Part 6

“When I was sure that she was dead, I just throwed myself over on the floor, and laid my face flat down on my arm and give up. I’m sure I cried and I thought they could hear me next door, but I guess they didn’t. Anyhow I cried without payin’ any attention to ‘em. I must have laid this way for ten or fifteen minutes without once lookin’ up, and she was right close to me, and I could just reach out my hand and touch her. And I hadn’t begun to think what I’d do. Then after I’d laid a while, I just thought mebbe I’d ought to pray. It had been a long while since I’d prayed. Of course, I hadn’t paid much attention to such things when I was all right; I guess there ain’t many people that does, except women and children, but I always really believed in it, just the same as I do now. I kind of thought that God knew that I wasn’t wicked enough to kill her, and have all this trouble, and bring all that misery on the kid; so I thought I’d try him. I didn’t know much about prayers except only the ones I’d learnt long ago, and they didn’t any of ‘em seem to fit this case. But I didn’t need to know any prayers; I just got down on my knees and prayed myself. I begged God to have her come back; I told him how good she was, and how the boy needed her and what a hard time I’d always had, same as I told you, only not near so long, and I apologized the best I could for not goin’ to church more reg’lar and not ever prayin’ to him, and I asked him to forgive me for the time I kicked her, and the other things I’d done, and I promised if he only would let her come back I’d always be good and take care of her and the boy, and never do anything wrong and always go to church and confessional, and love God and Jesus and the Virgin and all the saints, and quit politics and drinkin’, and do right. I prayed and prayed, and I meant it all, too. And I don’t believe it was all for myself, ‘though I s’pose most of it was, but I really felt awful sorry for her, as I have ever since, and I felt awful sorry for the boy, who never had anything at all to do about it all.

“Then after I quit prayin’ I got up slow, thinkin’ that it might have done some good, and that mebbe she’d be all right, so I started in, just as I had before, with her feet to see if they’d moved. I s’pose the reason I done this way was that if I saw her head first and knew she was dead ‘twould be all off the first thing; and when I commenced with her feet I always had some hope till I got clear up to her head. Well, her feet hadn’t moved a bit. Then I went to her hands, and they was just in the same place, and I began to feel it wa’n’t any use to look at her head; but I did. And there it was just as white as that plaster-Paris lady, and her eyes lookin’ straight up.

“Then I felt sure ‘twas all off. I’d done everything I could think of, and I’d prayed just as hard as I knew how, and I was sure no one ever meant it more’n I did or wanted it any more, and I knew, of course, God had seen the whole thing and could do it if he wanted to and that he didn’t want to, and that she was clear dead. I kind of half set and half laid down on the floor a little while longer, tryin’ to think about it and what I was goin’ to do. But I couldn’t make any plans; I kep’ thinkin’ about how it had all happened, and it begun to seem as if it wa’n’t really me that hit her with the poker, but as if both of us was somebody else and I was sort of dreamin’ about it all. Ain’t you ever had them kind of feelin’s when somethin’ awful has happened? But, of course, nothin’ like that ever happened to you. I thought most about that beefsteak, and how I stopped and bought it, and didn’t go in and get a drink, and all the time it seemed to me just as if that was where I made my big mistake. And then I thought how awful near I come to goin’ into the saloon instead of the butcher-shop, and then some of the time I’d kind of feel as if mebbe I was goin’ into the saloon after all, and it wa’n’t goin’ to happen. Don’t you know how it is when anybody’s died or anything happened? You think about everything that’s done, so as to see if mebbe you can’t make it come out some other way after all? Well, that’s the way I done about every little thing, and every word we both spoke till I hit her with the poker. Another thing where I almost missed killin’ her was that poker; that coal pail didn’t belong in the settin’ room at all, but ought to have been in the kitchen, and I don’t know how it ever got in there. Mebbe the boy lugged it in for a drum. You know he didn’t have many playthings, or mebbe she started a little fire in the settin’ room, for ‘twas the first cold day. I don’t see how it could have been that either, for she was washin’ that day and wouldn’t have any time to set in there. But I don’t know as it makes any difference; the coal pail was in the settin’ room and the poker was in the pail, and they was right before my eyes at the time. If they hadn’t been I never would’ve used the poker. When she stood up and told me to kill her, I’d most likely struck her with my fists and that would only knocked her down. But anyhow it didn’t do any good to go over it, for I couldn’t go into the saloon instead of the butcher-shop, and I couldn’t get that coal pail out of the settin’ room, and it had all been done—and she was dead! And I’d killed her! After I’d went over this a long time I made myself stop so I could do somethin’ that would be some use, for I knew there was lots to be done before mornin’, and I hadn’t a minute to lose. I knew I must get up off’n the floor and try to act like a man, and not give up, no matter how bad it was. But before I got up I thought I’d just take one more look to make sure that there wa’n’t no use. So I went over her again, just as I’d done before, and it came out the same way anyhow. I didn’t much think it was any use then and would’ve just about as soon begun at the head and got through with it right away.

“After I had looked her over again I got up and set down in a chair to make up my mind what to do. I hadn’t been there very long when I knew I couldn’t figure it out; ‘twas too much for me the way I was, and so I thought I’d just quit tryin’ and do a few things first. And then I wondered what time ‘twas. I hadn’t thought anything about the time before, but I s’posed it must be almost mornin’ for just then I heard an express wagon drive along the street, and anyhow it seemed an awful long while since I got home. The clock was right up on the mantel-piece and tickin’ loud, but I hadn’t thought of lookin’ at it before and didn’t even know it was in the room. I looked up and seen it was goin’ and that ‘twas only a quarter to twelve. I was surprised that it wa’n’t no later, and wondered how it could be, and just then it struck and I kind of kep’ count because I was sort of thinkin’ of the clock and it stopped strikin’ at nine. Then I thought somethin’ must be wrong with the clock too, and I looked back again and seen that I’d made a mistake in the hands and ‘twas only nine o’clock. I couldn’t believe this was so, but the clock was goin’ all right. Then I kind braced up a little and thought what was to be done. First, I looked ‘round the room. I told you, didn’t I, that we et in the settin’ room? It was a settin’ room and a dinin’ room both. Sometimes we et in the kitchen, but that was pretty small. The table stood there with the dirty dishes just as we’d got through eatin’. There was the plates and knives and forks, and the teacups and the big platter with some of that steak left, and the gravy gettin’ kind of hard like lard all ‘round it. The coal pail was there and standin’ ‘round the table where we’d set to eat, except the rockin’ chair which was over by the stove. I looked at all them things, and then I looked down at the floor, and there she lay with her head over toward the closet door and her feet up almost under the table. It was an awful sight to look at her on the floor, but there wa’n’t nothin’ else to do, so I looked her all over as careful as I had before, then I got kind of scart; I hadn’t never been in a room alone with anyone that was dead, except at the morgue; but, of course, this was worse than anything of that kind. I’d always heard more or less about ghosts and haunted houses and things like that, and didn’t believe anything of the kind, but they seemed to come back now when I looked over where she was layin’. I was afraid of ever’thing, not of people but of ghosts and things I couldn’t tell nothin’ about. I knew she was dead and must have gone somewhere, and most likely she was right ‘round here either in the bedroom lookin’ at the boy or out here seein’ how I felt and what I was goin’ to do with her. Just then I heard somethin’ move over by the closet and it scart me almost to death. I knew it must be her and couldn’t bear to see her unless she could come to life on the floor. Finally I looked around to where I heard the noise and then I seen it was the curtain; the window was down a little at the top. I went and put up the window, and then hated to turn ‘round and look back where she lay. Then I went to the bedroom door and opened it about half way just so the light wouldn’t fall on the bed and wake him up, but so I could hear him breathe and it wouldn’t be quite so lonesome. Ever’thing was awful still and like a ghost except the clock, after I got to thinkin’ of it. Then it ticked so loud I was almost ‘fraid they’d hear it in the next house. When I got the bedroom door open I thought I must do somethin’ about her and the room before I made up my mind what plan to take about myself.

“First I went and hunted up the cat. I’d always heard about that, so I went into the kitchen and there she was sleepin’ under the stove. I couldn’t help wishin’ I was the cat, although I had never thought of any such thing before. Then I took her in my hand and went to the outside door and threw her out in the yard and shut the door tight. Then I came back in the settin’ room and thought about what had to be done. I looked over again at her and then I saw her eyes still lookin’ right up at the ceilin’, and round and shinin’ like glass marbles. I thought that wa’n’t the way they ought to be and that all the dead folks I’d ever seen had their eyes shut. So I went over and got down by her head and kind of pushed the lids over her eyes, same as I’d always heard they did, and put some nickels on ‘em to keep ‘em down. I don’t know how I done it, but I felt as if it had to be done, and, of course, they wa’n’t no one else to do it, and nobody knows what they can do until they have to. And then I saw that there was a good deal of blood on her face, and I wanted her to look decent though I didn’t know then what would be done with her, and I went into the kitchen to the sink and got a pan of water and some soap and an old towel, and washed all the blood off that I could find, and wiped her face careful to make her look as well as I could. Once or twice while I was doin’ it I kind of felt down to her heart, but I knew it wa’n’t no use. Still I thought it couldn’t do any hurt, and that God might’ve thought I wa’n’t scart enough so he waited; but I didn’t feel nothin’ there. Then I kind of smoothed back her hair like I’d seen her do sometimes. ‘Twas all scattered round on the floor and pretty full of blood. I couldn’t very well get the blood out, but I fixed the hair all back together the best I could. Then I noticed that her jaw kind of hung down and I pushed it up and tied a towel around it to keep it there, and then she looked pretty well, except that great long gash over her face and head where the poker went.

“Then I thought I’d have to fix up the room and the floor a little bit. I sort of pushed back the chairs and the table so I could get a little more room, and then moved her a little way and straightened her out some. First before I moved her I got that paper I’d been readin’ and laid it on the floor and then I took up her shoulders and lifted ‘em over to one side and laid her head on the paper. Then I moved the rest of her over to match her head and shoulders. There was a lot of blood on the floor where she’d been, and I knew I had to do somethin’ about that.

“There was a nice Japanese rug on the floor, and her head had struck just on the edge of it over by the door. I’d bought her the rug for a Christmas present last year, and she liked it better’n anything she had in the house, but it was beginnin’ to wear out some. A part of the blood was on the floor and a part on the rug. So I went and got another pan of water and the soap and towel and washed the floor; then I washed the rug the best I could, and lifted it up and washed in under it, and then threw away the water and got some more and washed it all over again. When I seen that the last water was a little bloody I thought mebbe I’d better go over it again, so I got some more water and went over it the third time, then I threw the water out and washed the towel as good as I could, and went back in and looked ‘round the room to see if there was anything else to do. Just then I noticed the poker that I hadn’t thought of before. I took it to the kitchen and washed it all over and then dried it and then put it in the stove and covered it with ashes, and then laid it down on the hearth; then I went back in and seen that ever’thing was finished and that she was all right, and there wa’n’t nothin’ to do except to make my plans. But before I go on and tell you what I done with her, let me speak to the guard a minute.”

Hank and Jim got up once more and looked out through the bars. The guard was still sitting on the stool and asked what he could do.

“What time is it?” said Jim.

“Oh, it’s early yet, only a little after twelve,” he replied. “Wouldn’t you like a little more whiskey? I’ve got another bottle here, and I can get all I want down to the office. If I was you I’d drink it. I don’t think whiskey does any hurt. I’m always arguing with that other guard about it. He’s bug-house on whiskey.”

Jim took the whiskey and then turning to the guard, with an anxious face, said, “You’re sure nothin’ has come for me?”

“No, there’s nothin’ come.” But after a few minutes he added, “I’ll go over to the telephone pretty soon and call up the telegraph office and make sure.”

Jim’s face brightened a little at this. “I’m much obliged. It might be sent to me, and it might be sent to the jailer or the sheriff. You’d better ask for all of us.”

VI

“That whiskey makes me feel better. I’ve been takin’ a good deal tonight and I s’pose I’ll take more in the mornin’. That’s one reason why I’m drinkin’ so much now. First I thought I wouldn’t take any tomorrow—or—I guess it’s today, ain’t it? It don’t seem possible; but I s’pose it is. I thought I’d show the newspapers and people that’s been tellin’ what a coward I was to kill a woman! but now I think I’ll take all I possibly can. I guess that’s the best way. It don’t make no difference—if I take it they’ll say I’m a coward and if I don’t, it’s only bravado. Most people takes so much that they almost have to be carried up, and they don’t hardly know. I guess that’s the best way. Some people take somethin’ to have a tooth pulled, and I don’t see why they shouldn’t for a thing like this. Mebbe the whiskey makes me talk more’n I meant to, and tell you a lot of things that hain’t nothin’ to do with the case, but it’s pretty hard for me to tell what has and what hain’t.

“After I got her laid out and the floor cleaned, I set down a minute to think what I’d do next. First I thought I’d go in and get the kid and take him away, and leave her there, and I guess now that would have been the best way, and they wouldn’t found it out so quick. But then I thought the people next door, or the postman, or milkman, or somebody, would come along in the mornin’ and find her there, and I couldn’t get far with the kid. Besides I only had about ten dollars and I knew that wouldn’t last long. Then I thought I’d just go out and jump onto one of the freight trains they was makin’ up in the yards, and leave her and the kid both; then I couldn’t bear to think of him wakin’ up and comin’ out into the settin’ room and findin’ her there. He wouldn’t know what it meant and would be scart to death and ‘twouldn’t be right. Then so long as I couldn’t do either one, I had to get her out, but I didn’t know how to do it, and what was I goin’ to do with her when I got her out. First I thought I’d try to put her in the sewer, and then I knew someone would find her there for that had been tried before; then I studied to see what else I could think of.

“Finally I happened to remember a place she and I went once picnickin’, just after we was married. I don’t know how I happened to remember it, ‘cept that I couldn’t think of anything to do, and then I was kind of goin’ over our life, and it seemed as if that was the nicest day we ever had. One of the boys had been tellin’ me about the new street car lines that run way off down through Pullman and South Chicago, and out into the country, and how nice it was out there away from all the houses. So one Sunday we went over to the street cars and started out. I don’t know whether we found the right place or not, but I remember just when we was goin’ to turn somewhere to go to Pullman or South Chicago we saw some trees off in a field, and thought that would be a nice place to go and set in the shade and eat the lunch we’d brought along. So we went over under the trees, and then I saw some rock further over, and then she and I went over where they was and there was a great deep pond with big stones all ‘round the edge. I heard that it was an old stone quarry that had got filled up with water. But it was awful deep and big, and we set down under a little tree on top of one of them big rocks and let our feet hang over the sides, and the water was way down below, and I said to her just in fun, ‘Now, if I wanted to get rid of you, I could just push you over here and no one would ever know anything about it.’ She kind of laughed at the idea and said if I ever wanted to get rid of her I wouldn’t have to push her off any rock, that she’d go and jump in somewhere herself, and I told her if I ever wanted her to I’d let her know, and for her to just wait till I did. And we went all ‘round the pond, and I threw stones in it and tried to see how near across I could throw, and we stayed ‘round until it was time to take the car and go home. And I don’t believe I ever had a better time. Now and then when we was friendly or had got over a fight, we used to talk about goin’ back there again, but we never did.

“Well, after thinkin’ of ever’thing I could, I made up my mind that the best thing was for me to put her on the express wagon and take her out there, if I could find the place. I didn’t believe anybody would ever know anything about it, and if they did ‘twould be a long time and they wouldn’t know who she was.

“Then I thought it might be dangerous gettin’ her out of the house and gettin’ the wagon out on the street that time of night. If anyone seen us they’d be suspicious and want to know what I was doin’, and then I was afraid the policeman would be watchin’ for suspicious people and things along the street. But I didn’t see anything else to do, and I knew I had to take chances anyway and would most likely get caught in the end. I looked at the clock and found ‘twas only ten, and I felt as if that was too early to start out. The people next door wouldn’t be abed and if they ever saw me carryin’ her out they couldn’t help noticin’ it. So I set down and waited. You hain’t no idea how slow the time goes in such a case. I just set and heard that clock tick, and the boy breathin’ in the other room; it seemed as if every tick was just fetchin’ me that much nearer to the end—and I s’pose mebbe that’s so, whether we’ve killed anyone or not, but you don’t never think of it unless it’s some place where you’re waitin’ for someone to die, or somethin’ like that. Then of course I kept thinkin’ of ever’thing in my whole life, and I went over again how I’d done it, but I couldn’t make it come out any different no matter how hard I tried.

“Then I wondered what I was goin’ to do next, and how long ‘twould be before they’d ketch me, and if I’d stand any show to get out, if I got ketched. Of course, I thought I’d have to run away. I never seemed to think of anything but that. I guess ever’body runs away when they do any such thing; ‘tain’t so much bein’ safer, but they want to get away. It don’t seem as if they’d ever be any chance anymore where it’s done. But I couldn’t just figger out where to go. Of course, I knew I’d take the cars. There ain’t any other way to travel if you want to go quick. Then I thought I’d have a long enough time to figger it out while I was takin’ that drive down across the prairie. Anyhow I’d need somethin’ to think about while I was goin’.

“That feller that talked to us in the jail said the real reason why they hung people and locked ‘em up was to get even with ‘em, to make ‘em suffer because they’d done somethin’. He said all the smart men who’d studied books claimed that hangin’ and punishin’ didn’t keep other people from doin’ things. But if it’s done to make anyone suffer they ain’t any use in doin’ it at all. I never suffered so much since as I did when I was settin’ there and thinkin’ all about it, and what I was goin’ to do, and what would become of the kid, and how she was dead, and ever’thing else. You know it takes quite a while to get used to a thing like that, and while I was settin’ there beginnin’ to realize what it all meant, it was awful! If I’d only had the nerve I’d just cut my throat and fell right over alongside of her. A good many people does that and I wish I could’ve. But every time I thought of it I kind of hung back. I don’t ever want any more such nights; I’d rather they’d hang me and be done with it. I didn’t suffer so much when I was runnin’ away or gettin’ caught, or bein’ tried; even when I was waitin’ for the verdict to come in; nor I didn’t suffer so much waitin’ for the Supreme Court or the Governor, or even since they give up hope and I can hear ‘em puttin’ that thing up over there in the courtyard.

“I don’t s’pose hangin’ will hurt so very much after all. The main thing is, I want ‘em to hurry after they start out. Of course, I’ll be pretty drunk, and won’t know much about what they’re doin’, and I don’t s’pose they’ll take long after I put on them clothes until it’s all over. Goin’ from here to the place won’t hurt, though I s’pose it’ll be pretty hard work walkin’ up the ladder and seein’ that rope hangin’ over the beam, and knowin’ what it’s for. But I s’pose they’ll help me up. And then strappin’ my hands and feet’ll take some time. But they don’t need to do that with me for I shan’t do a thing;—still mebbe if they didn’t I’d kind of grab at the rope when they knocked the door out from under my feet. I might do that without knowin’ it. So I s’pose it’s just as well. It must be kind of sickish when they tie the rope ‘round your neck, and when they pull that cap over your head, and you know you ain’t never goin’ to see anything again. I don’t s’pose they’ll wait long after that; they oughtn’t to. You won’t feel anything when you’re fallin’ down through, but it must hurt when you’re pulled up short by the neck. But that can’t last long, can it? They do say the fellers kicks a good deal after they’re hung, but the doctors say they don’t really feel it, and I s’pose they know, but I don’t see how they can all be so smart about ever’thing; they hain’t never been hung.