A ROUGH JOURNEY AND A THRILLING ADVENTURE.
A few days after McKenna’s initiation into the Mollie Maguires, he was
surprised, upon entering Lawler’s bar-room, to find his friend with one
limb bandaged, sitting by the fire, in an easy chair, while Mrs. Lawler
busied herself behind the counter attending to the spirituous wants of
several acquaintances and patrons, and Mike commenting upon some serious
difficulty which had befallen him. In response to an inquiry by one of
the new arrivals, the landlord, between groans and grimaces, informed
those present that he had received a shot in the leg, the night before,
while attempting to quell a difficulty in front of Cleary’s drinking
place. He was quite seriously wounded; his countenance wore a pale and
anxious appearance, and Mrs. Lawler, only recently recovered from a
protracted and dangerous illness, was nervous and low spirited. McKenna
promptly gave assistance, made himself generally useful about the
premises, and also attended to some outside business for the
tavern-keeper. When the people had all dispersed, Lawler proceeded to
show him his hurt, which the quick eye of the detective was not long in
discovering must have occurred as a result of Mike’s careless handling
of his own revolver, and not through any assault by a second person. The
bullet penetrated the anterior portion of the right thigh, ranged
downward, deflecting a little toward the left, and finally found
lodgment near the skin immediately above the knee-joint, whence the
scalpel of the surgeon had already removed it. There was a long, painful
and dangerous channel ploughed through the muscles, but happily for
Lawler and his family no important vein or artery had been severed. If
properly cared for, there was reason to believe the healing process
might be accomplished by nature without the sloughing away of the coats
of the femoral artery. Should these finally give way, the end would
certainly ensue, as nothing could save the victim from bleeding to
death.
“Tell me, thrue and honest now,” said McKenna, “how this thing happened.
It is plain enough that it wor your own hand that did it.”
“Why the d—l do you say that?”
“Sure, an’ you needn’t take me for a _gomersal_, _cruddy_ from the bogs!
I kin see, wid half an eye, that nobody could iver shoot ye like this,
exceptin’ Mike Lawler himself!”
“Thrue fur ye!” unwillingly answered Lawler, making a comical grimace
and groaning aloud with the pain, as he reached for his staff. “That’s
the raal fact of the matther! But how the d—l you came to know’t, is
more’n I can tell!”
“O, its aisy enough! Men don’t lie down, as a general thing, to get
shot; then there’s no hole in your clothing, so the pistol must have
been in your pocket when it exploded!”
“Well, never mind that now,” whispered Lawler, turning an uneasy glance
toward his wife, who was jingling the glasses as she cleansed them, and
hence heard nothing of the communication. “Will ye kindly act as me
crutch ’till I goes to the docthor? He made me promise to have it
dressed the day; an’ by me sowl, I’d about as soon hev the leg cut off
at wonst!”
“Certainly,” said the agent, “I’ll help ye wid pleasure!”
And he aided the injured man to rise; but he could not stand, and was
eased back into his chair.
“_Mo-vrone!_ But ye can’t walk! Ye must not try it! I’ll go fetch the
docthor right here! So kape quiet, an’ I’ll soon be back. An’ while I’m
gone, I’ll jist step in at the carpenter’s and tell him to make ye a
crutch; fur sure, an’ if ye iver intend for to save yer leg y’ll want a
substitute for a while!”
Muff Lawler was so nigh a dead faint that he could not thank McKenna,
who scampered away to bring the surgeon.
The wound once dressed, and Lawler comfortably reclining on his bed,
upstairs, McKenna volunteered to act as nurse, while the good woman of
the house gave attention to the bar and all below. Then it was that the
operative learned how the injury had been inflicted. As he shrewdly
guessed, Muff had hurt himself while awkwardly returning a revolver to
his pantaloons pocket, where he carelessly carried it, with the lock set
preparatory for sudden use. Lawler closed the revelation with this
unexplained but furtive statement:
“An’ hadn’t it been for the accident, Fergus would have made bloody work
somewhere before the mornin’!”
Of course, McKenna did not press an inquiry as to the job he and Fergus
were attending to, knowing that Lawler would tell it of his own accord,
if left alone. All that day, and until late at night, the operative was
employed as a nurse to the wounded Bodymaster.
A few days later the last meeting in April occurred, at Lawler’s, and a
young man named Dean was duly initiated, McKenna prominently assisting
in the ceremony. Dean subsequently admitted to the agent that he had
been better than a year endeavoring to reach the interior of that
division, but somehow his moral character was either too good or too bad
all the while; but a little serious trouble that he had recently fallen
into made him a desirable applicant, or removed an objection, and he was
at once notified of his acceptance. It seemed to McKenna, under such a
state of affairs, that he was extremely fortunate in gaining for himself
such prompt admission to the order.
McAndrew, it appeared, had not been inside a division room in more than
three months, having, as will be remembered, only acted in an outside
capacity at the detective’s initiation—as he had temporarily
resigned—which was an accepted custom in the society, since the troubles
with the Church—to attend for a season to his neglected religious
duties. Now, having been good during one-quarter of a year, he could
come back and enact the part of a Mollie Maguire for the remaining
three-quarters. This ingenious and handy manner of compromise also
brought home a number of the brothers, lately absenting themselves for
the same purpose, and Lawler’s living room was soon uncomfortably small
for their accommodation.
At the same meeting Lawler gave a rather remarkable address, in the
course of which he said the time had nearly arrived for the annual
meeting of their State Convention at Pittsburg, and he was requested,
through a letter from Barney Dolan, County Delegate, to advise his
division members of the necessity for raising—the amount and the request
to apply to all the bodies in Schuylkill County—the sum of nine dollars
toward paying the Delegate’s expenses to the west, and also to New York.
In the last-named place he would see the National Secretary, on
important business. Without this action it would be impossible for the
Division to secure the “goods”—signs and passwords—for the current
quarter; and Mike eloquently urged that it was always desirable to keep
the body in fair standing with the State and National officials. The
pompous Bodymaster, still suffering considerably from his wound, kept
his chair while he enlarged upon the prospect before the brotherhood. He
believed, if the fraternity would stand by him, he could swell their
ranks to at least one hundred good men and true, before the commencement
of another year. Of course the speech, or talk, was purely
conversational, rough and uncouth, and not particularly coherent, but it
touched its hearers and was received with applause—which, however, was
necessarily suppressed, because of the family being so near. It was not
long, after the close of the harangue, before the needed funds were in
the Bodymaster’s possession. The meeting closed soon afterward, and the
hours following to midnight were passed in carousal, singing, and
card-playing, when the house was deserted, the doors fastened, and the
Lawler family presently dreaming the dreams of the just.
At about this date, appreciating the fact that he would not soon find
remunerative labor, and still desiring to remain in the mountains,
McKenna saw the necessity for a fresh source from which ostensibly to
obtain the amount of money that he must, in due course of events,
disburse in the community. The cash must be spent, and a valid reason
for its expenditure, a natural origin for the fund, must be furnished,
otherwise his associates might begin to suspect there was something
about him they did not fully comprehend. It was then he took Mike Lawler
further into his confidence and told him a new secret, to the effect
that he, McKenna, owned a certain house and lot in the city of Buffalo,
New York, which was leased from year to year, and, through the medium of
an attorney, named Clinton, who was in his interest, and who knew the
address of some of his relatives in Philadelphia, he received
twenty-five dollars a month as rental for the property. This story
served two purposes. It covered up occasional letters that the
postmaster of Shenandoah must know he received, and increased his income
enough, with the alleged pension from the government and the money made
in his pretended disposal of bogus currency, to account for all he spent
in the mining country. His wearing of poor clothes and wishing to stay
in the vicinity was consistent with his mission, which was, outwardly,
to escape the eyes of the officers of the law. It seemed hardly possible
that, under these safeguards, his real purpose would be revealed.
The fourth day of May, Lawler, having so far regained the use of his leg
as to hobble about on a crutch, aided by a blackthorn stick, determined
to visit Barney Dolan, at Big Mine Run, in person, obtain the “goods”
for the quarter and turn over the collection made for the use of the
County Delegate. McKenna was invited to accompany him. His arm was
needed in helping Mike into and out of the buggy—besides, he liked to
have some one about who could listen as well as talk. It was impossible
for the agent to refuse, had he so desired, which he did not. He might
learn something of importance, at small cost, and make the acquaintance
of Dolan, who was then looked up to as the highest Mollie in all the
county. So McKenna started out with his Bodymaster for Big Mine Run.
Riding over the country, although the air seemed chilly, was not really
unpleasant, and the trip among the collieries, enlivened by cheerful
conversation and spicy anecdote, in which both of the men participated,
came to an end before either person expected. The big, good-natured
County Delegate, who kept a small roadside shebeen-shop, patronized by
all travelers and miners, was very much pleased to see his company, and
he came out to the buggy, before they alighted, to greet the men,
personally helping Lawler to perform that, to him, slow and painful act.
Barney Dolan was a large, muscular man, of some forty years, much after
the style of Dormer, of Pottsville, in face and feature, but by no means
so tall or heavy.
After putting Mike in a chair, of course Dolan had to be informed of the
particulars of Lawler’s accident, brief mention of which he had seen in
the Shenandoah _Herald_. The old story, of being fired upon by an unseen
person, who he more than half suspected to be Dick Flynn, of Colorado
Colliery, with whom he once had a difficulty, was related to Barney,
with many adornments. As another matter of course, Dolan was profuse in
sympathetic condolements with the injured man. When the County
Delegate’s back was turned, Muff Lawler sent an audacious wink of
intelligence to McKenna not to spoil his story by letting slip the
truth. The detective, who was contentedly smoking his short pipe, and
sipping some strong poteen, sagely shook his head, as much as to say:
“Don’t fear! I’ll keep your secret!”
Barney—whose name, from his habit of smooth, sweet talk, evidently
should have been Blarney, for he must have kissed the famous stone on
that famous Irish castle more times than once—proceeded to dilate upon
the able manner in which he would represent the county in the State
branch of the order, the great things he was about to do, and how, to
sum up all, he believed it was the bounden duty of the Mollies to
re-elect him Delegate at the ensuing county convention. To all of which
egotistical bombast Mike and his fellow-traveler listened with an
appearance of wrapped attention reflecting credit upon their capacity
for acting that which they could not feel. Both really enjoyed his
self-sufficiency—especially Lawler, who was afflicted with the same
difficulty, as he was well aware, when he got about half-seas-over.
After dinner, which was spread in the rear apartment, and the enjoyment
of parting glass number one, at the invitation of the detective, the
visitors proposed to leave.
Dolan made a little speech over the toast: “The Ancient Order—may it
prosper and be peaceful!” offered by McKenna, and among other things
remarked:
“Be them five crasses, but I’m glad indade to have _coshered_ wid ye,
_mabouchal_! An’ when ye come here again, let it not be for a mere
_kailyee_, but bring your clothes wid ye, and stop as long as ye plaze!
An’, Mike Lawler—bould fellow—you’ll show yourself a _gorsoon-bo_, if ye
let that lad slip away from your town at all! Kape him there! Ye greatly
nade such stuff as he’s made of to bring the body up to the correct
standard! Not to say that ye are a wake Bodymaster, by any manes, fur ye
are not, as I give ye credit for doing hapes of good things! But ye can
have many more powerful members, now that ye have made the proper
commencement! What you do is done nately, an’ if I do say it, you have
some few fellows over there capable of doin’ ‘a clane job,’ an’ what ye
want is more of ’em! Be the same token, I may tell ye, Mike, that
Shenandoah Division is the very first to send in the allowance an’ take
away the ‘goods’! Oh, bad ’cess to me, but I’m gone a _shaughran_, an’
come near forgettin’ to remember that ye have paid yer money, but not
got yer property! Well, never mind! It’s all owin’ to the poteen! Jest
step in the other room—McKenna will excuse us—an’ I’ll instruct ye in
the shortest time possible!”
“Business is business!” said McKenna. “Certainly I’ll excuse ye!”
The succeeding conference between the County Delegate and the Bodymaster
was of short duration, and, after parting glass number two, or three—the
last one through the thoroughly aroused generosity of Barney—the
visitors really bid the host farewell and made their departure.
The “goods,” Lawler had learned from Dolan, were given out in Ireland,
the transatlantic headquarters of the society, and thence transmitted to
this country by a man named Murphy, employed as a steward on one of the
Inman line of steamships plying between Liverpool and New York. From the
latter city the National officers distributed them to the different
divisions in this country.
No incident worthy of mention occurred to the two Mollies until they
reached the vicinity of Colorado Colliery, where they paused to see Hugh
Mulligan, a friend of Lawler’s, who was, and for some time had been,
very ill. Knowing they had reached a dangerous locality, as this was the
stamping-ground of Dick Flynn, an inveterate enemy, yet they had no
apprehension that they would come across him, and indeed were not of the
class of men much reckoning upon serious consequences should they prove
thus unfortunate.
Hugh Mulligan lived in a large frame house, at the top of the hill. When
they stopped, finding that Mulligan was in bed, in the second story of
the building, to his disappointment, Lawler, from his lameness, was
quite unable to see his friend, but unwillingly compelled to remain in
the parlor on the first floor. He had suffered pain enough, he thought,
through alighting from the buggy, without climbing and descending a pair
of stairs immediately thereafter. He sent along his compliments by
McKenna, and made himself easy by the stove, awaiting that person’s
return. Mrs. Mulligan and another lady who had just stepped in to see
the family went up with the detective. They found the sick man seemingly
very low, in the last stages of pulmonary consumption, slowly coughing
his life away. He was wan and attenuated, with features pinched, sharp,
and anxiously drawn up, eyes unnaturally large, dark of color and
suspiciously bright, and the glossy black hair contrasting strangely
with waxlike forehead and cheek. The hands, with which he nervously
picked and clutched at the counterpane, were thin, the fingers
talon-like, and nails long, white, and rounding outward in the middle.
With barely sufficient strength to raise his arms, he lay, a pitiable
object, that once had been a large and powerful man. Just able to
recognize McKenna, Hugh was seen to smile faintly, quite gratified that
two of his comrades had shown their regard by calling to see him. In a
feeble voice he asked his wife to bring some beer to the chamber, and
give Mike Lawler the best the house afforded. Mrs. Mulligan obeyed,
quickly returning with two bottles of Cronk beer, one of which McKenna
opened, presenting a glass of its contents to the lady visitor.
The sick-room was small, with reasonably high walls, lighted by two
windows, fronting the public road and at the side of the invalid’s bed.
Its furniture was poor and scant. There was an old-fashioned chest of
drawers, not as high as a bureau, but taller than a trunk, made of pine,
painted a dark red, on the lid of which stood some medicine bottles and
an empty tumbler and spoon. Near by was a bit of cracker, which the sick
man had nibbled with his teeth when besought to take some nourishment.
The bedstead had high posts, and the bed and coverings were barely
comfortable. Near the foot of the bed stood a high-backed, splint-bottom
rocking-chair, with neat tidy over the top. Two or three other chairs
and a small table completed the furniture of the apartment. No carpet
concealed the floor, the boards of which were scrubbed white and clean.
Plain bleached cotton formed the looped-up window curtains, and along
the wall were nails, on which hung a soldier’s overcoat, a hat, a heavy
teamster’s whip, and then several articles of female costume. At the
head of the couch was a cheap print of St. Patrick, without a frame, and
on the opposite wall a cross, entwined with real shamrock, the emblems
worked with a needle in red worsted upon some gilt paste-board. A door
led into the hall, at the head of the stairs. At one side of the center
of the room was a sheet-iron heater, fed through a pipe from the
apartments below, which came up through the floor by a tin thimble, or
protector, and kept the atmosphere warm and equable. A small hat-stand
supported the bottles of beer and a couple of common flaring beer
tumblers.
Mrs. Mulligan, a motherly, kind-hearted woman, with blue eyes and
plentiful iron-gray hair, a cap, and becomingly clad in black, stood at
the side and partly toward the foot of the bed, knitting work in hand, a
pitying glance resting upon her suffering husband. The lady caller, her
bonnet and cloak unremoved, sat not far away, while McKenna was at that
moment in the act of helping himself to a tumbler of beer, which he had
not yet poured from the bottle. This was the condition of affairs, when
the detective heard a heavy and hasty step upon the staircase, the door
of the chamber was rudely thrust open, and big Dick Flynn, with pistol
presented in one hand and a long knife brandished recklessly in the
other, strode in and paused before the entrance. His aim was directed
upon the sick man in the bed. Mulligan uttered a despairing wail, and,
nervously throwing up the coverings, drew his head beneath them. Mrs.
Mulligan, almost paralyzed with fright, dropped her knitting, raised her
hands and screamed “murder!” at the top of her voice, while the lady
visitor, without pausing to say “good-by,” flew past the intruder and
down the stairs like a frightened deer. McKenna, who had paused in the
work of decanting the contents of the bottle, heard Lawler hobbling,
with crutch and stick, over the floor below, and, looking from the
corner of his eye, soon saw the brave Bodymaster making rather rapid
time, for a lame man, toward the gate, where his horse and buggy were
standing. Then the agent had no doubt he was left to cope,
single-handed, with the savage brute before him. He took in this idea in
much less time than it has consumed to record the fact, and arrived at
the conclusion that only calmness and the exertion of ingenuity could
save his life. Dick did not shoot the sick man, who he was quite sure
was Mike Lawler, but stood ready to fire. McKenna finished pouring out
his beer, took up the second glass and the bottle, and with supreme
impudence advanced a step toward Flynn, saying, not even forgetting his
assumption of the brogue that he had used while in the country:
“Sure, an’ is it yourself, Misther Flynn? An’ its tired indade ye are,
afther your long walk! Tak’ a drap of the beer at Hugh’s expense!”
And he proffered the bottle and glass.
Flynn was, in turn, thunderstruck by the coolness of his enemy, muttered
something between his shut teeth, was undecided what to do, wavered, and
at last, depositing knife and pistol on the little table, took the
tumbler in one hand, the beer bottle in the other, and proceeded to
drink.
No sooner had McKenna released bottle and glass than his right hand
quickly, yet cautiously, sought the side-pocket of his coat, where
rested his trusted seven-shooter. With a sudden twist of the wrist,
holding a firm grasp upon the pistol stock, his thumb brought the hammer
of the lock to full-cock. Still he did not display the repeater.
“By heaven! I’ve got Muff Lawler this time!” said Flynn. “Ye can’t chate
me! Pretendin’ to be sick, or lame, won’t save ye! I’m here to kill ye!”
[Illustration: “_I guess not, my swate Raparee! Not by these lights!_”]
His wild, insane look rested uneasily on the half-concealed figure in
the bed, as he said this, not perceiving the fact that McKenna had
quietly changed position, and now stood somewhat nearer to him than
before.
“Oh, I’m not Muff Lawler!” painfully gasped Mulligan, exposing his
white, almost spectral features. The voice was stronger than usual. He
had summoned all his vital powers to repel that which he might well
believe a hateful vision. “I’m only poor, sick, disabled Hugh Mulligan!”
Turning his eye to the window, Flynn beheld Lawler, driving away in the
buggy, the horse’s head turned toward town. Then he fiercely faced
McKenna, and exclaimed:
“You’ve saved Muff Lawler, but you are his ‘butty,’ and I’m here to kill
one of the two—so it seems you are the one!”
“I guess not, me swate raparee! Not by these lights!”
And the detective drew his weapon, bringing it close to the man’s face,
until the dark muzzle rested, deadly, sullenly cold, in close contact
with the ruffian’s bare cheek. Flynn, drunk and infuriated as he was,
could not resist that forbidding and blood-chilling argument. It was
plain that the lock was set, the man’s finger resting on the trigger. He
began to tremble like a poplar leaf in the wind, his color shifted from
red to white, the features relaxed, the corners of the mouth fell down,
and his whole appearance was fearfully changed.
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