SOME time before this (when I was still working for the
_Globe-Democrat_), there had occurred on the Missouri Pacific, about one
hundred and fifty miles west of St. Louis a hold-up, the story of which
interested me, although I had nothing to do with it. According to the
reports, seven lusty and daring bandits, all heavily armed and
desperate, had held up an eight-car Pullman and baggage express train
between one and two of the morning at a lonely spot, and after overawing
the passengers, had compelled the engineer and fireman to dismount,
uncouple the engine and run it a hundred paces ahead, then return and
help break open the door of the express car. This they did, using a
stick of dynamite or giant powder handed them by one of the bandits. And
then both were made to enter the express car, where, under the eye of
one of the bandits and despite the presence of the express messenger,
who was armed yet overawed, they were compelled to blow open the safe
and carry forth between twenty and thirty thousand dollars in bills and
coin, which they deposited on the ground in sacks and packages for the
bandits. Then, if you please, they were compelled to re-enter their
engine, back it up and couple it to the train and proceed upon their
journey, leaving the bandits to gather up their booty and depart.
Naturally such a story was of great interest to St. Louis, as well as to
all the other cities near at hand. It smacked of the lawlessness of the
’forties. All banks, express companies, railroads and financial
institutions generally were intensely interested. The whole front page
was given to this deed, and it was worth it, although during my short
career in journalism in this region no less than a dozen amazing train
robberies took place in as many months in the region bounded by the
Mississippi and the Rockies, the Canadian line and the Gulf. Four or
five of them occurred within a hundred miles of St. Louis.
The truth about this particular robbery was that there had not been
seven bandits but just one, an ex-railroad hand, turned robber for this
occasion only, and armed, as subsequent developments proved, with but a
brace of revolvers, each containing six shots, and a few sticks of
fuse-prepared giant powder! Despite the glowing newspaper account which
made of this a most desperate and murderous affair, there had been no
prowling up and down the aisles of the cars by bandits armed to the
teeth, as a number of passengers insisted (among whom was the Governor
of the State, his Lieutenant-Governor, several officers of his staff,
all returning from a military banquet or feast somewhere). Nor was there
any shooting at passengers who ventured to peer out into the darkness.
Just this one lone bandit, who was very busy up in the front attending
to the robbing. What made this story all the more ridiculous in the
light of later developments was that at the time the train stopped in
the darkness and the imaginary bandits began to shout and fire shots,
and even to rob the passengers of their watches, pins, purses, these
worthies of the State, or so it was claimed in guffawing newspaper
circles afterward, crawled under their seats or into their berths and
did not emerge until the train was well on its way once more. Long
before the true story of the lone bandit came out, the presence of the
Governor and his staff was well known and had lent luster to the deed
and strengthened the interest which later attached to the story of the
real bandit.
The St. Louis newspaper files for 1893 will show whether or not I am
correct. This lone bandit, as it was later indisputably proved, was
nothing more than an ex-farm hand turned railroad hand and then
“baggage-smasher” at a small station. Owing to love and poverty he had
plotted this astounding coup, which, once all its details were revealed,
fascinated the American public from coast to coast. That a lone
individual should undertake such an astounding task was uppermost in
everybody’s mind, including that of our city editors, and to the task of
unraveling it they now bent their every effort.
When the robbery occurred I was working for the _Globe-Democrat_; later,
when it was discovered by detectives working for the railroad and the
express company who the star robber was, I was connected with the
_Republic_. Early one afternoon I was shown a telegram from some
backwoods town in Missouri—let us say Bald Knob, just for a name’s
sake—that Lem Rollins (that name will do as well as any other), an
ex-employee of the Missouri Pacific, had been arrested by detectives for
the road and express company for the crime, and that upon searching his
room they had found most of the stolen money. Also, because of other
facts with which he had been confronted he had confessed that he and he
alone had been guilty of the express robbery. The dispatch added that he
had shown the detectives where the remainder of the money lay hidden,
and that this very afternoon he would be en route to St. Louis,
scheduled to arrive over the St. Louis & San Francisco, and that he
would be confined in the county jail here. Imagine the excitement. The
burglar had not told how he had accomplished this great feat, and here
he was now en route to St. Louis, and might be met and interviewed on
the train. From a news point of view the story was immense.
When I came in Wandell exclaimed: “I’ll tell you what you do,
Dreiser—Lord! I thought you wouldn’t come back in time! Here’s a St.
Louis & San Francisco time-table; according to it you can take a local
that leaves here at two-fifteen and get as far as this place, Pacific,
where the incoming express stops. It’s just possible that the _Globe_
and the other papers haven’t got hold of this yet—maybe they have, but
whatever happens, we won’t get licked, and that’s the main thing.”
I hurried down to the Union Station, but when I asked for a ticket to
Pacific, the ticket agent asked “Which road?”
“Are there two?”
“Sure, Missouri Pacific, and St. Louis & San Francisco.”
“They both go to the same place, do they?”
“Yes; they meet there.”
“Which train leaves first?”
“St. Louis & San Francisco. It’s waiting now.”
I hurried to it, but the thought of this other road in from Pacific
troubled me. Suppose the bandit should be on the other train instead of
on this! I consulted with the conductor when he came for my ticket and
was told that Pacific was the only place at which these two roads met,
one going west and the other southwest from there. “Good,” I thought.
“Then he is certain to be on this line.”
But now another thought came to me: supposing reporters from other
papers were aboard, especially the _Globe-Democrat_! I rose and walked
forward to the smoker, and there, to my great disgust and nervous
dissatisfaction, was Galvin, red-headed, serene, a cigar between his
teeth, slumped low in his seat smoking and reading a paper as calmly as
though he were bent upon the most unimportant task in the world.
“How now?” I asked myself. “The _Globe_ has sent that swine! Here he is,
and these country detectives and railroad men will be sure, on the
instant, to make friends with him and do their best to serve him. They
like that sort of man. They may even give him details which they will
refuse to give me. I shall have to interview my man in front of him, and
he will get the benefit of all my questions! At his request they may
even refuse to let me interview him!”
I returned to my seat nervous and much troubled, all the more so because
I now recalled Galvin’s threat. But I was determined to give him the
tussle of his life. Now we would see whether he could beat me or
not—not, if fair play were exercised; of that I felt confident. Why, he
could not even write a decent line! Why should I be afraid of him?...
But I was, just the same.
As the dreary local drew near Pacific I became more and more nervous.
When we drew up at the platform I jumped down, all alive with the
determination not to be outdone. I saw Galvin leap out, and on the
instant he spied me. I never saw a face change more quickly from an
expression of ease and assurance to one of bristling opposition and
distrust. How he hated me. He looked about to see who else might
dismount, then, seeing no one, he bustled up to the station agent to see
when the train from the west was due. I decided not to trail, and sought
information from the conductor, who assured me that the eastbound
express would probably be on time, five minutes later.
“It always stops here, does it?” I inquired anxiously.
“It always stops.”
As we talked Galvin came back to the platform and stood looking up the
track. Our train now pulled out, and a few minutes later the whistle of
the express was heard. Now for a real contest, I thought. Somewhere in
one of those cars would be the bandit surrounded by detectives, and my
duty was to get to him first, to explain who I was and begin my
questioning, overawing Galvin perhaps with the ease with which I should
take charge. Maybe the bandit would not want to talk; if so I must make
him, cajole him or his captors, or both. No doubt, since I was the
better interviewer, or so I thought, I should have to do all the
talking, and this wretch would make notes or make a deal with the
detectives while I was talking. In a few moments the train was rolling
into the station, and then I saw my friend Galvin leap aboard and with
that iron effrontery and savageness which I always hated in him, begin
to race through the cars. I was about to follow him when I saw the
conductor stepping down beside me.
“Is that train robber they are bringing in from Bald Knob on here? I’m
from the _Republic_, and I’ve been sent out here to interview him.”
“You’re on the wrong road, brother,” he smiled. “He’s not on here.
They’re bringing him in over the Missouri Pacific. They took him across
from Bald Knob to Denton and caught the train there—but I’ll tell you,”
and he consulted his watch, “you might be able to catch that yet if you
run for it. It’s only across the field here. You see that little yellow
station over there? Well, that’s the Missouri Pacific depot. I don’t
know whether it stops here or not, but it may. It’s due now, but
sometimes it’s a little late. You’ll have to run for it though; you
haven’t a minute to spare.”
“You wouldn’t fool me about a thing like this, would you?” I pleaded.
“Not for anything. I know how you feel. If you can get on that train
you’ll find him, unless they’ve taken him off somewhere else.”
I don’t remember if I even stopped to thank him. Instead of following
Galvin into the cars I now leaped to the little path which cut
diagonally across this long field, evidently well worn by human feet. As
I ran I looked back once or twice to see if my enemy was following me,
but apparently he had not seen me. I now looked forward eagerly toward
this other station, but, as I ran, I saw the semaphore arm, which stood
at right angles opposite the station, lower for a clear track for some
train. At the same time I spied a mail-bag hanging out on an express
arm, indicating that whatever this train was it was not going to stop
here. I turned, still uncertain as to whether I had made a mistake in
not searching the other train after all. Supposing the conductor had
fooled me.... Supposing the burglar were on there, and Galvin was
already beginning to question him! Oh, Lord, what a beat! And what would
happen to me then? Was it another case of three shows and no critic? I
slowed up in my running, chill beads of sweat bursting through my pores,
but as I did so I saw the St. Louis & San Francisco train begin to move
and from it, as if shot out of it, leaped Galvin.
“Ha!” I thought. “Then the robber is not on there! Galvin has just
discovered it! He knows now that he is coming in on this line”——for I
could see him running along the path. “Oh, kind Heaven, if I can beat
him to it! If I can only get on and leave him behind! He has all of a
thousand feet still to run, and I am here!”
Desperately I ran into the station, thrust my head in at the open office
window and called:
“When is this St. Louis express due here?”
“Now,” he replied surlily.
“Does it stop?”
“No, it don’t stop.”
“Can it be stopped?”
“It can _not_!”
“You mean that you have no right to stop it?”
“I mean I won’t stop it!”
Even as he said this there came the shriek of a whistle in the distance.
“Oh, Lord,” I thought. “Here it comes, and he won’t let me on, and
Galvin will be here any minute!” For the moment I was even willing that
Galvin should catch it too, if only I could get on. Think of what
Wandell would think if I missed it!
“Will five dollars stop it?” I asked desperately, diving into my pocket.
“No.”
“Will ten?”
“It might,” he replied crustily.
“Stop it,” I urged and handed over the bill.
The agent took it, grabbed a tablet of yellow order blanks which lay
before him, scribbled something on the face of one and ran out to the
track. At the same time he called to me:
“Run on down the track. Run after it. She won’t stop here. She can’t.
Run on. She’ll go a thousand feet before she can slow up.”
I ran, while he stood there holding up this thin sheet of yellow paper.
As I ran I heard the express rushing up behind me. On the instant it was
alongside and past, its wheels grinding and emitting sparks. It was
stopping! I should get on, and oh, glory be! Galvin would not! Fine! I
could hear the gritty screech of the wheels against the brakes as the
train came to a full stop. Now I would make it, and what a victory! I
came up to it and climbed aboard, but, looking back, I saw to my horror
that my rival had almost caught up and was now close at hand, not a
hundred feet behind. He had seen the signal, had seen me running, and
instead of running to the station had taken a diagonal tack and followed
me. I saw that he would make the train. I tried to signal the agent
behind to let the train go, but he had already done so. The conductor
came out on the rear platform and I appealed to him.
“Let her go!” I pleaded. “Let her go! It’s all right! Go on!”
“Don’t that other fellow want to get on too?” he asked curiously.
“No, no, no! Don’t let him on!” I pleaded. “I arranged to stop this
train! I’m from the _Republic_! He’s nobody! He’s no right on here!” But
even as I spoke up came Galvin, breathless and perspiring, and crawled
eagerly on, a leer of mingled triumph and joy at my discomfiture written
all over his face. If I had had more courage I would have beaten him
off. As it was, I merely groaned. To think that I should have done all
this for him!
“Is that so?” he sneered. “You think you’ll leave me behind, do you?
Well, I fooled you this trip, didn’t I?” and his lip curled.
I was beaten. It was an immensely painful moment for me, to lose when I
had everything in my own hands. My spirits fell so for the moment that I
did not even trouble to inquire whether the robber was on the train. I
ambled in after my rival, who had proceeded on his eager way, satisfied
that I should have to beat him in the quality of the interview.
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