AN EXPENSIVE CHICKEN
At midnight the first telling stroke in the attack on the Cadiz Bank
was made when Eddie Hughes, with a pair of nippers, “turned off” the
key in the front door of the cashier’s house. With him were Big Bill,
Jack Utley, and Tall Jim. On the outside of the house was George
Wilson, standing on guard, ready to send a warning if danger were
approaching from that quarter.
“You remain here in the front hall,” said Hughes to the trio, as he
vanished in the still greater darkness, his only guide being the
occasional flash of a bull’s-eye. He found the cashier’s sleeping room
without much trouble. On a chair at the bedside was the cashier’s
trousers, and in the bed lay their owner and his wife. Both were
sleeping soundly. Hughes decided that the bank keys he wanted were
either in the clothing or under the cashier’s pillow. If under the
pillow, so much the more hazardous the undertaking. He flashed his
light on the sleepers’ faces to make certain all was right. The keys
were found in the trousers, and Hughes had them in hand, when,
evidently disturbed by the instant glimmering of the light, the cashier
awoke. It was a critical moment, and Hughes, knowing it, was prepared.
Instantly, and probably before the victim was fully aware of the true
situation, he felt strong hands about his throat and his face forced in
the bedclothing. The noise of the struggle roused the wife, who cried
out to know what was the matter. It was a terrifying position for her,
to be thus awakened from a sound sleep and in the dark, to hear strange
noises and get no reply to her call. Immediately she became quiet, and
from all accounts I believe she fainted from fright.
In the meantime, the men in the hall, being on the alert, heard the cry
and hastened to the assistance of Hughes. Tall Jim threw a light for
an instant on the scene, and Big Bill helped to subdue the cashier.
Realizing at last his predicament, the latter ceased to resist, and,
cowed by the threat of violence to him and his wife, promised implicit
obedience. Then they were securely bound hand and foot, and left lying
in bed, with Wilson, who had been called in, to remain on guard.
Having secured the keys, Hughes and his associates hastened to the
bank. While they were away, Wilson kept stern guard over his captives,
telling them that if they kept quiet, they would not be harmed.
Ninety-nine persons out of a hundred would have done just as this
cashier did, under the circumstances. Knowing my associates as I
afterward found them, it was well for the cashier and his wife that
they obeyed the instructions to the letter. They were a desperate lot
in a pinch.
In the meanwhile, Hughes led the way to the bank, where they made
a cautious survey of the surroundings, and finding them favorable,
proceeded to make the final strike for the loot. The watchman, who had
been under surveillance the night before, had shown every indication
of being a faithful employee, so it was necessary to make certain just
where he was. This was accomplished by peeping through a window which
did not face the street. The watchman was sitting behind the counter
with his back to the door, and, in the dim light not far from him, he
seemed to be awake.
The importance of making a clean job of overcoming this bar to the
vault was not lost to Hughes, so it was decided that the unlocking of
the bank door must be done so quietly that at least one of our party
would be up to the counter before the watchman knew of his presence.
So, with this in mind, Hughes worked the nippers on the key in the
front door lock. It turned without a click under the deft handling
of the expert, and the door was swung open far enough for Hughes to
peep in. The watchman sat motionless. At the silent signal, all but
Tall Jim sprang over the counter only a step from the door, and
were on top of the victim ere he could make an outcry, or for that
matter knew what was amiss. It took less than a minute to stuff a
rag in his mouth, blindfold him, and bind him securely to his chair.
Hughes stood on guard while Utley and Big Bill went at the vault lock.
The keys did their work, and it was the matter of but a few minutes
to transfer the cash and bonds to a satchel there for the purpose.
Besides this, the lads tied up a big bag of silver coin, weighing
much more than the average man would care to carry a great distance,
even travelling at his leisure. It was a question, considering the
anticipated flight for safety, whether it were wise to burden the
party with the coin; but Jack Utley said they’d better take it along,
and so it was decided. Ready to quit the bank, the doors were left
as they were found, and a quickstep was taken back to the cashier’s
house after Wilson. They found everything satisfactory there, and
with a parting warning to the cashier that one of the party would
remain on guard outside of the house, hurried away as rapidly as they
could, being much hampered by the bag of silver. When all hands became
convinced that the load was much like a millstone about their necks,
Hughes threw it over a barnyard fence, somewhere on the outskirts
of the village. Notwithstanding, this tossing away of so much money
was done with many qualms of regret, and I, upon hearing of it, in a
measure could understand the feelings of my associates. No doubt some
early-rising farm lad that day made big, round eyes when he espied the
prize. Subsequent information has not enlightened me as to whether the
bag of coin ever found its way back to the Cadiz Bank. Unhampered by
money,--so strange would be the term without the explanation,--the lads
now made a dash for the hand-car shanty, Hughes, being fleet of foot,
leading with the precious black bag of treasure tightly gripped.
* * * * *
There being no one in the house besides the cashier and his wife, no
relief came to them till their negro serving-woman, who slept at home,
reported for duty at five A.M. On going to the pantry, its tumbled
condition led her to suspect something was amiss. A moment later and
she had discovered her master and mistress in their wretched plight and
released them. But for Jack Utley’s pantry thieving, in which he, among
other things, carried off two pies, they would have remained prisoners
some time longer. As soon as possible the cashier was at the bank,
where he found the poor night watchman in his unpleasant situation.
Severing the bonds, he demanded to know how it all had happened,
not forgetting to berate the poor fellow for being overcome by the
robbers. No doubt the cashier had forgotten his own helplessness in
his vain search for something soothing for his mind, fully realizing
that he and the other officials of the bank had a grave situation to
face. He lost little time, however, in this sort of meditation, but,
ascertaining in a general way what the loss was, alarmed the constables
and sent a fleet-footed messenger to the house of the sheriff, some
distance away. Then he went to the bank president’s residence, knocked
him out of bed, and, pale-faced, told him briefly what had happened,
after which there was a consultation as to what steps must be taken to
capture the burglars and recover the property. At the earliest moment
telegrams were sent to the near-by cities and railway stations, asking
that all suspicious men be detained, with the hope that such a drag-net
would bag the game.
About this time the section men found their car shanty broken open and
empty. They had not heard of the bank robbery, but on complaining of
their loss to the authorities, the latter at once saw a clew that might
put them on the track of the bank looters. There was only one way that
the hand-car could be run, and that was toward Cadiz Junction, ten
miles away. Those for whom they sought had at least three hours the
start, they argued, so the problem which confronted them was to reduce
that advantage, and the only thing to accomplish it was a locomotive.
That was hired and steamed up in the shortest possible time, and when
it was ready to move, a posse of constables, several deputy sheriffs,
and still others not vested with official authority, all armed for any
encounter, was at hand, and, piling aboard, the pursuit soon began.
A close watch was kept on both sides of the track with the hope of soon
finding the hand-car. It was not believed that the burglars would do
other than make a break for the more open country. The question was
how far they would go by rail before branching off into the wooded
land, which was not inconsiderable in that particular neighborhood. Not
coming across the car at Cadiz Junction, the pursuers learned, a little
beyond there to the eastward, that one had been seen going in that
direction, so, putting on all steam, they sped toward Steubenville.
Presently the overturned car was sighted, and the party got down to
reconnoitre; whereupon they found many footprints, which lay like
a beaten path from the railroad side, across the fence and into a
ploughed field.
Satisfied that the game for which they sought was not far off, as the
marks in the soft earth were still fresh, the pursuers examined their
weapons, and, quitting the track, bent to the trail. They lost it upon
reaching the field of grass, but, sighting a ridge of trees, decided
that there was the point to which their game would steer. Reaching the
woods, they began to make a thorough search, presently coming across
footprints alongside a brook, besides some crumbs, which they made out
to be bread. Here, they declared, the men they wanted had breakfasted.
The footmarks led to a stone a few feet up the ravine. There they
ended, to the confusion of the posse, which then began to make a search
of any hiding-place they could find. For hours they kept at it, many
times giving up their task, and as many times going at it again.
* * * * *
“That was a d--d narrow call!” whispered Tall Jim to me, as we, almost
breathless, listened to the tramping of receding feet.
“I don’t know how they came to overlook us,” I returned softly, as I
rubbed the cold drops of sweat from my forehead. I was trembling like a
leaf in a strong wind.
There we were, packed in the cave I had so fortunately found, like so
many figs in a box. A moment before several of our pursuers had been
standing on the rocky ledge above us, talking in our very ears. Not
more than ten feet away, we heard them declaring their belief that we
were hiding in that very neighborhood; that we had had no opportunity
to get away, for if that were the case some of the farmers thereabouts
would have seen us. Twice before this some of the posse had been on the
same shelving rock and discussed us without stint, for the most part
their talk being far from complimentary to us; yet on one occasion I
heard a man speak as to our sagacity in so skilfully keeping clear of
their most diligent “search and scouring of every nook and corner,” as
he described it. From the moment we heard the approach of our enemy,
when they beat into every hole and seam of the ravine in a vain search
there; from the moment they discovered the crumbs of pie that Jack
Utley introduced in the ravine, which caused the posse to declare that
the trail was getting hot,--we lay in our hole in the ground, with a
few scrub trees or bushes between us and discovery, wondering what
the outcome would be. When I say “we,” I mean all but Eddie Hughes
and George Wilson. They appeared to be so exhausted for want of sleep
that they would slide off into a snoring match that I could only break
off by the frequent use of a pin. At the time the pursuers made the
second visit to the rock over us, I vow that I jabbed it into Wilson’s
leg a score of times, to suppress a rising, insistent snore, and then
the pain was so great that it awoke him enough to induce a bad humor.
He was about to rip out an oath, which I smothered at its birth by
pressing my hand hard over his mouth and whispering in his ear. Then he
awoke to the danger we were in. Between caring for these sleepers and
wondering how long it would be before we would be marched to jail, if
we escaped with our lives, I passed a most uncomfortable day, to say
the least. It was well toward the fading of the afternoon when the
enemy paid us a final visit; and when an hour had worn by and nothing
more was heard of them, we began to take hope. Tall Jim had remarked
many times in that hour upon the narrow margin that had lain between us
and discovery.
“We owe it to you, George!” he said to me half a dozen times. “That
ravine was a mighty hot place soon after we left it.”
I said nothing to these reminders of my sound judgment, but I felt
a sense of satisfaction, as no doubt any one would, under similar
circumstances.
Finally the shades of night began to come down, and with them we
crawled from our cramped quarters, and having scanned the immediate
neighborhood as best we could in the twilight, found our way to the
brook in the ravine, where we treated ourselves to a good wash and
quenched our thirst, using our hands for cups. Feeling somewhat better,
but subject to very serious clamorings for food, we started for the
Ohio River, hoping to follow it until we reached Wheeling. We had not
gone far when I became convinced that we were moving in the wrong
direction, and so informed the lads. Jack Utley, still smarting over
the morning’s experience, insisted that we were on the right course. He
was so positive, while I, though convinced in my own mind, would not
declare so to a certainty, that the boys would not say nay to him. So,
snubbing me and insisting upon calling me an upstart, Utley continued
his leadership. About midnight, or thereabouts, we came to a small
stream of water, which we were forced to wade, with the result that we
had a good wetting added to our discomfort, the water coming well up to
our waists. Reaching the other side, to my astonishment Utley, who was
still in the lead, started up-stream.
“Now, see here, lads,” said I, savagely, “we are all wrong as to our
course.” I added, “Do you want to make the Ohio River?”
“Certainly,” replied Tall Jim.
“Well,” I went on, “this stream empties into the Ohio, and you’ll never
find it by going up hill.”
“You have a cheek to tell me what course to take,” put in Utley,
angrily, adding a curse by way of emphasis. Turning to Wilson, he
asked, “Are you going to stick with me, or are you for that interloper?”
With this thrust at me, he resumed the course up-stream, the others
following meekly; and I, hardly knowing what to do under the
conditions, trailed on, but doing some pretty tall thinking. After
what seemed about half an hour, Tall Jim called on Utley to halt and
declared he thought I was right. This brought forth an argument from
the obstructionist, and considerable time was wasted in high words,
but to my relief it resulted in our course being reversed. Retracing
our steps, we continued alongside the stream, and as we pushed on the
moon showed its face, in some respects to our advantage, in others
not so much so. In the first place, it made travelling, which had been
difficult, easier, the darkness often causing us to pitch headlong into
pitfalls, and, on the other hand, the better light made a much surer
mark of us, should we chance upon our enemies. As it was not within our
power to control the queen o’ the night, we tramped on, taking a great
chance of losing our liberty. Finally I decided to brave the bulldozing
tactics of Jack Utley, and, addressing my words to George Wilson,
though in a way to all, I said, “It’s sheer folly to expose ourselves
like this!”
But Wilson cautioned me to refrain from expressing my views a few
minutes longer, which I did, though feeling that we were walking into
the lion’s mouth. It was somewhat near two o’clock when we came to a
pike road, running parallel with the stream, and upon pursuing it for a
short distance, we came up to a small village. The lads were inclined
to pass through it, but then I would not be kept quiet.
“I’ll not go a step farther,” was my decision. “Here we are, in a light
fit to read a newspaper, taking this tremendous chance. I’ll not do it
longer.”
Addressing myself to Wilson, I continued: “You must know that the whole
country has heard of the robbery by this time, and here we are, six
of us, wandering through a strange land, half the time not knowing
where we are going. It’s simply a case of breaking in jail, instead of
keeping out of it.”
Again Wilson urged me to stick to him and the gang, and to show a
disposition to be ruled by the majority, whatever my private opinions
might be.
“Now, George,” I went on, “if there is anything coming to me, I’ll meet
you in New York and get it.”
Still he, in a most kindly way, urged me to keep along with them,
declaring it would not be for much longer. As I owed considerable to
him for admitting me to the gang, and as he had always treated me in
the most cordial manner, I consented to go on with them for a short
time. In the meantime, I will say that we didn’t pass through the heart
of the village!
I think we had gone about two miles farther when we sighted the
Ohio River. There we paused for a moment, to realize what we had
accomplished. It came back forcibly that we had passed over a very
eventful Sunday and a night of travel into Monday, and had, in fact,
been on the move or the anxious seat for more than twenty-four hours.
Indeed, much had happened since we made that precipitous flight from
the Cadiz car shanty. I shall never forget it.
Having our course well in hand now, we soon came up to the railroad,
which would take us direct to Wheeling. As we plodded along the ties,
we had less to think about our bearings, and consequently more time
to lend an ear to the yearnings of our stomachs. We were much in need
of food to sustain our strength, for there was no telling what we
yet had to encounter. Jack Utley was particularly hungry; or if not
more so than the rest of us, he was less philosophical about it, for
he presently insisted that he must appease the inner man at any risk
whatsoever.
“I’ll tackle the first hen-roost I spot,” said he, emphatically.
“Better starve the stomach a little, than bar the whole body,” spoke
up Tall Jim, with an observable emphasis on the word “bar,” which I
interpreted to mean jail. Thus thinking, I nudged Jim, by whose side I
was walking.
Just then we came abreast of a barnyard, upon spying which Utley
started on a sharp trot toward it. I had a vision of dogs, flying men,
and clews thick enough to capture a regiment. I presume it would have
been fully as well if I had kept my own counsel, but here was a man not
only endangering his own neck, but putting me in the same fix with him.
“Jack Utley, you fool!” I cried to him as loudly as I dared, “don’t you
dare to do it. What’s hunger alongside of our liberty?”
All I heard was a smothered reply, the tenor of which I could guess
without hitting wide of the mark, and he went on his way, while we
continued on ours, hearing no sound for upward of three minutes. Then
there came to us a loud squawking of a chicken, which was quickly
stifled, only to be succeeded by a chorus of similar squawks, the
difference in them being their tones, some tenor, others of a lower
scale of voice, the whole making a most discordant and disheartening
din to our ears. I seemed to see ourselves in a pretty mess. There lay
the farm-house, plain in the moonlight, and just in the rear was the
barn. Two minutes later Utley came rushing up behind us with a big fowl
stuffed under his coat, but a dead one, he having wrung its neck.
The curses we flung at him from all sides were like so much water on a
duck’s back, his only retort being something about his stomach,--that
it had to be considered once in a while. I feared the worst would come
of this experience, and so remarked to the whole lot of them. As we
went on I thought I heard the slam of a door, and, halting the lads for
an instant, listened intently, but heard nothing more like it.
After hurrying forward for two miles or more, a deep cut was
encountered, through which the track went, curving somewhat to the
left where the bank on either side was the highest. Notwithstanding
the bright moonlight, there was plenty of shadow at this curve, and
not knowing what the darkness might conceal from us, we halted while
Hughes went to investigate. He returned in a few minutes, and we could
tell by his manner that he had something interesting to relate.
“What do you think,” said he, in beginning, “I found at the other end
of the cut? There was a shanty with several straw bunks in it. I did
the soft-foot and found there wasn’t any one inside, but there had
been, for the straw was yet warm from the duffers that had lain in it.
A little beyond the shanty, sitting against a pile of ties, I saw two
men, smoking pipes, because I could see the fire of the tobacco. On the
way back I tripped my foot against something, and, by--, if it wasn’t a
rope stretched across the track. It was lucky for me that I hit it just
as I did, else there would have been a row.”
Immediately I saw in this rope a trap that had been laid for us. It was
expected that any one hurrying along that way would stumble over the
rope and thus give an alarm. Evidently the men hanging about the shanty
were officers of the law, waiting for us, but as it was getting very
late they had given up the idea of seeing us that night. I was about to
say this to Hughes, but he continued: “It was well for us that the moon
was up and we thought best to investigate that cut. It was a trap dead
set for us, boys, you can bet your very last cent.”
“Right you are, Eddie,” said Big Bill, who seldom said anything. It was
a pretty important matter that brought an unnecessary word from him.
There was nothing to be done but to make a wide _détour_, which we
did, returning to the railroad about half a mile below the shanty.
Continuing this route until half daylight, we concluded to leave the
track and strike off into the country and camp there for the day. We
had gone a mile, or such a matter, when we came up to a strip of woods
in which was a deserted hut.
“Here’s where I eat chicken,” said Utley, as soon as he set eyes on the
place. “I don’t stir from here, cops or no cops, till my belly stops
grumbling. Do you all hear?”
I waited for one of the others to protest against building a fire, but
no word came, so I spoke up, though much against my will: “For heaven’s
sake, Utley, don’t attempt to roast your chicken here. It’s daylight
now, and smoke can be seen for miles. It’ll betray us, as sure as
hades.”
“Now, youngster, stop your confounded blathering,” was his reply. “I’ll
tell you once for all, my belly isn’t going hungry when chicken’s
around.”
And, true to his threat, he started a fire, which sent up a cloud of
smoke, and after half an hour he passed around portions of the fowl,
which, though not well enough cooked, was most grateful eating. I was
too hungry to refuse a drumstick when George Wilson handed me one,
and I confess that I ate it greedily, not having had a morsel to eat
for fully thirty-six hours. I had disdainfully declined to partake of
Utley’s pie in the ravine away back.
“Now that you’ve made a smoke, Jack,” said I, “let’s move our camp to
another clump of woods I see about a mile farther on, before the fire
of another sort comes on the heels of your smoke.”
My persuasion was potent, and presently we were located in a sort of
hollow on a wooded side-hill. At the base of the hill was a thick
undergrowth, and beyond that was a brook in a meadow. We had a splendid
vantage, from which we could see any one approaching from the lowland.
But our rear faced the railroad, and at the top of the hill was an open
ploughed field. As to danger coming from over the hill at the rear,
most of us thought that it wouldn’t reach us that way.
The time had now come when the treasure satchel was to be opened and
the division made. Eddie Hughes was master of the treasury, and as such
divided the cash and bonds into six equal parts. This was interesting
to me, for I wasn’t sure that I would be reckoned in a share and share
alike, but would be put off with a few hundred dollars. The total
amount of the haul was a few hundreds more than two hundred and fifty
thousand dollars, consequently I was given forty-two thousand for my
share, seven thousand of which was in paper money.
Strange things have happened in my life of turmoil, but no incident
has impressed me in so peculiar a manner as when my eyes fell on the
first twenty-dollar bill handed me by Hughes. I read on the face of
the bill the name of “C. L. Beals, Cashier,” and when I saw after
this signature, “First National Bank of Winchendon, Massachusetts,” I
knew that the author of that signature was a man with whom I had done
thousands of dollars’ worth of business, had sold him carload upon
carload of grain and other merchandise. It seemed as though there must
be some hidden significance in that strip of paper money, belonging
away up in New England, coming into my possession as a part of the
proceeds of the first bank burglary in which I had engaged. There I sat
on the side-hill on Ohio soil and looked long on this reminder of my
own native hills far away.
Presently George Wilson asked me if I were magnetized by the money
god, which aroused me from my revery. I said nothing of what had so
engrossed me, deeming it too sacred for discussion. I carefully wrapped
my treasure in a piece of brown paper which Hughes gave me, and put
it in my pocket. All but Wilson did likewise. He scratched away some
dead leaves from under a log and hid his share there. It was in a small
satchel. He said that he wouldn’t lose it in case we were surprised by
the constables.
In thinking over my treasure I could not but feel some satisfaction in
possessing it, though I had committed a crime. But a week before I had
left New York with only a few dollars, five of which I could actually
claim as my own. Here I was, the owner of more than forty thousand
dollars. I felt myself growing so satisfied with having this money,
gained through crime, that I tried to crush the feeling. It seemed
impossible. There was some compensation, at least, in having the “name”
and the “game.” Hitherto I had had the “name” and some one else had the
game. In the former case I had been dealt out rare injustice, in which
I had lost my hard-earned competence, but now, though I had the name of
being a thief, yet I also had the “game,” and that several thousands
of dollars more than I had ever possessed. But on the heels of these
reflections, some of which were far from soothing, I was presently
drawn to the fact that I was not yet out of the woods, possibly my
revery being interrupted by hearing Big Bill tell what his plans would
be when he got back to New York.
“Better not count your chickens before they’re hatched,” was my
comment, in a tone of warning, yet withal said good-naturedly.
Jack Utley, who had been discussing Big Bill’s plans, seized upon the
opportunity to take another thrust at me. Said he: “You’re always
conjuring up bugaboos. How the devil is it possible for the cops to
trail us here in these woods?”
“Squawking fowls and smoking fires, Jack Utley,” I retorted, being
unable to refrain from poking back at him. He shrugged his broad
shoulders, smothered an oath, and went back to the air-castle building
with Bill. After they had tired of that pastime, they and the others
spread themselves out on the ground and prepared to sleep. Before
Wilson dropped off he and I had agreed to leave the party at nightfall
and strike out on our own hook. I told him that he might rest easy;
that I would stay on guard, as I feared that we would not get out of
our troubles so easily as some of us thought.
The day wore on slowly enough, as I watched the declining sun or
kept my ears trained for any suspicious sounds and my eyes alert for
anything that might indicate the approach of the enemy. I longed for
twilight, when Wilson and I would leave the gang.