THE STIGMA
He was in jail now--he, Lem Lutts,--old Cap Lutts' boy--was gunless
to-night; hanging on to the bars of a jail door. His father, seventy-six
when he fell in the Church of Hellsfork, had never been in a jail.
Crowding up amidst other lamentations, and superseding them for the
moment, Lem felt keenly the stigma and sting of this scandal. It was a
disgrace on the whole Lutts faction that he, their leader, now should
stand behind the iron bars of a jail door. The irony of it was deeply
excruciating--that he, their chieftain, should succumb to a revenuer.
Moreover, was it not unspeakably shameful that this revenuer who took
him was the man who had invaded his home and killed his mother? He had
waited a little and killed his father. Then he tore him away from his
domain and his people; and caged him where he stood to-night--gunless,
in an iron and concrete hole, with the cold, unyielding bars between him
and his free, wide, high Cumberland Kingdom.
Lem probed his conscience for the hundredth time in quest of the crime
he had committed to bring him to this hell. And when a small voice
answered back from out its castle of inherent chauvinism, and told him
that he sinned against no man--then it was that the smouldering, dormant
hate, sleeping in his heart, stirred and welled up into a mighty tide,
effacing all other kindred emotions that had traversed his being upon
being jailed. This new force aroused him to action, and somehow he felt
better.
How strange are the workings of that mystically mated pair--the human
heart and brain! How appallingly strange that a phase of hate should
assuage the pain in any heart. But this was a truism that for the time
inspired Lem to action and forgetfulness of his environments, for now
his previously dull eyes were afire, as he turned back into his cell for
the first time. He felt his way to the limits of the wall. The distance
was a mere three steps for him. Then he turned and took the three steps
back to the door. Then back again he went. And thus he took up this
three-step march, the while the ugly visage of the revenuer projected
itself against the gloom, and he saw Burton's dog-grin. He saw him smear
the sweat off his leering face, and fancied he heard his vaunting words
of triumph to the commissioner, gloating over the killing of Lem's
father, and the taking of himself.
And here, while Lem paced to and fro, he forgot all else save his thirst
for revenge. And through these walls he heard dim voices from two graves
in the hills urging him onward, and he invoked God to give him strength
to endure. He vowed that he would be patient and endure, even to the
crack of doom, that he might stand face to face with this man-brute,
when he, Lem Lutts, would hold the upper hand, in that great day, over
this wanton blood-lover who had done these things.
Lem's life was linked to this Nemesis by an inexorable blood-debt. He
was bonded to the revenuer, with the rigid, unmalleable nexus of hate
that naught but annihilation of one or the other could sever. Thus, with
these hurtful thoughts whirling through his brain, Lem forgot in a
measure, which mitigated the dejection and chagrin imposed by his
terrible predicament.
Wherefore, he continued to follow these stormy thoughts as from door to
wall he paced--three steps backward, then three strides to the bars,
walking, turning, walking and turning again--until presently he stopped,
transfixed, startled, and blinking. A flood of brilliant light, had
dashed into his cell. The boy had heard of this wonderful invention, but
he had never before seen an electric globe. This magic effulgence that
rushed in and drove the darkness from his cell was a most welcome
visitation, but it added to his strange, uncanny surroundings, and
perplexed him deeply. He stood rigid for a long minute gazing intently
at the incandescent globe that stuck put from the wall, irradiating its
brightness in so mystifying a manner. He approached this bottle-like
device, and examined the wall around it minutely. He raised one hand
cautiously and with a forefinger touched the globe gingerly, as if he
feared it might burn him. While he was thus engaged pondering upon the
necromancy of this light which smacked so strongly of witchcraft, and
upon the avenue that conveyed it hither and the puzzling power that
sustained it, he heard a slight sound at the door. Whereupon, he wheeled
quickly and met Last Time's scarred face grinning through the bars at
him pleasantly, and obviously amused. Knowing that the fellow had been
watching his antics around the electric globe, and acutely conscious of
his own crudeness, Lem stepped to the door with an abashed smile.
"How are you now?" inquired the convict.
"I ain't powerful happy," returned Lem lugubriously. "This air the
all-fired'st cave I ever been into. I 'low I'll never git used t'
hit--leastways I air glad thet yo'-all come round t' talk. I ain't much
on th' talk myse'f--I never could talk much, someways,--th' folks up my
ways air all putty much thet-away--they don't any of 'em spill over with
talkin'--'pears like they got so much to think about thet hit keeps
their tongues stalled all th' time, most--but ef I can't say much--I air
glad yo'-all come round, 'cause I like to heer yo' talk. Gawd'll
Moughty! hit's powerful lonesome-like in heah."
"Sure," sympathized the convict. "It's lonesome'ern hell; but it ain't
that altogether thet hurts a first-timer, Lutts--it's the gang of
old-timers he's bound to meet inside every jail."
Lem smiled wearily, in a mirthless way, and delivered his short,
eloquent gesture, implying acquiescence and approval, as he watched the
convict's face with interest. Silently, Last Time produced a small tin
box containing a bit of woolen rag and a tiny piece of flint, together
with a button through which two cords passed through separate holes.
Standing, he lifted his knee, placed the box thereon, and with dextrous
skill started the button like an improvised buzz-saw against the flint.
The spark flew and ignited the woolen rag. He then lighted his
cigarette, replacing the box, and leaning his big shoulder against the
bars, forced the smoke through his nostrils reflectively.
"I don't know what brought you here, Lutts--I ain't askin' you--it's
none of my business--but I hope you don't come back here after your
trial--it's the old-timers, like me, that the cul meets in jail that
makes the criminals of this country. Just listen to that talk now--that
ain't up-liftin', is it?--Sure not. Just hark to that swearing and them
rabby songs--sure, that's all aginst the rules of the prison, but what
can they do to stop it? Nothin'. They'd have to keep a bull at each
door. The men are allowed to talk a little while to each other from
their cells before the lights go out. They can't speak during the
day--they got to let them talk some time or other in a place like
this--if they didn't, they'd all go crazy--then where would the
politicians and the prison contractors be?
"Then when these guys start in to talk, what do you hear? But there
ain't much of that stuff comin' from the first-timers, Lutts--they're
too thoughtful to-night--they ain't hard enough yet--but wait till they
come back--very soon. If they do, they won't get any jobs when they get
out, believe me--it's me that knows. What happens when a guard starts
out to catch some of these cursers? A bull's got to be almost in front
of his cell to be sure. And you take three hundred convicts with
two-thirds of them cussin' all at the same time, and the echoes all
jumbled up--he might as well try to take the ocean up in his arms--they
get them--sometimes. When a bull slips up and starts along the tier, he
don't no more than get started, when the guys that he's already passed
gives out the signal and you won't hear a peep until the bull's gone
down again--then they'll all give him the merry ha-ha, and cuss him for
sneaking up. It's the people you meet here that makes the criminals,
Lutts. I hope you don't come back here. If you do, you're gone--not that
you want to be gone, but the world 'll sizzle you to a frazzle--they
will want none of you--it's me that knows."
Lem was profoundly attentive. He pressed against the door and listened
to the convict's words with growing interest. Last Time rolled another
cigarette, manipulated the tinder-box, lighted up, and continued:
"It makes my gizzard ache," he said, "every time I see a first-timer.
Their stories are all the same. If you'll listen, Lutts, I'll tear off
nine rods of my own life, right at the spot, where I first got in jail."
"Once I had one of them good mothers--like everybody has or had. My
daddy was killed in a mine, and my mother died three months later. They
sent my little sister to an orphan asylum, and I went to work for a
dairy-man for my board and clothes. I sure did sling the work--from four
in the mornin' to eight at night, sometimes later. He fed me good
enough, but the old stiff wouldn't give me a cent to spend--only two
jits on Sunday to toss to the preacher. Course he didn't agree to give
me any money, but if he had just a slipped me two bits on Saturday he
could have squared my feelin'. I didn't kick out loud, and wouldn't a
felt so bad at that if he had let me see my little sister once in a
while. I begged him every month, but he turned me down cold."
"Well, I got to wantin' to see my sister so damn bad after a year that I
swiped a set of single harness from the old guy. I kept them hid for two
weeks, then I dug them up, sold them, and skated. I left a note tellin'
ole Storman that I had gone West to make my fortune, like they say in
books. Well, I see now that I hadn't ought to a stole the harness--I
hadn't ought to a throwed that trick. Anyhow, them two months was the
happiest I've seen since.
"When I left I meant to work for some one near the asylum who would pay
me till I got money enough to pay for the harness and go back, as the
old man had promised to pay me wages when I was eighteen, but I struck
such luck that I forgot to go back; but I paid him for the harness--like
a dub--and what did I get for it?
"I was a husky lad and knew the dairy business. I got a job near the
asylum--saw my sister every day--and got twenty-five bucks a month. The
harness was my first bad break, and it worried me. The second month, I
sent old Storman a postal order for twenty dollars and told him I took
the harness and was sorry. He cashed the order and had me pinched the
next day. They tried me and slammed me into the booby-hatch for six
months; so I was on my way.
"Lutts, I'll never forget that first night--not me. When I got out I
went back to my last job and got the throw-down. He said it was good for
me to confess and pay for the harness, but that every one knew I had
been in jail, and he couldn't have me around. Then I went back to my own
town like a fool--everybody gave me the go-by--even the church that I
had carried money to every Sunday wouldn't have me. I saw then I was a
dead one. I hiked out then. Every time I'd get a good grip on a job,
long would come that convict-hunch, and I'd have to make my by-by. I
ain't tellin' you how hard I tried for a year, Lutts--but I'm tellin'
you now that I ain't tryin' any more, and don't mean to. I quit tryin'
and hunted up a guy I met in jail, and when I found him in St. Louis I
was hungry and ragged and ugly as a wet dog.
"He was the whitest guy I ever met. He staked me and I stuck to him, and
worked with him until he got shot dead the night I got this scar you
see. Believe me, Kid, Morgan was the smoothest blower that ever lifted
the front off a safe--and I want to tell you, Lutts, when I'm outside I
ain't ragged and hungry any more--not me--and I don't mix with tin-horn
trash like Blinky and this gang in here. I live right, Lutts, when I'm
out. I got twenty-three hundred bucks planted right this minute, where
no one will get it but me--at that, Lutts, I'd go back and work for five
dollars a week if I could, but I know I can't--there's no turning back
for an old-timer--he's gone.
"I know as well as I know I'm talkin' now, that in the end they'll plant
me in the potter's field, and the chances are that I won't die
natural--they wouldn't even let a guy like me into a decent
graveyard--the life has big draw-backs--and when you get out, Lutts, you
remember the advice from a party that knows--you side-step anything that
looks crooked--even if you do see ready money--you blow it--it's a
boomerang--I'd rather die a beggar than a rich thief--blow it, Lutts--it
ain't too late for you--if you don't come back. Say, Lutts, you must be
hungry--I know you didn't eat anything downstairs--wait a minute----"
Last Time broke off abruptly, and slipped into his cell. He returned
with a paper sack which he thrust through the bars to Lem.
"Here's some crackers and cream cheese--the bull gave it to me--you eat
it all--I got all I want. Hello--there goes the quarter--the lights 'll
go out in fifteen minutes. 'Creepin' Jesus' 'll wake up now. I got to
bring the night bull's lunch from the kitchen and take the towels over
to the Hospital, and turn the hot water off at the bath house, and a
string of other old-woman stunts before they lock me up--so-long."