CHAPTER XXVI.

WHICHER'S RIDE TO DEATH.

The James Boys were believed to have been the projectors and leaders of the Gadshill enterprise. Soon after that event they returned to Clay county. Traces of their trail through Southern Missouri were soon discovered. The description given of two of the five travellers who took breakfast at Mrs. Cook's on Current river, and lodged at Mr. Mason's house in Texas county, answered well for Frank and Jesse James. The detectives caught at every clue. The James Boys were at Gadshill beyond a doubt. And so the brigand hunters passed into Clay county.

Meanwhile the James Boys and other members of the gang were resting in the vicinity of Kearney, in Clay county, at the residence of Dr. Samuels. Among those known to have been there were Jim Cummings and Clell Miller, Jim Anderson, a brother of Bill Anderson, of Centralia notoriety, and Bradley Collins, a Texas desperado. The sheriff of Clay county thought Arthur McCoy was probably at that time with the Jameses. On the 9th day of March, Jesse James spent a portion of the day in Kearney. The gang had several horses shod a few days before at a country blacksmith shop in that vicinity.

Wednesday, March 10, 1874, arrived at Liberty, the county seat of Clay county, Missouri, J. W. Whicher, from what place it mattered not to the citizens of Liberty. This man was in the very vigor of a matured manhood. He was just twenty-six years of age, lately married to an estimable and accomplished young lady, a resident of Iowa City.

Whicher was intelligent, shrewd and daring. He was selected by his chief, Allan Pinkerton, who is acknowledged as a consummate judge of human nature, as the fittest instrument to execute the most dangerous enterprise which he had ever yet undertaken.

Immediately on arriving at Liberty, Whicher called at the Commercial Savings Bank to see Mr. Adkins, its president. To him he made known his errand into that section. At the same time he deposited in the bank some money and papers. Mr. Adkins was not able to give Whicher all the information which he desired, and sent him to Col. O. P. Moss, ex-sheriff of Clay county, for further information.

When he opened his plans to Moss, that gentleman advised him not to go. He gave him a terrible account of the prowess of the desperadoes; told him of their shrewdness and of their merciless nature when excited by the presence of an enemy, and warned him that he need not hope to secure such wary men by stratagem. Col. Moss was earnest in his efforts to dissuade Whicher from making the rash attempt.

But it was of no avail. Whicher had received what he regarded as positive evidence that the Jameses were the leaders of the Gadshill bandits, and, further, that they were now at home, near Kearney. Stimulated by the hope of "catching his game," and securing the large rewards, Whicher, who seems to have been destitute of any sense of fear, made his arrangements to go that very evening to the Jameses' place of retreat. Disguised in the garb of a farm laborer, with an old carpet bag swung on a stick, Whicher took the evening train for Kearney, and there made inquiries for work on a farm. He did not tarry long at the station, but soon started out toward the Samuels place.

Poor Whicher! he little thought that his fate was already determined upon by those whose destiny he was seeking to determine. But so it was.

There was a friend of the Jameses in Liberty that day--a fellow named Jim Latche, who had been expelled from Texas on account of his worthless qualities as a citizen and dangerous attributes as a criminal. Latche had met the James Boys, and had made a raid with them, on one occasion, down in Texas. He had been resting at their retreat for a few days, and was probably on a scout for them that day. At any rate, he was in Liberty when Whicher arrived. He observed his movements, because Whicher was a stranger; saw him go to the bank and make a deposit; waited while he conferred with Mr. Adkins, and then, tracked him to Col. Moss' office. He came to the conclusion that Whicher was a detective; and when afterward he saw that the detective had changed his clothes, he was convinced that he was right. Latche hastened away to give a report of what he had heard and observed.

When Whicher arrived at Kearney the Jameses knew of it, and suspected the truth concerning his mission. It was in the evening. Jim Anderson, Jesse James and Bradley Collins were in waiting on the roadside, about half a mile from the Samuels residence. Soon after Whicher came along. He was carrying a carpet-sack. Jesse James came out of their concealment alone, and met Whicher in the road.

"Good evening, sir," said Whicher.

"Where in h--ll are _you_ going?" responded the other.

"Well, it's a rude response, but I will not answer as rudely again. I am seeking work. Can you tell me where I can get some work on a farm?"

"No, not much, you don't want any, either, you d--d thief. Old Pinkerton has already given you a job that will last you as long as you live, I reckon."

And Jesse laughed a cold, hard laugh that meant death. Of course Whicher was helpless, for the other had him under cover of a pistol from the moment he came in sight. But Whicher was dauntless and wary, and, without exhibiting the least trepidation, he said:

"Who do you take me to be? What have I to do with Pinkerton or his business? I am a stranger in the country and want something to do. I don't see why you should keep that pistol pointed at me. I don't know you, and have never done you any wrong."

"Oh, d--n it, you are the kind of a dog that sneaks up and bites, are you? You will carry in the James Boys, will you? You are a nice sneaking cur, ain't you? Want work, do you? What say you, my sneak? Eh?"

The tantalizing manner of Jesse James did not disconcert the detective. He answered these taunts with perfect coolness:

"I don't understand you, sir. I am no cur, and know nothing of the James Boys. I addressed you politely, and you did not return the same. I said I wanted some employment, and you taunt me for it. I must bid you good evening."

With this, Whicher made a step forward. His progress was arrested by the harsh voice of Jesse James.

"You shall die if you move out of your tracks! Keep up your hands!"

Whicher realized by this time that his chance of escape was small, for he knew that Jesse James stood before him, and he had quickly made up his mind that he would sell his life dearly. He was cool, active and expert with the pistol; his right hand was almost involuntarily seeking to grasp his weapon. But Jesse James evidently had him at a great disadvantage. Instantly realizing this, he changed his purpose.

"Well, this is a singular adventure, I declare. Now, why you should make such a mistake concerning me is more than I can imagine. You are surely making sport of me. I tell you I know nothing of the persons of whom you speak, and why should you interrupt me? Let me go on, for I must find a place to stop to-night, anyhow."

Jesse James laughed outright. "What," said he, "were you doing at Liberty to-day? Why did you deposit money in the bank? What business did you have with Adkins and Moss? Where are the clothes you wore? Plotting to capture the James Boys, eh?" and Jesse laughed aloud, and Jim Anderson and Fox, another confederate of the Boys, came from their concealment, with pistols in hand. Poor Whicher saw this, and for the first time he fully realized the helplessness of his position.

"Betrayed," he thought, almost said.

Jesse James said, in a cold, dry tone: "Young man, we want to hear no more from you. We know you. Move but a finger and you die now. Boys," he said, addressing Anderson and Fox, "I don't think it best to do the job here. It wouldn't take long, but for certain reasons I don't think this is the place. Shall we cross the river to-night?" The others answered they would, if it was his pleasure.

All this time Whicher had stood still; not a muscle moved, and not a single wave of pallor had covered his features. He knew what they meant by "the job," and made up his mind to improve any incident, however slight, to have revenge on his murderers.

But there were no favorable incidents for him. He had been tried and condemned in a court from which he could not appeal. At what time the sentence would be executed he could not tell.

"Boys, relieve him of his burden and weapons," said Jesse James.

Quick as thought, Whicher's hand was thrust into the bosom of his coat. It was too late. Fox and Anderson sprang upon him, while Jesse James placed the muzzle of his pistol against his temple. To struggle was useless. He was compelled to yield, for just then Brad Collins and Jim Latche joined the others. The case of the detective was hopeless. In an instant they had disarmed him; he had brought only one Smith & Wesson pistol. Then the desperadoes felt of his hands, and laughed at his pretensions as a farm-laborer.

Confident in the belief that he had been betrayed by one of the two gentlemen to whom he had applied at Liberty, Whicher made up his mind that he would make no whining petition to the murderers. If he had known the exact state of the case he would not have gone to Kearney, and if he had gone he would have been better prepared to encounter the Boys. But fate had ordained it otherwise, and another victim to the long, long catalogue of names which Jesse James had written in blood was the outcome of it all.

Darkness had fallen upon the fair scenes of nature while these things were happening. The cool March winds whistled dismally through the yet naked forest trees. The stars came out and looked coldly from the empyrean, but there was purity in their beams, and no blood marks on their twinkling discs. It was meet that the tragedy which was about to take place should be enacted in the hours of gloomy night, and at a time when all without was comfortless and dreary.

Whicher was bound securely, and a gag was placed in his mouth that he might call for no aid or deliverance. The desperadoes placed hum upon a horse, in the still hours of the night, and rode away. His legs were tied securely under the horse's belly, and his arms were pinioned with strong ropes. Jesse James, Bradley Collins and Jim Anderson were the executioners. In silence himself, Whicher, during that long, lonely ride heard the three discussing their bloody deeds with a thrill of horror, for they had told him what his fate was to be.

About three o'clock on the morning of the 11th of March, the drowsy ferryman at Blue Mills, on the Missouri river, was roused to wakefulness by the shouts of men on the north side, who signified their desire to cross over.

"Be in a hurry," cried the belated travelers. "We are after horse thieves and must cross quick if we catch them."

Thus appealed to the ferryman crossed the river to the northeastern shore, where the horse thief hunters awaited him.

When they came down to the boat, they said to the ferryman:

"We have caught the thief, and if you want to keep your head on your shoulders you had better put us across the river very quick."

So persuaded, the ferryman obeyed. They were soon on the south side of the river. The ferryman observed that one of the men was bound and gagged. It was poor Whicher on his way to his execution. The very stars shone piteously through a veil of mist, and the winds sighed sadly as the strange group moved off on the Independence road. But neither the helpless condition of their victim, nor the sad aspect of nature in the solemnity of the hours of darkness could evoke a spark of pity in the sered hearts of Whicher's executioners.

They rode away in the darkness. Just how they executed their purpose only the red-handed outlaws and the merciful God knows.

The next morning an early traveler on the road from Independence to Blue Mills, about half way between the places, in a lonely spot, saw a ghastly corpse with a bullet-hole through the forehead and another through the heart. It was all that remained of Whicher.