Chapter XVIII

JIM CUMMINGS IN PINKERTON'S SWEAT-BOX--HIS CONFESSION.

All night long "Jim Cummings" walked the narrow limits of his room--still undaunted and fearless as of old. The gravity of his position only made him the more daring, and when the first beams of the morning broke through the barred window he had recovered his usual grit and nerve, and determined to die hard and game. Mr. Pinkerton, alone, came into the room just as the outlaw had finished the excellent breakfast which had been served him. Jim looked up, and holding out his hand, in a cheery voice said:

"Good morning, Mr. Pinkerton."

For a second Mr. Pinkerton hardly knew what to say. He was prepared to encounter either a desperate or a sullen prisoner, and was somewhat taken back when he received such a cordial greeting. It was but a second, and fully alive to all the tricks and maneuvers practiced by arrested criminals, he was on the qui vive.

"Good morning, Mr. 'Cummings'. I trust you have had a good breakfast?"

"Oh, fair."

"You slept well?"

"Tip-top."

"I trust you will be able to amuse yourself during the day."

"I won't amuse you, that's certain."

"You have been doing that for some time."

"That's all right. Now, what am I here for?"

"Just so. What ARE you here for?"

"You've got the wrong man, Mr. Pinkerton."

"Indeed?"

"Just now you called me 'Mr. Cummings'."

"I should, perhaps, have said Mr. Wittrock."

"What did you call me 'Cummings' for, then."

"As you christened yourself you ought to know."

"I'm arrested, of course, now for what?"

"To tell the fact, Mr. Wittrock, it is because some time last October you played a little joke on the Adams Express Company, and they appreciated it so highly that they hired me to find you so that they could tell you so."

"You dare accuse me of committing that robbery?"

"That's about the size of it."

"Why, man, I wasn't within five hundred miles of the place when it occurred."

"Where were you?"

"I was in New Orleans."

"Positive of that?"

"I can PROVE it."

"You can?"

"Yes, I can. You go over to my coalyard at--West Lake street, and ask my partner, Weaver. He will tell you where I was at that time."

"Is he your partner?"

"Yes."

"Strange, very strange. He said he bought you out last October."

"You've been there, have you?"

"That is what he said."

"He lies."

"Or you do."

"You wouldn't dare say that outside of this room."

"Don't get excited, Mr. Wittrock. We have had enough bantering. You might as well make a clean breast of the whole affair, for we have a clear case against you."

"I tell you I was at New Orleans at the time."

"You were not. Listen to me and I can prove you are a liar."

Wittrock flushed, and he began to get angry, which was just what Mr. Pinkerton wanted, and glaring at his persecutor he folded his arms and settled defiantly back in his chair. Mr. Pinkerton quietly continued:

"A week before the robbery was committed you and a man named Haight took a room at Chestnut street. On the twenty-third of October you sent a valise to Daniel Moriarity at Leavenworth, Kansas, and a letter instructing him to give its contents to Oscar Cook, of Kansas City. A few days after you committed the robbery, and in a cave near Pacific, you, with Moriarity and Haight, divided the ill-gotten wealth. You then rowed down the river to St. Louis, or near there, and from thence went to Kansas City. You were often seen playing faro at the White Elephant, and one night you knocked one of my men senseless when he had arrested Moriarity, and took him to old Nance, the widow. Still later, you, Cook and Moriarity took refuge at Swanson's ranche in the Indian Territory, and after attempting to rob your host, which attempt was frustrated by my men, you came, in some roundabout way, to Chicago, where you put up at the Commercial Hotel, disguised by a false mustache. Every evening you went to West Lake street, and last night you were arrested. Now, Mr. Wittrock, what have you to say?"

"That's a very pretty yarn; but as I don't happen to be the man that did all that I don't see how it concerns me."

"Look at that and tell me what you have to say," and Mr. Pinkerton laid before him the sworn deposition of Daniel Moriarity, in which all the facts that Mr. Pinkerton had been relating were set forth, Wittrock did not show a trace of feeling other than amusement, as he read the long and legally worded document, and passing it back to Mr. Pinkerton with a gesture of disdain, he said:

"So on the strength of that cock-and-bull story you mean to hold me for that robbery?"

"Partly so."

"There isn't a word of truth in it. That man, Moriarity, is a noted liar."

"Ah!" said Mr. Pinkerton, quickly, "you know Moriarity?"

"That is--I mean--yes, I sort of know him," stammered Wittrock, in confusion; "I have heard of him."

"You are in desperate straits, Mr. Wittrock," said the detective. "In such desperate straits that you are doing the worst possible thing--denying all that is proved true. We have you safe and secure, and enough evidence against you to send you to Jefferson City for a long term of years. You can lighten your sentence by one thing."

"You don't catch me that way, I am not to be taken in by soft words, and all the traps you set for me won't make me confess that I had anything to do with the robbery. You've arrested me without cause, and if there is any law in the land I'll make you suffer for it," and Wittrock walked excitedly around the room.

Mr. Pinkerton did not reply to this, but touching a bell, told the man who opened the door to bring in the other prisoners.

Wittrock had resumed his seat, his head bowed forward and eyes cast down, but hearing the door opening, he glanced up and saw Weaver and Haight, followed by two detectives, ushered into his room.

Both of them looked discouraged and broken-spirited. The heart had been taken from them by their arrest, and Wittrock's boldness and defiant manner began to melt as he saw his faint-hearted accomplices.

"You here, too," he exclaimed.

"Looks like it, don't it," said Haight, with a grim smile.

"You may as well own up, Fred," said Weaver, "they have the drop on us."

"Coward!" hissed Wittrock. Then turning suddenly to Mr. Pinkerton, he said:

"That cur is right, you have the drop on us."

"Then you confess you committed the robbery?"

"Yes," he answered, curtly.

"Was Fotheringham in the ring, too?"

"Fotheringham hadn't a thing to do with it."

"How came it, then, that we found some of the Adams express letter heads in his trunk, and which were not the ones printed for the company?"

"Did you do that?"

"Yes; ten or twenty sheets."

"He never got them from us. The first time I ever saw him was when I jumped on his car in St. Louis."

Mr. Pinkerton looked at the frank, open face of the train robber, and wondered that such a man could have committed the crime for which he was now locked up in the "Pinkerton strong box." His manner and tone of sincerity, when he declared Fotheringham innocent of any complicity with him or his companions, carried conviction with it. He believed himself that a blunder had been made, and Fotheringham was wrongfully accused.

"I said, a short time ago," he continued, addressing Wittrock, "that you could lighten your sentence if you wanted to do so."

"How?"

"Tell me where you have hid the money."

Wittrock hesitated, and glanced at his companions. Perhaps he saw in their faces, that if he didn't tell, they would. He was willing, however, to give them the same benefit accorded him, and pointing to Weaver, he said:

"Weaver knows where the money is planted in Chicago, and Cook has some hid around his shanty in Kansas City. I put some under the large tree, just east of the gate of the old graveyard at Leavenworth."

A sign from Mr. Pinkerton to one of the detectives, and taking Weaver with him, the man left the room.

Shortly after, Mr. Pinkerton, with the remaining detectives, also took his leave, and the two express robbers were alone.

The door had scarcely closed, when, dropping his cool and calm demeanor, Wittrock sprang from his chair and confronting Haight with flaming eyes, he whispered in terrible tones:

"Moriarity turned informer, he swore away our liberty, and all our work has been turned to naught by the cowardly traitor. Listen to me, Haight, listen well, and when you see the poltroon tell him that Jim Cummings swore he would cut his heart out. Aye! _I_ WILL DO IT, though he were guarded behind double bars. I'll search him out and tear the traitor heart from his breast and make him eat it, by God--make him eat it."

A gurgling sound and hissing gasps recalled the furious man to his senses, and he saw that in his frenzy of anger he had clutched his companion by the throat and was choking him purple in the face.

A few gasps, and Haight had recovered his breath, rubbing his throat ruefully, and edging away from his dangerous and excited companion.

His passionate outburst over Wittrock regained his composure, and lighting a cigar, gave one to Haight, remarking in a light tone:

"I beg your pardon, old man, I didn't mean to hurt you."

"Next time don't take me for Moriarity," puffing the peace-offering.

"Do you know whom I would like to see? Those two chaps that arrested me."

As if in answer to his call the door opened, and Sam, with Chip following, entered.

Wittrock recognized them, and with a hearty "Good-morning, gentlemen," motioned them to a seat, with as little ceremony as if the room was in his own house.

"Good-morning, Jim," said Chip, "I'm sorry we had to pull you in last night."

"It was a ground-hog case, eh?"

"You don't seem to recognize us," said Sam.

"Yes, I do; you gave me enough cause last night to remember you all my life."

"Suah enough, Massa Cummins," broke in Chip, imitating Scip's voice.

Wittrock gazed at the speaker, and in astonishment, cried:

"Scip!"

"Suah as you bawn, honey, I's de same ole Scip."

"And you?" turning to Sam.

"Doctor Skinner, at your service,"

"Then you're the two I have to thank for my being here."

"We helped the thing a little."

As they were talking, Weaver returned with the detective, bringing several packages of money, still in the original wrappers, which Wittrock had taken from the safe of the express car.

The sight of the recovered plunder placed a quietus on the arrested men, who now saw that the last link in the chain had been forged, and felt the walls of the penitentiary looming up before them.

Settling into a stubborn silence, they sullenly refused to utter another word, and maintained this position until they were placed on the train for St. Louis, where they were locked up to answer the indictments which the grand jury had already found against them.

*****

Fotheringham, who had all this time laid in jail, still protested his innocence. He stated that the letter heads found in his trunk he had taken from the general desk in the company's office, and that the reason the signatures of Route Agent Bartlett was found on the paper, was due to the fact that he was about to write for a permit for a vacation Christmas, and simply practised writing the name.

This explanation was received with smiles, but his friends came to the rescue, and proved that he was in the habit of writing names on every bit of paper which came to hand. That this eccentricity was well known, and his explanation should be received with favor. The grand jury, however, found an indictment against him, and he was held as an accomplice to the robbery.