Part 7

“I s’pose the priest will be here; he’s a trump, and I think more of him than I ever did before. He’s been a great help to me, and I don’t know what I’d done without him. Of course, he talks religion to me, but he’s kind of cheerful and ain’t always making out that I’m so much worse than anyone else ever was. I ain’t much afraid ‘bout God; somehow I kind of feel as if He knows that I’ve always had a pretty tough time, and that He’ll make allowances on account of a lot of them things that the judge ruled out, and He knows how I’ve suffered about it all and how sorry I be for her and the kid, and He’ll give me a fair show. Still sometimes I can’t help wonderin’ if mebbe there ain’t nothin’ in all of it, and if I hain’t got through when my wind’s shut off. Well, ‘scuse me, I didn’t want to make you feel bad, but I’ve thought about it so much and gone over it so many times that it don’t seem as if it was me, but that someone else was goin’ to get hung; but I hain’t no right to tell it to anybody else, and I didn’t mean to.

“Well, I set there and waited and waited, until about eleven o’clock, and then I thought mebbe ‘twould be safe enough to start, just then the boy woke up, and I heard him say ‘Mamma,’ and it kind of gave me a start, and I hurried in and asked him what he wanted and he said he wanted a drink of water, and I came out to the kitchen sink and got it and took it back and gave it to him. Then he asked me what time it was, and I told him about eleven o’clock, and he asked me why I had my clothes on and where mamma was, and I told him we hadn’t gone to bed yet, and for him to turn over and go to sleep, and he said a few more words and then dropped off.

“Then I went out to the barn to hitch up the rig. The horse was layin’ down asleep, and I felt kind of mean to wake him, for I knew he was about played out anyhow; but it couldn’t be helped, so I got him up and put on the harness. I s’pose he didn’t know much about the time, and thought he was goin’ down to Water Street after a load of potatoes. I didn’t bring any lantern; I knew the barn so well I could hitch up in the dark. Then I took the hay off’n the potatoes and put it in the bottom of the wagon to lay her on, and then run the wagon out and turned it ‘round and backed it in again. I ‘most always hitched up outside the barn for there was more room outdoors, but I didn’t want to be out there any more’n I could help, so I thought I’d get all ready in the barn so I could just drive away.

“Well, I got the horse all harnessed and the bits in his mouth, and ever’thing ready to hitch up, and then went back in the house. I’d been thinkin’ that I’d better take one more look, not that ‘twould do any good but just because it might. You know when you’ve lost a knife, or a quarter, or anything, and you look through all your pockets and find it ‘tain’t there, and then go back and look through all of ‘em again and don’t find it; then you ain’t satisfied with that and mebbe you keep a lookin’ through ‘em all day, even when you know ‘tain’t there. Well, that’s the way I felt about her, only I s’pose a good deal worse, so when I got in I looked her over again just the same way’s I had before. I felt for her pulse and her heart but ‘twa’n’t no use. Then I got my old overcoat and my hat and got ready to start, but before I left I thought I’d just look out once to see if the folks in the next house was abed, and I found they wa’n’t, for there was a light in the kitchen right next to mine, and I knew ‘twould never do to carry that kind of a bundle out the back door while they was up. So I waited a little while until the light went out and ever’thing was still, and then put on my coat and hat and picked her up in my arms. It was an awful hard thing to do, but there wa’n’t nothin’ else for it, so I just kind of took my mind off’n it and picked her up. When I got her kind of in my arms one of her arms sort of fell over, and her legs kind of hung down like they was wood, and then I see I had to fasten ‘em some way or I couldn’t never carry her. It wa’n’t like a live person that can stay right where they want to; it was more like carryin’ an arm full of wood that would scatter all around unless you get it held tight.

“Then I laid her down and found some string and tied her arms tight around her body, and then fastened her ankles together. Then I went into the bedroom and got a quilt off’n our bed and rolled her up in that. You know at my trial they made out that ‘twas bad for me to tie her that way, and if I hadn’t been awful wicked I wouldn’t have done it. But I can’t see anything in that; there wa’n’t no other way to do it. Then they said it was awful bad the way I took her off and the place I dumped her, and the newspapers made that out one of the worst things about it all; but I tried to think up something else to do and I couldn’t, and there she was dead, and I had to do the best I could. I washed her and fixed her all up before I went away, and if there’d been anything else I could have done I know I would.

“When I got her fixed up, I went to the door and looked out, and I saw some drunken fellers goin’ along in the alley, so I waited a minute for them; and then I got her in my arms and opened the door and then turned off the light and went out and shut the door as soft as I could. It wa’n’t but a few steps to the barn, but I hurried as fast as I could, and just as I was takin’ the first step I heard the most unearthly screech that scart me so I ‘most dropped her; but in a minute I knew it was only a train pullin’ into the yards and I hurried to get to the barn before the engine come up.

“Well, I guess nobody saw me, and I got her in the wagon and laid her on the hay. I fixed her head to the end and her feet reachin’ up under the seat. I didn’t want her head so near me in that long drive down over the prairie. Then I covered her up the best I could with one of the old horse blankets, so it wouldn’t look suspicious if anyone seen me.

“I tell you it was awful pokerish out there in the barn, worse than in the house, for I had a light there. I didn’t want to stay in the barn a minute longer than I could help, so I hurried and hitched the old horse onto the wagon, then went out to the alley and looked up and down to see if anyone was there. Then I got on the seat and put a blanket around me and drove off. I was afraid the neighbors would notice me drive out of the barn, but they didn’t. The moon hadn’t quite got up and there couldn’t anyone see unless they was right close. When I got about a block away I seen a policeman walkin’ ‘long the street and goin’ up to pull a box. Of course I was scart; he looked at me kind of suspicious like, and looked at the wagon to see what was in there, but it was rather dark and I braced up the best I could and drove right ‘long and he didn’t say nothin’. Then I found a lot of fellers that was comin’ down the street makin’ a lot of noise. They was a gang of politicians that had been goin’ round to the saloons and was pretty full. I was afraid some of ‘em might know me, but they didn’t pay any attention and I went along up to the corner of Halsted and turned south. I knew Halsted was a pretty public street, but the roads was better and I had a long way to go, so I thought I might just as well chance that.

“I got along down about Twenty-ninth Street and met a gang of fellers that was makin’ a lot of noise singin’ and talkin’, and braggin’ and tellin’ what they could do. I was a little ‘fraid of ‘em, not because I thought they’d hurt me, but I didn’t know but what they’d see what was in the wagon. When I come up to ‘em they told me to stop, that they was the ‘Bridgeport threshers’ and no one had any right there but them, and they wanted to know what reason I had to be out at that time o’ night. I told ‘em I was just gettin’ home, that I’d been kep’ late up town. Then one of ‘em said, ‘What you got in the wagon?’ and I said, ‘Potatoes.’ Then one feller said, ‘Let’s see ‘em,’ and started for the wagon. But another one spoke up and said, ‘Oh, Bill, leave him alone, he’s all right.’ And then they all started up another road and went away. That was a pretty narrow escape and I was ‘most scart to death for fear they’d look under the blanket. I met a good many teams but nothin’ more happened till I got down to Fifty-fifth Street Boulevard, where I turned east to go over to the Vincennes road.

“By this time the moon had come up and it was about as light as day. It had stopped snowin’ and the wind had gone down but it was awful cold. I never saw a nicer night. You could see everything almost as well as daylight. I hurried the old horse as much as I could, but he couldn’t go fast. He hadn’t got much rested from the day before. Every once in a while I looked back at the load. I kind of hated to look, but I couldn’t help it. The blanket commenced to kind of take her shape so it looked to me as if anyone would know that someone was under there. So I got out and moved the blanket and fixed it up more on one side. But I didn’t look at her. Then I drove on across to Vincennes road and turned south. Every once in a while I’d meet someone, and I was afraid all the time that something would happen, but it didn’t and I drove on. The moon got clear up high and I could see everything on the road and around the wagon, and see where her feet came through under the seat and almost touched mine, and could see all the horse blanket that covered her up. I hadn’t got far down the Vincennes road until I thought the blanket had changed its shape and was lookin’ just like her again so I got out and fixed it up and went back and drove on.

“While I was goin’ ‘long I kep’ thinkin’ what I was goin’ to do and I s’pose it was the cold that made me think I’d better go south. I always did hate cold weather, and this winter I thought I’d have to stay out and run ‘round from one place to another, if I didn’t get caught the first thing.

“Then I thought I must take the horse and wagon back home, and I wanted to see that the boy was all right; so I thought it might bother me to go clear out to that quarry and get away from Chicago before daylight. But anyhow I could go until one o’clock and then get back by three, and probably ketch a train before mornin’.

“After a while I begun to have a queer idea about her. I thought I could feel her lookin’ right at me,—kind of feel her eyes. I drove on, and said it was all bosh and she couldn’t do it, and I looked down at her feet and I seen they was in the same place, but still I couldn’t get over that feelin’. I thought she was lookin’ at me all the time, and I kind of ‘magined I could hear her say, ‘Where ‘re you takin’ me? Where are you takin’ me? Where are you takin’ me?’ just about the same as when she said, ‘Kill me! Kill me! Kill me!’ and no matter what I done, or how hard I tried, I could feel her lookin’ and hear them words in my ears.

“By this time I was gettin’ ‘way down the Vincennes road. You know it gets wide ‘way down south, and it ain’t much built up nor very well paved. There’s a lot of road-houses along the street; most of ‘em was open and a good many fellers was ‘round ‘em, just as they always is ‘round saloons. I’d like to have had a drink, for I was awful cold and scart, but I didn’t dare go in, though I did stop at a waterin’-trough in front of one of the places and watered the horse. He was pretty well blowed and was hot. I had urged him pretty hard and the road was heavy. Wherever there was mud it was frozen so stiff that it could almost hold up, and still let you break through, the very worse kind of roads for a horse to go on.

“After I got him watered I went on and kep’ meetin’ lots of wagons. I never had no idea how many people traveled nights before. I s’posed I wouldn’t see anyone, but I met a wagon ever’ little ways and I was always afraid when I passed ‘em. A great many of ‘em hollered out, ‘Hello, pardner,’ or ‘What you got to sell,’ or anything, to be sociable, and I would holler back the best I could, generally stickin’ to ‘Potatoes,’ when they asked me about my load. I thought I knew potatoes better’n anything else, and would be more at home with ‘em if anything was said.

“I hadn’t got far after I watered the horse before her eyes began to bother me again. Then I kept hearin’ them words plainer than I had before. Then I got to thinkin’ about all the things I had heard and read about people who were dead, and about murders, and that seemed to make it worse’n ever. Then I began to think of the things I’d read about people that were put away for dead, when they wa’n’t dead at all, and about mesmerism, and hypnotism, and Christian Science, but I knew none of them things was done the way she’d been killed. Then I remembered about trances, and how people was give up for dead sometimes for days, and even buried and then come to life, and about how people had dug up old graveyards and found out where lots of people had moved around after they’s dead. And then I thought I heard her say, ‘You thought you’d killed me! You thought you’d killed me! You thought you’d killed me!’ And the further I went the plainer it sounded. Finally I began to think ‘twas so and of course I hoped it was, and I kep’ thinkin’ it more’n more and couldn’t get it out of my head. Of course, I looked around at the houses and the trees and fences and at the moon. It had clouded up a little with them kind of lightish heavy clouds you’ve seen that run so fast; they was just flyin’ along over the sky and across the moon, and I was wishin’ I could go ‘long with ‘em and get away from it all, and then the voice would come back, ‘Where are you takin’ me? Where are you takin’ me? Where are you takin’ me? You thought you’d killed me! You thought you’d killed me! You thought you’d killed me!’ And I felt so sure she wa’n’t dead that I couldn’t stand it any more, and I looked at her feet, but they hadn’t moved, and then I stopped the horse and got off’n the wagon and went back to the hind end and lifted up the blanket kind of slow. For I felt as if I’d stand more chance that way than if I did it all at once, and I got the blanket up, and then I got hold of the quilt just by the edge and kind of pulled it back so as to uncover her face, and just then the moon came out from behind a cloud and shone right down in her face, almost like day, and she looked just as white as a ghost, and the bandage had come off her jaw and it hung clear down, and her mouth was open, and I knew she was dead.

“Then I threw the things back and jumped onto the wagon, half crazy, and hurried on.

“It was gettin’ now where there wa’n’t no more houses, and I hardly ever met any teams, and I was gettin’ clear out on the prairies, and I looked at my old silver watch and saw it was close to one o’clock, and I thought mebbe I might just as well get through with it now as to wait any longer. So I looked along at the fields to find a good place, and after a while I saw where there was a great big field full of hummocks. It looked as if they’d been diggin’ for gravel or somethin’ of that kind, and I thought that was as good a place as any. So I looked up and down the road, and saw no one comin’, and I drove the old horse up in the fence corner and got off the wagon, and then I fixed a good place to get over, and fastened the quilt a little better, and took her in my arms and started as fast as ever I could. I went past the fence and run over to the first hummock, but the hole didn’t look very deep, and there was some more further over. So I went to them, but they wa’n’t deep enough either. Then I looked ‘round and saw one bigger’n the rest and went there. I laid her down and looked over. The moon was shinin’ all right, and I could see that the hole was pretty big and deep. I laid her down lengthwise ‘long the bank, and then took one more feel of her heart and ‘twas just the same. Then I fastened the quilt a little tighter, lifted her clear over to the edge, and held her head and feet in a straight line so she’d roll down the hill all right, and then I give her a shove and turned and run away.”

VII

“Well, I hadn’t any more’n started to run till I heard a splash I knew she’d got to the water all right and there wa’n’t nothin’ for me to do but hurry home.

“I went right back to the wagon and climbed upon the seat and turned ‘round. The old horse was pretty tired but he seemed some encouraged, bein’ as he’d turned home. Horses always does, no matter how poor a place they has to stay. I urged him ‘long just as fast as I could; didn’t stop for nothin’ except to give him some water at a trough down on Halstead Street, and went right home. Then I put him in the stable and took care of him, and throwed some hay in the manger. So long as I hadn’t any oats I emptied about a bushel of potatoes in with the hay. I thought they wouldn’t be any use to me any more, and they’d keep him quiet a while and mebbe do him some good.

“Then I went in the house, and struck a match and lit the lamp. I didn’t ‘low to stay long for I’d got my plans all thought out comin’ home, but I just wanted to look into the room and see the kid. I glanced ‘round and ever’thing seemed all right, except I thought I’d better take the coal pail out in the kitchen. Then I looked at the floor and the rug and I couldn’t see no blood; and the water had pretty near dried up. Then I opened the bedroom door and looked at the kid. He was sleepin’ all right, just as if he hadn’t been awake once all night. He was layin’ on one side with his face lookin’ out toward me, and was kind of smilin’ pleasant-like and his hair was all sweaty and curly. You’ve seen the kid. You know he’s got white curly hair just as fine as silk. That’s one thing he got from her.

“Well, I couldn’t hardly bear to go away and leave him, but there wa’n’t nothin’ else to do. I guess I would have kissed him if I hadn’t been ‘fraid he’d wake up, but I never was much for kissin’; kissin’ depen’s a good deal on how you’re raised. I guess rich people kiss a good deal more’n poor people, as a general rule, but I don’t know as they think any more of their children. Well, I just looked at him a minute and shut the door and went out. Then I noticed the whiskey bottle on the table that I brought out to try to wake her; I hadn’t thought of it before; and I picked it up and drank what was left, and turned and blew out the lamp and went away. That’s the last I ever seen of the kid, or the house.

“I went right over to the yards to see about trains. There wa’n’t nothin’ standin’ ‘round there and I didn’t like to ask any questions, so I went down to the other end and see ‘em switchin’ some cars as if they was makin’ up a train, and I walked out in the shadow of a fence until they’d got it all made up and I felt pretty sure ‘twas goin’ south. I knew them cars and engines pretty well. Then I jumped in a box car that was about in the middle of the train. There was a great big machine of some kind in the car, so there was plenty of room left for me, and I snuggled down in one corner and dozed off. I don’t think I’d been sleepin’ long till a brakeman come past with a lantern and asked me who I was and where I was goin’. I told him I was goin’ south to get a job, and wanted to get down as far as Georgia if I could, for my lungs wa’n’t strong and the doctors had advised a change of climate. I had read about the doctors advisin’ rich people to have a change of climate, but of course I hadn’t ever heard of their tellin’ the poor to do any such thing. I s’pose because it wouldn’t do no good and they couldn’t afford to leave their jobs and go. But I didn’t see why that wasn’t a good excuse. He asked me if I had any whiskey or tobacco, and I said no, and he told me that I oughtn’t to get on a train without whiskey or tobacco, and I promised not to again, and then he let me go.

“It was just gettin’ streaks of light in the east, and I thought I might as well go ahead and prob’ly I’d better ride till noon anyhow, as nothin’ much could happen before that time. Then I went off to sleep again. The sun was pretty high before I woke up. I looked at my watch to see what time it was but found I’d forgot to wind it the night before and it had run down. Well, I concluded it was just as safe to stay on the car so long as it was goin’ south and so I didn’t get off all day, except to run over to a grocery when the train stopped once and get some crackers and a few cigars. I thought I’d have ‘em when the brakeman come ‘round, and then I fixed myself for the night. I was pretty well beat out and didn’t have much trouble goin’ to sleep, though of course I couldn’t get it out of my head any of the time, and would wake up once in a while and wonder if it wa’n’t all a dream till I found myself again and knew it was all true.

“I’d found out that the car I was in was goin’ to Mississippi and made out that it was for some saw mill down there. It was switched ‘round once or twice in the day, and I think once in the night, and was put on other trains, and the new brakeman had come ‘round at different times. After I got the cigars I gave ‘em one whenever they come ‘round and this kep’ ‘em pretty good natured. And so long as the car had switched off and I made up my mind they wouldn’t find her the first day, I thought mebbe I’d better stay right in it and go to Mississippi. I didn’t know nothin’ ‘bout Mississippi, except that it was south and a long ways off and settled with niggers, and that they made lumber down there. I used to see a good many cars from Mississippi when I was switchin’ in the yards. The car was switched off quite a bit, and didn’t go very fast, and it was four days before they landed it in Mississippi.

“They stopped right in the middle of the woods, and I made up my mind that this was about as good a place to stay as anywhere, if I could get a job, and I thought it wouldn’t be a bad plan to try where they was sendin’ the machine. It had been so easy for me to get down to Mississippi that I began to think that mebbe my luck had changed, and that the Lord had punished me all he was goin’ to. So I went up to the mill and asked for a job. The foreman told me he’d give me one if I didn’t mind workin’ with niggers. I told him I didn’t care anything ‘bout that, I guessed they was as good as I was. So I started in. My whiskers was beginnin’ to grow out some. You know I always kep’ ‘em shaved off, and now they was comin’ out all over my face, and I made up my mind to let ‘em grow. I went to work loadin’ saw logs onto a little car that took ‘em down into the mill. A great big stout nigger worked with me, and we took long poles and rolled the logs over onto the cars, and then it was rolled down into the mill and another one come up in its place. I found the only chance to board was in the big buildin’ where all the hands lived. I thought this wa’n’t a bad place. Most of the people boardin’ there was niggers, but there was a few white fellers, and I naturally got acquainted with ‘em.

“I’d been there a week or two when someone brought a Chicago paper into the house. It was covered with great big headlines and had my picture on the front page. It told all ‘bout some boys findin’ her and about the neighbors hearin’ me call her a damned bitch, and about the kid wakin’ up in the mornin’ and goin’ out in the street to hunt its ma. Then it offered a thousand dollars reward in great big letters.