THE ROBBERY--CUMMINGS' NARROW ESCAPE--THE CAPTURE OF MORIARITY--JIM
CUMMINGS SLIPS FROM THE TOILS--MR. PINKERTON TAKES A HAND.
The ranche was asleep. Heavy breathing and deep snores from the
sleeping-rooms indicated that slumber had fallen on all the inmates.
Swanson, who had been repeatedly urged to drink by Cummings and
Moriarity and had accepted every invitation, was stretched on his back
a drunken mass of stupidity.
The stamping of the horses and distant movements of the thousands of
head of cattle alone broke the silence of the night and the darkness
had cast its pall over the entire place.
In the large room Scip and the Doctor coolly and calmly awaited the
hour of their triumph. Fear was a stranger to both, and as they quietly
conversed in whispered accents it would be difficult to believe that
they were about to engage in a most desperate enterprise. In another
room lay Cummings and Moriarity, completely dressed. The former, with
his habitual sang froid, was whispering to Moriarity, who, somewhat
excited, was calmed by his companion's nonchalance, and as the hour for
the work drew near became like him. A stealthy step, noiseless as an
Indian's, interrupted the conversation, and the faint rap on the door
gave them the long-looked-for signal.
Creeping on their hands and knees down the hall past Swanson's door,
through which his hoarse breathing could be heard, the two men entered
the room in which the treasure was stored. The dying embers in the
fire-place created a dull glow, showing the Doctor and Scip, booted and
spurred, standing in the center of the room. Softly Cummings approached
the picture, his finger found the spring through the canvas and,
pressing it hard, the frame swung slowly forward as if reluctant to
give up its precious charge.
Rapidly taking one bag after another from the cavity Cummings passed
them to Moriarity, who placed them in the bags prepared for them.
The Doctor and Scip had gone outside and now brought the four horses
nearer the door. This they did that they might have as little to do
with the robbery as possible, and they had so managed it that Jim and
Dan had done the actual theft.
Moriarity had brought two of the bags which the Doctor had placed on
his own and Scip's horse and had gone back for the third, when the door
from the inner hall opened, and, his tangled hair hanging in mats over
his eyes, his clothing disarranged, his face purple with rage and a
revolver in each hand, Swanson appeared before the surprised robbers.
The dim light of the fire showed the picture open, and befogged as his
brain was by the whisky, he realized he was being robbed, and with a
roar like a mad bull he sprang upon Cummings.
Swift as a flash Cummings' fist, sent forward with all the force of his
powerful frame, struck the ranchman under the ear, and tossing his arms
above his head he fell like a dead man on the floor.
The sound of many feet hurrying to the scene was heard and, leaving the
bag which he was about to take when Swanson sprang on him, Cummings
bolted through the door, vaulted on his horse and followed closely by
his companions, rushed swiftly into the darkness. It was none too soon,
for at once a half score of men poured from the house, and the vicious
snap of the rifles, followed by the pin-n-n-g of the bullets, as they
cut the air close to their heads, caused the four men to drive their
spurs into their ponies until the blood dropped from their lacerated
flanks.
Galloping swiftly to where the herding ponies were tethered, Cummings
sprang from his horse and, whipping out his keen bowie knife, cut
lariat after lariat, stampeding the whole herd. This done he remounted
his horse, saying,
"NOW, we can take our time. They won't get a horse to saddle under an
hour," cantered off with an easy, strength-saving gait.
"Curse that Swanson," broke in Cummings, after riding in silence a few
moments. "Curse him, he kept me from making an extra ten thousand by
his cursed appearance."
Neither the Doctor nor Scip replied to this outburst from the
disappointed outlaw. The time for action was coming, and as fast as
their horses could gallop, the two outlaws were riding toward the trap
laid for them. Leaning forward, with the skill of an expert pickpocket,
Scip drew the revolver from the holster on Cummings' saddle, and
dropped it in the dry grass which bordered the trail. Watching his
opportunity, he pushed his horse against Moriarity, and in the slight
confusion caused by the collision, he managed to obtain Dan's revolver
in the same way. A whisper told the doctor that this had been done, and
the disguised detectives each rode beside the man which they were to
capture, the Doctor keeping his eye on Cummings and Scip ready to pull
Moriarity off his horse at the proper time.
On the other side of the river, or divide, dark shadows stood under the
few cottonwood trees, motionless and quiet as the grave, their ears
strained to catch the first sound of their quarry, and their hands
grasping the ready revolver.
The far-off sound of galloping horses warned them that the time to act
had come, and soon the splashing of the water in the creek told them to
stand ready.
The voice of Scip was heard saying in loud tones:
"Heah's de trail, gemmen, ovah dis yah way."
The scurry of hoofs as the horses clambered up the steep banks, the
low-spoken words of encouragement which were given their steeds by the
robbers, and suddenly the shrill whistle giving the long-looked-for
signal rang out on the still air.
As Scip gave the whistle he passed his arm around Moriarity, saying:
"Dan Moriarity, you are my prisoner."
His words were instantly followed by the rush of the detectives who had
been lying in ambush, and Moriarity, taken completely by surprise,
threw his hands above his head in token of surrender, and then
passively submitted to having the darbies snapped on his wrists.
Cummings, at the first note of the vibrating signal, had his eyes
opened. His hand flew to his holster, and the mocking laugh of the
detective followed the discovery that his revolver was gone.
Sam laid his hand on the outlaw's shoulder, and pressing his revolver
against his head, called on him to surrender.
Throwing his hands over his head as Moriarity had done, he suddenly
brought his clinched fists full against Sam's temple, putting into the
blow the strength of three men. Without a groan the detective's head
sank forward, his revolver dropped from his nerveless grasp, and he lay
unconscious on his horse's back.
A yell of exultation, and Cummings, turning his horse, dashed down the
bank, through the stream, and disappeared in the darkness on the other
side.
Instantly the detectives followed, leaving two men to guard Moriarity,
for in the darkness Sam's condition was not noticed, but seeing the
folly of attempting a pursuit in so dark a night, Chip's whistle
recalled them, and the chagrined and disappointed operatives gathered
around the cottonwood trees.
Sam, who had merely been stunned, soon recovered, and with the aid of
some brandy Richard was himself once more.
The notorious Jim Cummings had escaped, but two of his accomplices,
Cook and Moriarity, were in the clutches of the law.
Dan maintained a dogged silence as the cavalcade cantered toward Kansas
City, nor did he speak a word until he was safe behind the bars in that
city.
"You have caught me by a dirty, shabby trick, but you will never lay
your hands on Jim Cummings," he boasted.
To this Chip replied with a smile, "We'll see, Daniel, we'll see. Make
yourself comfortable, for you will stay here a good long time, my cock
robin."
A growl and a curse was all that Dan deigned to answer, and turning on
his heel Chip left the prison.
Mr. Pinkerton, who had received almost daily reports of what had
occurred, which reports Chip had contrived to mail through some one of
the detectives disguised as cowboys, now telegraphed that he would be
in Kansas City the following night. Chip and Sam met him at the railway
station and he accompanied them to Chip's room.
A full and detailed recital of all that occurred was given him by his
subordinates, who then put the case in his hands.
"Boys," he said, "we must get one of these men, either Cook or
Moriarity, to squeal."
"They are both afraid of Jim Cummings, I can see that in every word
they speak," said Chip, "they would rather go to Jefferson City than to
turn State's evidence."
"We must work on them in some other manner, then. Sam," turning to the
detective, "are you a good hand at forgery?"
"I can imitate most any one's handwriting," said Sam. "Sit down and I
will dictate a letter to you."
Sam, taking some paper from the table, wrote as Mr. Pinkerton dictated.
MR. WILLIAM PINKERTON:
DEAR SIR--The letter I wrote to the St. Louis Globe-Democrat is all
correct, excepting that I did not tell who plugged the bell-cord. The
man, Dan Moriarity, who is now under arrest in Kansas City, was the man
who did it. He also forged the order which I gave to the messenger
Fotheringham, and was the one who planned the robbery. I make this
statement, relying on your word of honor to secure me a light sentence
if I turn State's evidence and give information leading to the recovery
of the money which I secured.
Yours truly, JIM CUMMINGS.
Mr. Pinkerton, taking from his pocket-book the train robber's letter
which he wrote to the St. Louis newspaper, handed it to Sam.
"There is a letter in Jim's handwriting. Now sit down and write this
letter in the same hand."
In an hour the detective had completed his work and laid the forged
letter before his superior. It was cleverly done, and Mr. Pinkerton
felt satisfied.
"Now for the jail," he said, and accompanied by his two "bowers," as he
often called them, he left the room and walked to the Kansas City jail.