I never will forget the night that Canada Bill and myself were on
the Michigan Southern Road, where we had been working for some
time, and finally shaken down a man for $1,200. He telegraphed
ahead for a warrant to arrest Canada Bill, and I knew that Bill
would have to hustle, as the cars would be searched. I hurried
him into the sleeper and found a top berth that was empty, while
a lady occupied the lower. Her dress was laying in the top berth,
and she was fast asleep in the lower one.
"Bill, jump into this," I cried, holding up the garment.
He refused at first, but as the emergency was desperate, at last
consented, and, tying a handkerchief around his head, his face
being as smooth as a baby's, made as fine a looking woman as you
would want to see.
Along came the officers with the conductor and lantern, and searched
all the berths in the sleeper; but as soon as they spied the two
ladies in the two berths, upper and lower, they apologized and
hastily withdrew. When I was asked where Bill was, I informed
everybody that he had gotten off, and I feared was seriously injured.
Reaching Detroit early in the morning, Bill managed to escape from
the cars unnoticed, and I got out at the depot as if nothing had
happened.
Another time, on the Missouri Pacific from Kansas City to St. Louis,
Bill and I succeeded in beating a Jew out of a few hundred dollars.
He was a gamey little hooked-nosed son of Abraham, and, like all
the rest of his class, loved money as a duck does water. So when
he was on the platform he drew a pistol from his hip pocket, and
resolved in an instant to die, thinking, no doubt, it was preferable
for a Jew to be dead, rather than penniless.
Placing the muzzle to his mouth, he pulled the trigger. A flash,
loud report, when all the passengers rushed out to see what had
happened. The Jew lay on the platform, bleeding at the mouth. We
straightened him up, held over his head to spit out the blood, when
out dropped the bullet. Two of his teeth were gone, which must
have checked the speed of the bullet, as it had found lodgment in
the rear of his mouth. Of course he didn't die, but he had a close
call.
Bill and I made a good deal of money one night going up on the cars
from Jackson, Miss., to Vicksburg. The suckers began to kick, and
I saw trouble ahead, so I told Bill to hustle into the sleeper,
but he sat still. I went on into the smoking car. A large man
grappled Bill, and, pulling a long bowie-knife, demanded every
dollar he had won, and the watches. The conductor hurriedly called
me, and grabbing my Betsy Jane, I rushed back just in time to knock
one of the men senseless with the butt end of the weapon, which I
drew on the rest and held them at bay. This was long enough to
allow Bill a chance to reach the platform, pull the bell cord, and
jump off. I was not long in following, and that, too, was too
close a call to be styled pleasant.