myself for the night. I was pretty well beat
out and didn’t have much trouble goin’ to sleep, though of course I
couldn’t get it out of my head any of the time, and would wake up once
in a while and wonder if it wa’n’t all a dream till I found myself again
and knew it was all true.
“I’d found out that the car I was in was goin’ to Mississippi and made
out that it was for some saw mill down there. It was switched ‘round
once or twice in the day, and I think once in the night, and was put on
other trains, and the new brakeman had come ‘round at different times.
After I got the cigars I gave ‘em one whenever they come ‘round and this
kep’ ‘em pretty good natured. And so long as the car had switched off
and I made up my mind they wouldn’t find her the first day, I thought
mebbe I’d better stay right in it and go to Mississippi. I didn’t know
nothin’ ‘bout Mississippi, except that it was south and a long ways off
and settled with niggers, and that they made lumber down there. I used
to see a good many cars from Mississippi when I was switchin’ in the
yards. The car was switched off quite a bit, and didn’t go very fast,
and it was four days before they landed it in Mississippi.
“They stopped right in the middle of the woods, and I made up my mind
that this was about as good a place to stay as anywhere, if I could get
a job, and I thought it wouldn’t be a bad plan to try where they was
sendin’ the machine. It had been so easy for me to get down to
Mississippi that I began to think that mebbe my luck had changed, and
that the Lord had punished me all he was goin’ to. So I went up to the
mill and asked for a job. The foreman told me he’d give me one if I
didn’t mind workin’ with niggers. I told him I didn’t care anything
‘bout that, I guessed they was as good as I was. So I started in. My
whiskers was beginnin’ to grow out some. You know I always kep’ ‘em
shaved off, and now they was comin’ out all over my face, and I made up
my mind to let ‘em grow. I went to work loadin’ saw logs onto a little
car that took ‘em down into the mill. A great big stout nigger worked
with me, and we took long poles and rolled the logs over onto the cars,
and then it was rolled down into the mill and another one come up in its
place. I found the only chance to board was in the big buildin’ where
all the hands lived. I thought this wa’n’t a bad place. Most of the
people boardin’ there was niggers, but there was a few white fellers,
and I naturally got acquainted with ‘em.
“I’d been there a week or two when someone brought a Chicago paper into
the house. It was covered with great big headlines and had my picture on
the front page. It told all ‘bout some boys findin’ her and about the
neighbors hearin’ me call her a damned bitch, and about the kid wakin’
up in the mornin’ and goin’ out in the street to hunt its ma. Then it
offered a thousand dollars reward in great big letters.
“My whiskers had grown out a good deal and I didn’t look so very much
like the picture. Anyhow I don’t think newspaper pictures look much like
anybody. Still, of course, I was awful scart at that. My best chum read
the piece all over out loud to me after we got through work, and he said
it beat all what a place Chicago was; that such things as that was
always happenin’ in Chicago; and that Jackson must have been an awful
bad man—wouldn’t I hate to meet him out in the woods some place! A man
like that would rather kill anybody than eat. I didn’t say much about
it, but of course I didn’t contradict him. But I simply couldn’t talk
very much myself. He said he wished he could get the one thousand
dollars, but no such luck would ever come to him.
“When I’d come there I said my name was Jones, because ‘twas the easiest
one I could think of; there was a butcher right near us that was named
Jones, and it popped into my head at the time. Some of ‘em asked me
where I was from, and I told ‘em Cincinnati. I didn’t know much about
Cincinnati, except that we used to get cars from there, and so I knew
something ‘bout the roads that went to it. I managed to get hold of the
paper and burn it up without anyone seein’ me. But after it came I
didn’t feel so easy as I did before. I stayed there about a month
workin’ at the mill and pickin’ up what I could about the country, and
then I began to think my chum was gettin’ suspicious of me. He kep’
askin’ me a good many questions about what I’d worked at and where’bouts
I had worked, and how I got there from Cincinnati and a lot of questions
about the town, and I thought he was altogether too inquisitive, and of
course I would have told him so if I had dared. Finally I thought the
other fellers was gettin’ suspicious, too, and I thought they kind of
watched me and asked a good many questions. So one time right after I
got my pay I made up my mind to leave. I didn’t wait to say nothin’ to
anyone, but jumped onto a freight train, and went on about fifty miles
or so south to a railroad crossin’ and then I jumped off, and took
another train east. Along next day I saw a little town where there was
another saw mill, so I stopped off and asked for a job. I didn’t have no
trouble goin’ to work, so long as I was willin’ to work with the
niggers, and I stayed there two or three weeks, same as the other place,
and then I thought the boss began to notice me. He asked me a lot of
questions about where I come from, and ‘most everything else he could
think of. I told him I come from St. Louis, but I didn’t know much more
‘bout that place than I did ‘bout Cincinnati, and I guess he didn’t
neither. But as soon as pay-day come I made up my mind I’d better start,
so I took the few duds I’d got together and jumped on another train
goin’ further yet, and went away. Finally I stopped at a little town
that looked rather nice and started out to get a job.
“Ever since I got off the first train I always looked pretty sharp at
everyone to make out whether they was watchin’ me or not. Then I always
got hold of all the newspapers I could find to see if there was anything
more about me. I found another Chicago paper in the depot, and it still
had my picture and the offer of a thousand dollars reward, and said I
must have took one of the freight trains that left the yards, and would
most likely be in the south or in the west. I didn’t like to stay there
any longer after seein’ that paper, but I managed to fold it up the best
I could, and just as quick as I got a chance I tore it to pieces and
threw it away. Then I thought mebbe I’d better get back away from the
railroad. So I seen an old darkey that looked kind of friendly and I
asked him about the country. He told me a good deal about it and I
started out to walk to where he said there was some charcoal pits. I
found the place and managed to get a chance to work burnin’ wood and
tendin’ fires. It was awful black sooty work, but I didn’t care nothin’
about that. The main thing with me was bein’ safe. I had a pardner who
worked with me keepin’ up the fires and lookin’ after the pits at night,
and it looked kind of nice with the red fires of the pits lightin’ up
the woods and ever’thing all ‘round lookin’ just like a picture. When we
got through in the mornin’ you couldn’t tell us from darkies, we was so
covered with smoke and burnt wood. We boarded in a little shanty with an
old nigger lady that fed us on hominy and fried chicken, and we didn’t
have much of any place to sleep that was very good.
“After I’d been there two or three days I got pretty well acquainted
with my pardner. One day he asked me where I was from. I never said
nothin’ to anybody ‘bout where I came from, or where I was goin’, or
asked them any questions about themselves. I just worked steady at my
job, and all I thought of was keepin’ still in hopes it would wear off
in time, and I could start over new. I used to dream a good deal about
her and the boy, and sometimes I’d think we was back there in Chicago
all livin’ together and ever’thing goin’ all right. Then I would dream
that I was out with the boys to a caucus, or goin’ ‘round the saloons
campaignin’ with the alderman. Then I’d dream about fightin’ her and
hittin’ her on the head with the poker, and it seemed as if I throwed
her in Lake Michigan. Then I’d dream about the boy and my learnin’ him
his letters, and his bein’ with me in the wagon when we was peddlin’
potatoes, and about the horse, the old one that died, and the last one I
got at the renderin’-place. Then I’d kind of get down to the peddlin’,
and go over the whole route in my sleep, hollerin’ out ‘po-ta-toes!’ all
along the streets on the west side where I used to go, and the old
Italian women and the Bohemian ladies and all the rest would be out
tryin’ to get ‘em cheaper and tellin’ me how I’d charged too much. Then
I seen the old lady that I give the half peck to, and could hear her ask
all the saints to bless me. Then I stopped into the butcher-shop and got
the steak, and ever’thing I ever done kep’ comin’ back to me, only not
quite the same as it is in real life. You know how ‘tis in a dream; you
want to go somewhere and somethin’ kind of holds your leg and you can’t
go. Or you want to do somethin’ and no matter how hard you try somethin’
is always gettin’ in front of you and hinderin’ you and keepin’ you
back. Well, that’s the way ‘twas with all my dreams; nothin’ turned out
right and I always come back to where I killed her and throwed her in
the lake, till I was almost ‘fraid to go to sleep, and then I was ‘fraid
I’d holler or talk in my sleep. And my chum slep’ in the same room with
me and I was ‘fraid mebbe he’d find it out, so I never dared to go to
sleep until after he did, and then I was always ‘fraid I’d holler and
say somethin’ and wake him up and that he’d find out ‘bout me and what
I’d done.
“Well, as I was sayin’, after I’d been there three or four days we was
down to the pits one night tendin’ to the fires, and we got to talkin’
and tellin’ stories to pass the time away, and at last he asked me where
I was from, and I said St. Louis. He said he was from the north too; I
didn’t ask him where he’d come from, but he told me Chicago. I was
almost scart to death when he mentioned the place. I didn’t ask no
questions nor say a word, but he kep’ on talkin’ so I kind of moved’
round a little and leaned up against a pine tree so’s the light couldn’t
shine right in my face, for I didn’t know what he might say. He told me
that he come down here every winter for his health; that Chicago was so
cold and changeable in the winter; that he worked in the stock-yards
when he was there and he always went back just as soon as he dared, that
there wa’n’t no place in the world like Chicago, and he was always awful
lonesome when he was away, and he wouldn’t ever leave it if he could
only stand the climate. He said there was always somethin’ goin’ on in
Chicago; a feller could get a run for his money no matter what kind of a
game he played; that if he wanted to have a little sport, there was the
pool-rooms and plenty of other places; that if he didn’t have much money
he could get a little game in the back end of a cigar store, or he could
shoot craps; if he wanted a bigger game there was Powers’ & O’Brien’s
and O’Leary’s, and if that wa’n’t enough, then there was the Board of
Trade. There was always lots of excitement in Chicago, too. There was
races and elections and always strikes, and ever’thing goin’ on. Then
there was more murders and hangin’s in Chicago than in any other city.
Take that car-barn case; it couldn’t never have happened anywhere except
in Chicago. And the Luetgert case, where the feller boiled his wife up
in the sausage-vat so that there wa’n’t nothin’ left but one or two
toe-nails, but one doctor identified her by them, and swore they was
toe-nails and belonged to a woman about her size; one of ‘em had seen
her over at a picnic and remembered her, and he was pretty sure that the
toe-nails was hers. Then that Jackson case was the latest; that happened
just a little while before he left, and the papers was full of that one.
Jackson was a peddler and he went ‘round all day and drunk at all the
saloons just so he could get up nerve enough to kill her. He thought she
had some property and he’d get it if she was out of the way, so he
killed her and took her off and put her in a hole where he thought no
one could find her; but they did, and now one of the papers had offered
a thousand dollars reward for him, and they were lookin’ for him all
over the United States. He said as how he took a Chicago paper and kep’
posted on everything and read it every day and wouldn’t be without it
for a minute. And then he asked me if I hadn’t never been to Chicago,
and why I didn’t go. I told him mebbe I would some time, but I’d always
been kind of ‘fraid to go. I didn’t say much but got the subject changed
as soon as possible, and managed to put in the rest of the night the
best I could, and then went home, and after he’d gone to sleep I packed
my valise and paid the nigger lady and told her I had enough of that job
and started off afoot without waitin’ for my pay.
“I went straight down the road for two or three miles till I come to
where another road crossed, then I turned off to the left. I didn’t have
any reason for turnin’, except it seemed as if that would take me more
out of the way. I didn’t see anyone along the road except now and then
some old nigger. I walked several miles, and there didn’t ‘pear to be no
one livin’ on the road except niggers with little shanties same as the
one I left in Chicago. I stopped once and asked an old darkey lady for
somethin’ to eat and she give me some fried chicken and a piece of corn
bread and I sat and et it, and a whole lot of woolly-headed little
pickaninnies sat and looked at me every mouthful. One of ‘em was about
the size of my kid, and made me think of him a good deal; but he didn’t
look nothin’ like him. I guess ‘twas just because he was a boy and about
the age of mine. After I et the chicken and the bread I started on and
traveled all day without seein’ anyone, except niggers, or stoppin’
anywhere except to get a drink in a little stream. When it begun to be
dark I commenced to think what I’d do for the night, and watched out for
a place to stay. So after while I saw an old shack ‘side of the road and
went in. There was some straw and I was so tired that I laid down and
went right to sleep.
“All night I dreamed about bein’ follered. First I thought I was out in
a woods and some hounds was chasin’ me, and I heard ‘em bayin’ way back
on my trail and knew they’s comin’ for me. I run to a little stream and
follered it up same as I used to read in Indian stories, and then
started on again, and after a while I didn’t hear ‘em any more. Then
first thing I knew they commenced bayin’ again and I could tell that
they’d struck my trail, so I run just as fast as ever I could and the
bayin’ kep’ gettin’ louder’n’ louder, and I run through bushes and brush
and ever’thing, and they kep’ gainin’ on me till they was so close that
I got to a little tree where I could almost reach the branches and I got
hold of ‘em and pulled myself up and got ahead of the hounds, but they
come up and set down around the tree and howled and howled so they’d be
heard all through the woods, and I knew it was all up with me; and then
I woke up and found that I was in the barn and no one ‘round except a
cow or a horse that was eatin’ over in a corner. So I tried to go to
sleep again. Then I dreamed that the policemen and detectives was after
me, and first it seemed as if I was runnin’ down a street and the police
was right behind, and then I turned down an alley and they hollered to
me to stop or they’d shoot, but I didn’t stop, and they shot at me and
hit me in the leg, and I fell down and they come up and got me, and then
it seemed as if I was on the cars and detectives was follerin’ me
ever’where, and whenever I stopped them detectives somehow knew where I
was, and they’d come to the place, and I got away and went somewhere
else, and then they’d turn up there, all ready to arrest me, and I
couldn’t go anywhere except they’d follow me. And I kind of saw her
face, and she seemed to be follerin’ me too, only she didn’t seem to
have any legs or much of anything, except just her face and a kind of
long white train and she just come wherever I was, without walkin’ or
ridin’, but just come, and she always seemed to know just the right
place no matter how careful I hid, and when they got all ready to nab me
I woke up. By that time it was daylight and there was a darkey there in
the barn feedin’ a mule, and he said, ‘Hello, boss!’ just as friendly,
and asked me where I was goin’. I told him I was lookin’ for a job, and
he told me he thought that over about four miles to the town I could get
a job. So I told him all right, and asked him if he could give me
somethin’ to eat. He took me into the house and gave me some chicken and
some corn-cakes and told me if I would wait a while he’d hitch up the
mule and take me into town, that he was goin’ anyway. I thanked him and
told him I was in a hurry to get to work, and guessed I wouldn’t wait.
I’d got so I was ‘fraid to talk with anybody. I thought they’d ask me
where I was from, and tell me somethin’ ‘bout Chicago, and mebbe show me
a newspaper with my picture in it.
“Then I went on down the road till I come to a nice town in the middle
of big pine trees. It was full of fine white houses and a few brick
stores, and two or three great big hotels. I asked a nigger what the
place was and he told me it was Thompson, and was a winter resort for
Yankees who come there for their lungs; that they spent lots of money
and that was what made the place so big.