The Other Fellow Part 2

"But the child with him," I said; "he seemed to love her."

"That's no argument, my dear sir. If he has been twice in state's prison he probably belongs to that cla.s.s of degenerates in whom all moral sense is lacking. I have begun making some exhaustive investigations of the data obtainable on this subject, which I have embodied in a report, and which I propose sending to the State Committee on the treatment of criminals, and which"----

"Do you know any criminals personally?" I asked blandly, cutting short, as I could see, an extract from the report. His manner, too, strange to say, rather nettled me.

"Thank G.o.d, no, sir; not one! Do you?"

"I am not quite sure," I answered. "I thought I had, but I may have been mistaken."

III

When I again mounted the sprawling steps of the disheartened-looking tavern, the landlord was sitting by the stove half asleep and alone.

He had prepared a little supper, he said, as he led the way, with a benign smile, into the dining-room, where a lonely bracket lamp, backed by a tin reflector, revealed a table holding a pitcher of milk, a saucer of preserves, and some pieces of leather beef about the size used in repairing shoes.

"Come, and sit down by me," I said. "I want to talk to you about this young fellow Sands. Tell me everything you know."

"Well, you saw him; clean and pert-lookin', ain't he? Don't look much like a habitual criminal, as Polk called him, does he?"

"No, he certainly does not; but give me the whole story." I was in a mood either to reserve decision or listen to a recommendation of mercy.

"Want me to tell you about the pocketbook or that ham sc.r.a.pe?"

"Everything from the beginning," and I reached for the sc.r.a.ps of beef and poured out a gla.s.s of milk.

"Well, you saw Chris Rankin, didn't you,--that fellow that talked about jail-birds? Well, one night about six or seven years ago,"--the landlord had now drawn out a chair from the other side of the table and was sitting opposite me, leaning forward, his arms on the cloth,--"maybe six years ago, a jay of a farmer stopped at Rankin's and got himself plumb full o' tanglefoot. When he come to pay he hauled out a wallet and chucked it over to Chris and told him to take it out. The wallet struck the edge of the counter and fell on the floor, and out come a wad o' bills. The only other man besides him and Chris in the bar-room was d.i.c.k. It was Sat.u.r.day night, and d.i.c.k had come in to git his paper, which was always left to Rankin's. d.i.c.k seen he was drunk, and he picked the wallet up and handed it back to the farmer. About an hour after that the farmer come a-runnin' in to Rankin's sober as a deacon, a-hollerin' that he'd been robbed, and wanted to know where d.i.c.k was. He said that he had had two rolls o'

bills; one was in an envelope with three dollars in it that he'd got from the bank, and the other was the roll he paid Chris with. d.i.c.k, he claimed, was the last man who had handled the wallet, and he vowed he'd stole the envelope with the three dollars when he handed it back to him.

"When the trial come off everything went dead ag'in d.i.c.k. The cashier of the bank swore he had given the farmer the money and envelope, and in three new one-dollar bills of the bank, mind you, for the farmer had sold some ducks for his wife and wanted clean money for her. Chris swore he seen d.i.c.k pick it up and fix the money all straight again for the farmer; the farmer's wife swore she had took the money out of her husband's pocket, and that when she opened the wallet the envelope was gone, and the farmer, who was so dumb he couldn't write his name, swore that he hadn't stopped no place between Chris Rankin's and home, 'cept just a minute to fix his traces t'other side of Big Pond Woods.

"d.i.c.k's mother, of course, was nigh crazy, and she come to me and I went and got Lawyer White. It come up 'fore Judge Polk. After we had all swore to d.i.c.k's good character and, mind you, there warn't one of 'em could say a word ag'in him 'cept that he lived in h.e.l.l's Diggin's, Lawyer White began his speech, clamin' that d.i.c.k had always been square as a brick, and that the money must be found on d.i.c.k or somewheres nigh him 'fore they could prove he took it.

"Well, the jury was the kind we always git 'round here, and they done what Polk told 'em to in his charge,--just as they always do,--and d.i.c.k was found guilty before them fellers left their seats. The mother give a shriek and fell in a heap on the floor, but d.i.c.k never changed a muscle nor said a word. When Polk asked him if he had anything to say, he stood up and turned his back on Polk, and faced the court-room, which was jam full, for everybody knowed him and everybody liked him--you couldn't help it.

"'You people have knowed me here,' d.i.c.k says, 'since I was a boy, and you've knowed my mother. I ain't never in times back done nothin' I was ashamed of, and I ain't now, and you know it. I tell you, men, I didn't take that money.' Then he faced the jury. 'I don't know,' he said, 'as I blame you. Most of you don't know no better and those o'

you who do are afraid to say it; but you, Judge Polk,' and he squared himself and pointed his finger straight at him, 'you claim to be a man of eddication, and so there ain't no excuse for you. You've seen me grow up here, and if you had any common sense you'd know that a man like me couldn't steal that man's money, and you'd know, too, that he was too drunk to know what had become of it.' Then he stopped and said in a low voice, and with his teeth set, looking right into Polk's eyes: 'Now I'm ready to take whatever you choose to give me, but remember one thing, I'll settle with you if I ever come back for puttin' this misery on to my mother, and don't you forget it.'

"Polk got a little white about the gills, but he give d.i.c.k a year, and they took him away to Stoneburg.

"After that the mother ran down and got poorer and poorer, and folks avoided her, and she got behind and had to sell her stuff, and a month before his time was out she got sick and pretty near died. d.i.c.k went straight home and never left her day nor night, and just stuck to her and nursed her like any girl would a-done, and got her well again. Of course folks was divided, and it got red-hot 'round here. Some believed him innercent, and some believed him guilty. Lawyer White and fellers like him stuck to him, but Rankin's gang was down on him; and when he come into Chris's place for his paper same as before, all the b.u.ms that hang 'round there got up and left, and Chris told d.i.c.k he didn't want him there no more. That kinder broke the boy's heart, though he didn't say nothing, and after that he would go off up in the woods by himself, or he'd go huntin' ches'nuts or picking flowers, all the children after him. Every child in the settlement loved him, and couldn't stay away from him. Queer, ain't it, how folks would trust their chil'ren. All the folks in h.e.l.l's Diggin's did, anyhow."

"Yes," I interrupted, "there was one with him to-night in the stage."

"That's right. He always has one or two boys and girls 'long with him; says nothin' ain't honest, no more, 'cept chil'ren and dogs.

"Well, when his mother got 'round ag'in all right, d.i.c.k started in to get something to do. He couldn't get nothin' here, so he went acrost the mountains to Castleton and got work in a wagon fact'ry. When it come pay day and they asked him his name he said out loud, d.i.c.k Sands, of h.e.l.l's Diggin's. This give him away, and the men wouldn't work with him, and he had to go. I see him the mornin' he got back. He come in and asked for me, and I went out, and he said, 'Uncle Jimmy, they mean I sha'n't work 'round here. They won't give me no work, and when I git it they won't let me stay. Now, by G.o.d!'--and he slammed his fist down on the desk--'they'll support me and my mother without workin',' and he went out.

"Next thing I heard d.i.c.k had come into Rankin's and picked up a ham and walked off with it. Chris, he allus 'lowed, hurt him worse than any one else around here, and so maybe he determined to begin on him.

Chris was standin' at the bar when he picked up the ham, and he grabbed a gun and started for him. d.i.c.k waited a-standin' in the road, and just as Chris was a-pullin' the trigger, he jumped at him, plantin' his fist in 'tween Chris's eyes. Then he took his gun and went off with the ham. Chris didn't come to for an hour. Then d.i.c.k barricaded himself in his house, put his mother in the cellar, strung a row of cartridges 'round his waist, and told 'em to come on. Well, his mother plead with him not to do murder, and after a day he give himself up and come out.

"At the trial the worst scared man was Polk. d.i.c.k had dropped in on him once or twice after he got out, tellin' him how he couldn't git no work and askin' him to speak up and set him straight with the folks.

They do say that Polk never went out o' night when d.i.c.k was home, 'fraid he'd waylay him--though I knew Polk was givin' himself a good deal of worry for nothin', for d.i.c.k warn't the kind to hit a man on the sly. When Polk see who it was a-comin' into court he called the constable and asked if d.i.c.k had been searched, and when he found he had he told Ike Martin, the constable, to stand near the bench in case the prisoner got ugly.

"But d.i.c.k never said a word, 'cept to say he took the ham and he never intended to pay for it, and he'd take it again whenever his mother was hungry.

"So Polk give him five years, sayin' it was his second offense, and that he was a 'habitual criminal.' It was all over in half an hour, and Ike Martin and the sheriff had d.i.c.k in a buggy and on the way to Stoneburg. They reached the jail about nine o'clock at night, and drove up to the gate. Well, sir, Ike got out on one side and the sheriff he got out on t'other, so they could get close to him when he got down, and, by gosh! 'fore they knowed where they was at, d.i.c.k give a spring clear over the dashboard and that's the last they see of him for two months. One day, after they'd hunted him high and low and lay 'round his mother's cabin, and jumped in on her half a dozen times in the middle of the night, hopin' to get him,--for Polk had offered a reward of five hundred dollars, dead or alive,--Ike come in to my place all het up and his eyes a-hangin' out, and he say, 'Gimme your long gun, quick, we got d.i.c.k Sands.' I says, 'How do you know?' and he says, 'Some boys seen smoke comin' out of a mineral hole half a mile up the mountain above h.e.l.l's Diggin's, and d.i.c.k's in there with a bed and blanket, and we're goin' to lay for him to-night and plug him when he comes out if he don't surrender.' And I says, 'You can't have no gun o' mine to shoot d.i.c.k, and if I knowed where he was I'd go tell him.' The room was full when he asked for my gun, and some o' the boys from h.e.l.l's Diggin's heard him and slid off through the woods, and when the sheriff and his men got there they see the smoke still comin'

up, and lay in the bushes all night watchin'. 'Bout an hour after daylight they crep' up. The fire was out and so was d.i.c.k, and all they found was a chicken half cooked and a quilt off his mother's bed.

"'Bout a week after that, one Sat.u.r.day night, a feller come runnin' up the street from the market, sayin' d.i.c.k had walked into his place just as he was closin' up,--he had a stall in the public market under the city hall, where the court is,--and asked him polite as you please for a cup of coffee and a piece of bread, and before he could holler d.i.c.k was off again with the bread under his arm. Well, of course, n.o.body didn't believe him, for they knowed d.i.c.k warn't darn fool enough to be loafin' 'round a place within twenty foot of the room where Polk sentenced him. Some said the feller was crazy, and some said it was a put-up job to throw Ike and the others off the scent. But the next night d.i.c.k, with his gun handy in the hollow of his arm, and his hat c.o.c.ked over his eye, stepped up to the cook shop in the corner of the market and helped himself to a pie and a chunk o' cheese right under their very eyes, and 'fore they could say 'scat,' he was off ag'in and didn't leave no more tracks than a cat.

"By this time the place was wild. Fellers was gettin' their guns, and Ike Martin was runnin' here and there organizing posses, and most every other man you'd meet had a gun and was swore in as a deputy to git d.i.c.k and some of the five hundred dollars' reward. They hung 'round the market, and they patrolled the streets, and they had signs and countersigns, and more tomfoolery than would run a circus. d.i.c.k lay low and never let on, and n.o.body didn't see him for another week, when a farmer comin' in with milk 'bout daylight had the life pretty nigh scared out o' him by d.i.c.k stopping him, sayin' he was thirsty, and then liftin' the lid off the tin without so much as 'by your leave,' and takin' his fill of the can. 'Bout a week after that the rope got tangled up in the belfry over the court-house so they couldn't ring for fires, and the janitor went up to fix it, and when he came down his legs was shakin' so he couldn't stand. What do you think he'd found?" And the landlord leaned over and broke out in a laugh, striking the table with the flat of his hand until every plate and tumbler rattled.

I made no answer.

"By gosh, there was d.i.c.k sound asleep! He had a bed and blankets and lots o' provisions, and was just as comfortable as a bug in a rug.

He'd been there ever since he got out of the mineral hole! Tell you I got to laugh whenever I think of it. d.i.c.k laughed 'bout it himself t'other day when he told me what fun he had listenin' to Ike and the deputies plannin' to catch him. There ain't another man around here who'd been smart enough to pick out the belfry. He was right over the room in the court-house where they was, ye see, and he could look down 'tween the cracks and hear every word they said. Rainy nights he'd sneak out, and his mother would come down to the market, and he'd see her outside. They never tracked her, of course, when she come there.

He told me she wanted him to go clean away somewheres, but he wouldn't leave her.

"When the janitor got his breath he busted in on Ike and the others sittin' 'round swappin' lies how they'd catch d.i.c.k, and Ike reached for his gun and crep' up the ladder with two deputies behind him, and Ike was so scared and so 'fraid he'd lose the money that he fired 'fore d.i.c.k got on his feet. The ball broke his leg, and they all jumped in and clubbed him over the head and carried him downstairs for dead in his blankets, and laid him on a butcher's table in the market, and all the folks in the market crowded 'round to look at him, lyin'

there with his head hangin' down over the table like a stuck calf's, and his clothes all b.l.o.o.d.y. Then Ike handcuffed him and started for Stoneburg in a wagon 'fore d.i.c.k come to."

"That's why he couldn't walk to-night," I asked, "and why the driver took him over in the stage?"

"Yes, that was it. He'll never get over it. Sometimes he's all right, and then ag'in it hurts him terrible, 'specially when the weather's bad.

"All the time he was up to Stoneburg them last four years--he got a year off for good behavior--he kept makin' little things and sellin'

'em to the visitors. Everybody went to his cell--it was the first place the warders took 'em, and they all bought things from d.i.c.k. He had a nice word for everybody, kind and comforting-like. He was the handiest feller you ever see. When he got out he had twenty-nine dollars. He give every cent to his mother. Warden told him when he left he hadn't had no better man in the prison since he had been 'p'inted. And there ain't no better feller now. It's a darned mean shame how Chris Rankin and them fellers is down on him, knowin', too, how it all turned out."

I leaned back in my chair and looked at the landlord. I was conscious of a slight choking in my throat which could hardly be traced to the dryness of the beef. I was conscious, too, of a peculiar affection of the eyes. Two or three lamps seemed to be swimming around the room, and one or more blurred landlords were talking to me with elbows on tables.

"What do you think yourself about that money of the farmer's?" I asked automatically, though I do not think even now that I had the slightest suspicion of his guilt. "Do you believe he stole the three dollars when he handed the wallet back?"

"Stole 'em? Not by a d---- sight! Didn't I tell you? Thought I had.

That galoot of a farmer dropped it in the woods 'longside the road when he got out to fix his traces, and he was too full of Chris Rankin's rum to remember it, and after d.i.c.k had been sent up for the second time, the second time now, mind ye, and had been in two years for walking off with Rankin's ham, a lot of school children huntin'

for ches'nuts come upon that same envelope in the ditch with them three new dollars in it, covered up under the leaves and the weeds a-growin' over it. Ben Mulford's girl found it."

"What, the child he had with him tonight?"

"Yes, little freckle-faced girl with white eyes. Oh, I tell you d.i.c.k's awful fond of that kid."

A KENTUCKY CINDERELLA

I was bending over my easel, hard at work upon a full-length portrait of a young girl in a costume of fifty years ago, when the door of my studio opened softly and Aunt Chloe came in.