Jim Cummings; Or, The Great Adams Express Robbery Part 7

"The package to which this was to have been tied was sent to some man whose name ends in 'ority and who was in Leavenworth, Kansas. We can find that out to-morrow, Chip, so turn in and get some sleep."

The next morning the books of the company were overhauled, and after a long, patient and careful search it was found that on October 23d, two days before the robbery, a valise had been expressed to a Daniel Moriarity, Leavenworth, Kansas, charges prepaid, by a man named John Williams.

That evening Chip left St. Louis for Leavenworth and Mr. Pinkerton returned to Chicago.

CHAPTER VII.

THE TRAMP.

About the middle of November, after the now famous express robbery had taken place, a man, roughly dressed in a coa.r.s.e suit of blue, wearing a woolen shirt open at the neck, and, knotted around his throat, a gaudy silk handkerchief, was strolling leisurely along the east bottoms near Kansas City. His face was tanned by exposure to the sun, and his shoes had the flattened and battered condition which is the natural consequence of a long and weary tramp. He walked as if he had no particular objective point, and looked like one of those peripatetic gentry who toil not neither do they spin, the genus "tramp." He complacently puffed a short clay nose-warmer, with his hands in his pockets, and taking first one side and then the other of the road, as his fancy dictated, found himself near the old distillery at the outskirts of the city.

A saloon near at hand, with its front door invitingly open, attracted his attention, and the cheering sounds of a violin, sc.r.a.ping out some popular air, gave a further impetus to inclination, and the tramp turned to the open door and entered. Seated on an empty barrel, his foot executing vigorous time to his own music, sat the magician of the horse-hair bow.

Leaning against the bar, or seated at the small tables scattered around, the tramp saw a goodly number of the disciples of Bacchus, while from an inner room the clicking of ivory chips and half suppressed expressions of "I'll see you an' go you tenner better." "A full house pat, what 'er ye got," designated the altar at which the worshipers of "draw poker" were offering sacrifices.

The saloon consisted of one long, low room, on one side of which was located the conventional bar, with its background of glittering decanters and dazzling gla.s.ses and its "choice a.s.sortment of liquors"--to quote the sign which called attention to these necessary luxuries.

A large stove stood in the center of the room, and a number of small tables were placed around promiscuously, The bar-tender, a smooth-faced, beetle-browed rascal, was engaged in shaking dice for the drinks with a customer, and, to the music of the violin, a light-footed Irishman was executing his national jig, to the great delight and no small edification of his enthusiastic audience.

The wide sombreroes, perched back on the head, pointed out the cowboys who were making up for the lonesome days and nights on the plains.

It was a motley crowd, a fair specimen of the heterogeneous ma.s.s of humanity which floats. .h.i.ther and there all over our western States, and contained some villainous-looking fellows.

As the tramp entered, the interest in the jig was developing into enthusiasm. Hands were clapped, and fingers snapped to the time of the nimble heels and toes of the jaunty Corkonian. The violinist was settling down to vigorous work, and Pat, having the incentive of antic.i.p.ated free drinks as a reward for his efforts, was executing the most intricate of steps.

The tramp lounged to the bar, followed by the suspicious glance of the bar-keeper, who a.s.sumed a more respectful demeanor as the object of his suspicions threw down a silver quarter and named his drink. It was quickly furnished, and as quickly disposed of. The dancer had finished his jig and accepted with alacrity the proffered offers to wet his whistle. As he stepped to the bar his glance fell upon the tramp.

"Are ye drinkin' this aivenin'?"

"I am that," responded the tramp,

"Faith, an' its not at yer own expinse, then," with a glance at the ragged clothing and "hard-up" appearance of the wanderer.

"An' a divil sight less at yours," retorted the tramp. "But by the same token, we both get our rosy by manes of our heels."

"Shure fir ye, lad. Its hard up I've been myself before the now, but its a cold day when Barney O'Hara will let a bog-trotter go dry--name your poison."

"Its the rale ould stuff I'll be a takin' straight," and the tramp spread his elbows on the counter and soon demonstrated his ability to gulp down the fiery fluid without any such effeminate tr.i.m.m.i.n.gs as water in it. After the first gla.s.s had been emptied the tramp said:

"I've had a bit of luck to-day; what's your medicine?"

"The same," responded Barney.

The liquor was poured into the gla.s.ses, and the tramp, diving deep in his pockets, drew out some small silver currency, and, with a movement expressive of untold wealth, threw it on the counter.

As he did so, the bar-keeper uttered an oath of astonishment, several of the roysterers sprang forward, and Barney, with an exclamation of amazement, put his hand on a Pinkerton detective star, with its terrible eye in the center, which had fallen on the counter with the nickles and dimes the tramp had thrown down.

Dark looks and murderous eyes were turned on the tramp, and more than one hand was placed on a revolver, The bar-keeper with an ugly look, and bullying swagger, stepped from behind the bar and advanced on the tramp, his face distorted with rage, and his fists doubled in a most aggressive manner.

The tramp, without moving, and apparently ignorant of the sensation he had created, raised his gla.s.s to his lips, and with a hearty "Here's to ye, lads," tossed off the whisky.

As he replaced his gla.s.s, he became aware that he was the center of attention, and facing the bar-keeper, said:

"What's the row with ye? I paid fer the drinks,"

"What are you doin' with a detective's star?" said the bar-keeper,

"Haven't I a right to one; I dunno--finders keepers, losers weepers--I picked the bit of bra.s.s up on the road not over an hour ago."

The bar-keeper was not to be pacified by such a story, and in a threatening voice, he asked:

"Are you a man-hunter or not?"

The tramp threw a pitying glance of scorn at the pugilistic whisky-seller, as he replied:

"Be gorra, ye d.a.m.ned fool, do you think that I'd be after givin' myself away like this if I WAS one?"

"In course ye wouldn't," broke in Barney. "Don't be a fool, Jerry, this man is no detective," and Barney fastened the star to the vest which encircled the portly form of the bar-keeper.

"Now ye're one yerself, an' will be after runnin' us all in fer not detectin' enough of the elegant liquor ye handle."

To this the man could make no reply, save a deep, hoa.r.s.e laugh, and resuming his professional position, was shortly engaged in alleviating the thirst of his patrons.

This little episode had just occurred, when the door of the inner room was thrown violently open and a man, his coat off, rushed up to the bar.

"Here, Jerry, break this fifty for me," at the same time throwing down a fifty-dollar bill, crisp and fresh.

"Your playin' in bad luck to-day, Cook?"

"Yes, d.a.m.n it," said Cook. "Give me a drink for good luck."

As the bar-keeper uttered the name of Cook a quick, but hardly perceptible glance of intelligence pa.s.sed between Barney and the tramp.

Cook hastily swallowed his whisky, rushed back to the poker table with a handful of five dollar bills, and quiet reigned over the place. The bar-keeper, who spied a possible good customer in the tramp, had entered into a little conversation at the end of the counter, on which the tramp leaned, the embodiment of solid comfort, puffing his cigar vigorously, or allowing it to burn itself out in little rings of smoke.

"You're a stranger to these parts?"

With an expressive wink, the tramp replied:

"Not so much as ye think, I've spint many a noight around here."

"Night hawk, eh? an' I took you for a man-trailer."

"I've had the spalpeens after myself afore now," spoke the tramp, in a low, confidential whisper.