The Mucker

by Edgar Rice Burroughs

  CHAPTER I. THE MURDER TRIAL.

  BILLY BYRNE squared his broad shoulders and filled his deep lungs withthe familiar medium which is known as air in Chicago. He was standingupon the platform of a New York Central train that was pulling into theLa Salle Street Station, and though the young man was far from happysomething in the nature of content pervaded his being, for he was cominghome.

  After something more than a year of world wandering and strangeadventure Billy Byrne was coming back to the great West Side and GrandAvenue.

  Now there is not much upon either side or down the center of long andtortuous Grand Avenue to arouse enthusiasm, nor was Billy particularlyenthusiastic about that more or less squalid thoroughfare.

  The thing that exalted Billy was the idea that he was coming back toSHOW THEM. He had left under a cloud and with a reputation for genuinetoughness and rowdyism that has seen few parallels even in the ungentledistrict of his birth and upbringing.

  A girl had changed him. She was as far removed from Billy's sphere asthe stars themselves; but Billy had loved her and learned from her, andin trying to become more as he knew the men of her class were he hadsloughed off much of the uncouthness that had always been a part of him,and all of the rowdyism. Billy Byrne was no longer the mucker.

  He had given her up because he imagined the gulf between Grand Avenueand Riverside Drive to be unbridgeable; but he still clung to the idealsshe had awakened in him. He still sought to be all that she might wishhim to be, even though he realized that he never should see her again.

  Grand Avenue would be the easiest place to forget his sorrow--her hecould never forget. And then, his newly awakened pride urged him back tothe haunts of his former life that he might, as he would put it himself,show them. He wanted the gang to see that he, Billy Byrne, wasn't afraidto be decent. He wanted some of the neighbors to realize that he couldwork steadily and earn an honest living, and he looked forward withdelight to the pleasure and satisfaction of rubbing it in to some of thesaloon keepers and bartenders who had helped keep him drunk some fivedays out of seven, for Billy didn't drink any more.

  But most of all he wanted to vindicate himself in the eyes of theonce-hated law. He wanted to clear his record of the unjust charge ofmurder which had sent him scurrying out of Chicago over a year before,that night that Patrolman Stanley Lasky of the Lake Street Station hadtipped him off that Sheehan had implicated him in the murder of old manSchneider.

  Now Billy Byrne had not killed Schneider. He had been nowhere near theold fellow's saloon at the time of the holdup; but Sheehan, who had beenarrested and charged with the crime, was an old enemy of Billy's, andSheehan had seen a chance to divert some of the suspicion from himselfand square accounts with Byrne at the same time.

  The new Billy Byrne was ready to accept at face value everything whichseemed to belong in any way to the environment of that exalted realmwhere dwelt the girl he loved. Law, order, and justice appeared to Billyin a new light since he had rubbed elbows with the cultured and refined.

  He no longer distrusted or feared them. They would give him what hesought--a square deal.

  It seemed odd to Billy that he should be seeking anything from the lawor its minions. For years he had waged a perpetual battle with both. Nowhe was coming back voluntarily to give himself up, with every convictionthat he should be exonerated quickly. Billy, knowing his own innocence,realizing his own integrity, assumed that others must immediatelyappreciate both.

  "First," thought Billy, "I'll go take a look at little old Grand Ave.,then I'll give myself up. The trial may take a long time, an' if it doesI want to see some of the old bunch first."

  So Billy entered an "L" coach and leaning on the sill of an openwindow watched grimy Chicago rattle past until the guard's "Granavenoo"announced the end of his journey.

  Maggie Shane was sitting on the upper step of the long flight of stairswhich lean precariously against the scarred face of the frame residenceupon the second floor front of which the lares and penates of the Shanefamily are crowded into three ill-smelling rooms.

  It was Saturday and Maggie was off. She sat there rather disconsolatefor there was a dearth of beaux for Maggie, none having arisen to fillthe aching void left by the sudden departure of "Coke" Sheehan sincethat worthy gentleman had sought a more salubrious clime--to theconsternation of both Maggie Shane and Mr. Sheehan's bondsmen.

  Maggie scowled down upon the frowsy street filled with frowsy women andfrowsy children. She scowled upon the street cars rumbling by with theirfrowsy loads. Occasionally she varied the monotony by drawing out herchewing gum to wondrous lengths, holding one end between a thumb andfinger and the other between her teeth.

  Presently Maggie spied a rather pleasing figure sauntering up thesidewalk upon her side of the street. The man was too far away forher to recognize his features, but his size and bearing and generalappearance appealed to the lonesome Maggie. She hoped it was someone sheknew, or with whom she might easily become acquainted, for Maggie wasbored to death.

  She patted the hair at the back of her head and righted the mop whichhung over one eye. Then she rearranged her skirts and waited. As the manapproached she saw that he was better looking than she had even daredto hope, and that there was something extremely familiar about hisappearance. It was not, though, until he was almost in front of thehouse that he looked up at the girl and she recognized him.

  Then Maggie Shane gasped and clutched the handrail at her side.An instant later the man was past and continuing his way along thesidewalk.

  Maggie Shane glared after him for a minute, then she ran quickly downthe stairs and into a grocery store a few doors west, where she asked ifshe might use the telephone.

  "Gimme West 2063," she demanded of the operator, and a moment later: "Isthis Lake Street?"

  "Well say, Billy Byrne's back. I just see him."

  "Yes an' never mind who I am; but if youse guys want him he's walkin'west on Grand Avenoo right now. I just this minute seen him nearLincoln," and she smashed the receiver back into its hook.

  Billy Byrne thought that he would look in on his mother, not that heexpected to be welcomed even though she might happen to be sober, ornot that he cared to see her; but Billy's whole manner of thought hadaltered within the year, and something now seemed to tell him that itwas his duty to do the thing he contemplated. Maybe he might even be ofhelp to her.

  But when he reached the gloomy neighborhood in which his childhood hadbeen spent it was to learn that his mother was dead and that anotherfamily occupied the tumble-down cottage that had been his home.

  If Billy Byrne felt any sorrow because of his mother's death he didnot reveal it outwardly. He owed her nothing but for kicks and cuffsreceived, and for the surroundings and influences that had started himupon a life of crime at an age when most boys are just entering grammarschool.

  Really the man was relieved that he had not had to see her, and it waswith a lighter step that he turned back to retrace his way along GrandAvenue. No one of the few he had met who recognized him had seemedparticularly delighted at his return. The whole affair had beensomething of a disappointment. Therefore Billy determined to go at onceto the Lake Street Station and learn the status of the Schneider murdercase. Possibly they had discovered the real murderer, and if that wasthe case Billy would be permitted to go his way; but if not then hecould give himself up and ask for a trial, that he might be exonerated.

  As he neared Wood Street two men who had been watching his approachstepped into the doorway of a saloon, and as he passed they stepped outagain behind him. One upon either side they seized him.

  Billy turned to remonstrate.

  "Come easy now, Byrne," admonished one of the men, "an' don't make nofuss."

  "Oh," said Billy, "it's you, is it? Well, I was just goin' over to thestation to give myself up."

  Both men laughed, skeptically. "We'll just save you the trouble," saidone of them. "We'll take you over. You might lose your way if you triedto go alone."

  Billy went al
ong in silence the rest of the way to where the patrolwaited at another corner. He saw there was nothing to be gained bytalking to these detectives; but he found the lieutenant equallyinclined to doubt his intentions. He, too, only laughed when Billyassured him that he was on his way to the station at the very instant ofarrest.

  As the weeks dragged along, and Billy Byrne found no friendly interestin himself or his desire to live on the square, and no belief in hisprotestations that he had had naught to do with the killing of Schneiderhe began to have his doubts as to the wisdom of his act.

  He also commenced to entertain some of his former opinions of thepolice, and of the law of which they are supposed to be the guardians. Acell-mate told him that the papers had scored the department heavilyfor their failure to apprehend the murderer of the inoffensive oldSchneider, and that public opinion had been so aroused that a generalpolice shakeup had followed.

  The result was that the police were keen to fasten the guilt uponsomeone--they did not care whom, so long as it was someone who was intheir custody.

  "You may not o' done it," ventured the cell-mate; "but they'll send youup for it, if they can't hang you. They're goin' to try to get the deathsentence. They hain't got no love for you, Byrne. You caused 'em a loto' throuble in your day an' they haven't forgot it. I'd hate to be inyour boots."

  Billy Byrne shrugged. Where were his dreams of justice? They seemed tohave faded back into the old distrust and hatred. He shook himself andconjured in his mind the vision of a beautiful girl who had believed inhim and trusted him--who had inculcated within him a love for all thatwas finest and best in true manhood, for the very things that he hadmost hated all the years of his life before she had come into hisexistence to alter it and him.

  And then Billy would believe again--believe that in the end justicewould triumph and that it would all come out right, just the way he hadpictured it.

  With the coming of the last day of the trial Billy found it more andmore difficult to adhere to his regard for law, order, and justice. Theprosecution had shown conclusively that Billy was a hard customer. Thepolice had brought witnesses who did not hesitate to perjure themselvesin their testimony--testimony which it seemed to Billy the densest ofjurymen could plainly see had been framed up and learned by rote untilit was letter-perfect.

  These witnesses could recall with startling accuracy every detailthat had occurred between seventeen minutes after eight and twenty-oneminutes past nine on the night of September 23 over a year before; butwhere they had been and what they had done ten minutes earlier or tenminutes later, or where they were at nine o'clock in the evening lastFriday they couldn't for the lives of them remember.

  And Billy was practically without witnesses.

  The result was a foregone conclusion. Even Billy had to admit it, andwhen the prosecuting attorney demanded the death penalty the prisonerhad an uncanny sensation as of the tightening of a hempen rope about hisneck.

  As he waited for the jury to return its verdict Billy sat in his celltrying to read a newspaper which a kindly guard had given him. But hiseyes persisted in boring through the white paper and the black type toscenes that were not in any paper. He saw a turbulent river tumblingthrough a savage world, and in the swirl of the water lay a littleisland. And he saw a man there upon the island, and a girl. The girl wasteaching the man to speak the language of the cultured, and to view lifeas people of refinement view it.

  She taught him what honor meant among her class, and that it was betterto lose any other possession rather than lose honor. Billy realized thatit had been these lessons that had spurred him on to the mad scheme thatwas to end now with the verdict of "Guilty"--he had wished to vindicatehis honor. A hard laugh broke from his lips; but instantly he soberedand his face softened.

  It had been for her sake after all, and what mattered it if they didsend him to the gallows? He had not sacrificed his honor--he had donehis best to assert it. He was innocent. They could kill him but theycouldn't make him guilty. A thousand juries pronouncing him so could notmake it true that he had killed Schneider.

  But it would be hard, after all his hopes, after all the plans he hadmade to live square, to SHOW THEM. His eyes still boring through thepaper suddenly found themselves attracted by something in the textbefore them--a name, Harding.

  Billy Byrne shook himself and commenced to read:

  The marriage of Barbara, daughter of Anthony Harding, themultimillionaire, to William Mallory will take place on the twenty-fifthof June.

  The article was dated New York. There was more, but Billy did notread it. He had read enough. It is true that he had urged her to marryMallory; but now, in his lonesomeness and friendlessness, he felt almostas though she had been untrue to him.

  "Come along, Byrne," a bailiff interrupted his thoughts, "the jury'sreached a verdict."

  The judge was emerging from his chambers as Billy was led into thecourtroom. Presently the jury filed in and took their seats. The foremanhanded the clerk a bit of paper. Even before it was read Billy knewthat he had been found guilty. He did not care any longer, so he toldhimself. He hoped that the judge would send him to the gallows. Therewas nothing more in life for him now anyway. He wanted to die. Butinstead he was sentenced to life imprisonment in the penitentiary atJoliet.

  This was infinitely worse than death. Billy Byrne was appalled at thethought of remaining for life within the grim stone walls of a prison.Once more there swept over him all the old, unreasoning hatred of thelaw and all that pertained to it. He would like to close his steelfingers about the fat neck of the red-faced judge. The smug jurymenroused within him the lust to kill. Justice! Billy Byrne laughed aloud.

  A bailiff rapped for order. One of the jurymen leaned close to aneighbor and whispered. "A hardened criminal," he said. "Society will besafer when he is behind the bars."

  The next day they took Billy aboard a train bound for Joliet. He washandcuffed to a deputy sheriff. Billy was calm outwardly; but inwardlyhe was a raging volcano of hate.

  In a certain very beautiful home on Riverside Drive, New York City,a young lady, comfortably backed by downy pillows, sat in her bed andalternated her attention between coffee and rolls, and a morning paper.

  On the inside of the main sheet a heading claimed her languid attention:CHICAGO MURDERER GIVEN LIFE SENTENCE. Of late Chicago had aroused inBarbara Harding a greater proportion of interest than ever it had in thepast, and so it was that she now permitted her eyes to wander casuallydown the printed column.

  Murderer of harmless old saloon keeper is finally brought to justice.The notorious West Side rowdy, "Billy" Byrne, apprehended after morethan a year as fugitive from justice, is sent to Joliet for life.

  Barbara Harding sat stony-eyed and cold for what seemed many minutes.Then with a stifled sob she turned and buried her face in the pillows.

  The train bearing Billy Byrne and the deputy sheriff toward Joliet hadcovered perhaps half the distance between Chicago and Billy's permanentdestination when it occurred to the deputy sheriff that he should liketo go into the smoker and enjoy a cigar.

  Now, from the moment that he had been sentenced Billy Byrne's mind hadbeen centered upon one thought--escape. He knew that there probablywould be not the slightest chance for escape; but nevertheless the ideawas always uppermost in his thoughts.

  His whole being revolted, not alone against the injustice which hadsent him into life imprisonment, but at the thought of the long years ofawful monotony which lay ahead of him.

  He could not endure them. He would not! The deputy sheriff rose, andmotioning his prisoner ahead of him, started for the smoker. It was twocars ahead. The train was vestibuled. The first platform they crossedwas tightly enclosed; but at the second Billy saw that a careless porterhad left one of the doors open. The train was slowing down for somereason--it was going, perhaps, twenty miles an hour.

  Billy was the first upon the platform. He was the first to see the opendoor. It meant one of two things--a chance to escape, or, death. Eventhe latter was to be
preferred to life imprisonment.

  Billy did not hesitate an instant. Even before the deputy sheriffrealized that the door was open, his prisoner had leaped from the movingtrain dragging his guard after him.