McMurdo shrugged his shoulders. “You were too soft for the job,” said he. “You are the wrong sort for such work.”
“I had a conscience and a religion; but they made me a criminal among them. I was chosen for a job. If I backed down, I knew well what would come to me. Maybe I’m a coward. Maybe it’s the thought of my poor little woman and the children that makes me one. Anyhow I went. I guess it will haunt me for ever.
“It was a lonely house, twenty miles from here, over the range yonder. I was told off for the door, same as you were last night. They could not trust me with the job. The others went in. When they came out their hands were crimson to the wrists. As we turned away a child was screaming out of the house behind us. It was a boy of five who had seen his father murdered. I nearly fainted with the horror of it, and yet I had to keep a bold and smiling face; for well I knew that if I did not it would be out of my house that they would come next with their bloody hands, and it would be my little Fred that would be screaming for his father.
“But I was a criminal then—part sharer in a murder, lost for ever in this world, and lost also in the next. I am a good Catholic, but the priest would have no word with me when he heard I was a Scowrer, and I am excommunicated from my faith.143 That’s how it stands with me. And I see you going down the same road, and I ask you what the end is to be. Are you ready to be a cold-blooded murderer also, or can we do anything to stop it?”
“What would you do?” asked McMurdo abruptly. “You would not inform?”
“God forbid!” cried Morris. “Sure, the very thought would cost me my life.”
“That’s well,” said McMurdo. “I’m thinking that you are a weak man and that you make too much of the matter.”
“Too much! Wait till you have lived here longer. Look down the valley! See the cloud of a hundred chimneys that overshadows it! I tell you that the cloud of murder hangs thicker and lower than that over the heads of the people. It is the Valley of Fear—the Valley of Death. The terror is in the hearts of the people from the dusk to the dawn. Wait, young man, and you will learn for yourself.”
“Well, I’ll let you know what I think when I have seen more,” said McMurdo carelessly. “What is very clear is that you are not the man for the place, and that the sooner you sell out—if you only get a dime a dollar for what the business is worth—the better it will be for you. What you have said is safe with me; but by Gar! if I thought you were an informer—”
“No, no!” cried Morris piteously.
“Well, let it rest at that. I’ll bear what you have said in mind, and maybe some day I’ll come back to it. I expect you meant kindly by speaking to me like this. Now I’ll be getting home.”
“One word before you go,” said Morris. “We may have been seen together. They may want to know what we have spoken about.”
“Ah, that’s well thought of.”
“I offer you a clerkship in my store.”
“And I refuse it. That’s our business. Well, so long, Brother Morris, and may you find things go better with you in the future.”
That same afternoon, as McMurdo sat smoking, lost in thought, beside the stove of his sitting-room, the door swung open and its framework was filled with the huge figure of Boss McGinty. He passed the sign, and then, seating himself opposite to the young man, he looked at him steadily for some time, a look which was as steadily returned.
“I’m not much of a visitor, Brother McMurdo,” he said at last. “I guess I am too busy over the folk that visit me. But I thought I’d stretch a point and drop down to see you in your own house.”
“I’m proud to see you here, Councillor,” McMurdo answered heartily, bringing his whisky bottle out of the cupboard. “It’s an honour that I had not expected.”
“How’s the arm?” asked the Boss.
McMurdo made a wry face. “Well, I’m not forgetting it,” he said; “but it’s worth it.”
“Yes, it’s worth it,” the other answered, “To those that are loyal and go through with it and are a help to the Lodge. What were you speaking to Brother Morris about on Miller Hill this morning?”
The question came so suddenly that it was well that he had his answer prepared. He burst into a hearty laugh. “Morris didn’t know I could earn a living here at home. He shan’t know either; for he has got too much conscience for the likes of me. But he’s a good-hearted old chap. It was his idea that I was at a loose end, and that he would do me a good turn by offering me a clerkship in a drygoods store.”
“Oh, that was it?”
“Yes, that was it.”
“And you refused it?”
“Sure. Couldn’t I earn ten times as much in my own bedroom with four hours’ work?”
“That’s so. But I wouldn’t get about too much with Morris.”
“Why not?”
“Well, I guess because I tell you not. That’s enough for most folk in these parts.”
“It may be enough for most folk; but it ain’t enough for me, Councillor,” said McMurdo boldly. “If you are a judge of men, you’ll know that.”
The swarthy giant glared at him, and his hairy paw closed for an instant round the glass as though he would hurl it at the head of his companion. Then he laughed in his loud, boisterous, insincere fashion.
“You’re a queer card, for sure,” said he. “Well, if you want reasons, I’ll give them. Did Morris say nothing to you against the Lodge?”
“No.”
“Nor against me?”
“No.”
“Well, that’s because he daren’t trust you. But in his heart he is not a loyal brother. We know that well. So we watch him and we wait for the time to admonish him. I’m thinking that the time is drawing near. There’s no room for scabby sheep in our pen. But if you keep company with a disloyal man, we might think that you were disloyal, too. See?”
“There’s no chance of my keeping company with him; for I dislike the man,” McMurdo answered. “As to being disloyal, if it was any man but you he would not use the word to me twice.”
“Well, that’s enough,” said McGinty, draining off his glass. “I came down to give you a word in season, and you’ve had it.”
“I’d like to know,” said McMurdo, “how you ever came to learn that I had spoken with Morris at all?”
McGinty laughed. “It’s my business to know what goes on in this township,” said he. “I guess you’d best reckon on my hearing all that passes. Well, time’s up, and I’ll just say—”
But his leavetaking was cut short in a very unexpected fashion. With a sudden crash the door flew open, and three frowning, intent faces glared in at them from under the peaks of police caps. McMurdo sprang to his feet and half drew his revolver, but his arm stopped midway as he became conscious that two Winchester rifles were levelled at his head. A man in uniform advanced into the room, a sixshooter in his hand. It was Captain Marvin, once of Chicago, and now of the Coal and Iron Constabulary. He shook his head with a half-smile at McMurdo.
“With a crash the door flew open, and three frowning faces glared at them from under the peaks of police caps.”
Frank Wiles, Strand Magazine, 1915
“I thought you’d be getting into trouble, Mr. Crooked McMurdo of Chicago,” said he. “Can’t keep out of it can you? Take your hat and come along with us.”
“I guess you’ll pay for this, Captain Marvin,” said McGinty. “Who are you, I’d like to know, to break into a house in this fashion and molest honest, law-abiding men?”
“You’re standing out in this deal, Councillor McGinty,” said the police captain. “We are not out after you, but after this man McMurdo. It is for you to help, not to hinder us in our duty.”
“He’s a friend of mine, and I’ll answer for his conduct” said the Boss.
“By all accounts, Mr. McGinty, you may have to answer for your own conduct some of these days,” the captain answered. “This man McMurdo was a crook before ever he came here, and he’s a crook still. Cover him, Patrolman, while I dis
arm him.”
“There’s my pistol,” said McMurdo coolly. “Maybe, Captain Marvin, if you and I were alone and face to face you would not take me so easily.”
“Where’s your warrant?” asked McGinty. “By Gar! a man might as well live in Russia as in Vermissa while folk like you are running the police. It’s a capitalist outrage, and you’ll hear more of it I reckon.”
“You do what you think is your duty the best way you can, Councillor. We’ll look after own.”
“What am I accused of?” asked McMurdo.
“Of being concerned in the beating of old Editor Stanger at the Herald office. It wasn’t your fault that it isn’t a murder charge.”
“Well, if that’s all you have against him,” cried McGinty, with a laugh, “you can save yourself a deal of trouble by dropping it right now. This man was with me in my saloon playing poker up to midnight, and I can bring a dozen to prove it.”
“That’s your affair, and I guess you can settle it in court to-morrow. Meanwhile, come on, McMurdo, and come quietly if you don’t want a gun butt across your head. You stand wide, Mr. McGinty, for I warn you I will stand no resistance when I am on duty!”
So determined was the appearance of the captain that both McMurdo and his boss were forced to accept the situation. The latter managed to have a few whispered words with the prisoner before they parted.
“What about—” he jerked his thumb upward to signify the coining plant.
“All right,” whispered McMurdo, who had devised a safe hiding place under the floor.
“I’ll bid you good-bye,” said the Boss, shaking hands. “I’ll see Reilly the lawyer and take the defence upon myself. Take my word for it that they won’t be able to hold you.”
“I wouldn’t bet on that. Guard the prisoner, you two, and shoot him if he tries any games. I’ll search the house before I leave.”
Marvin did so; but apparently found no trace of the concealed plant. When he had descended he and his men escorted McMurdo to headquarters. Darkness had fallen, and a keen blizzard was blowing so that the streets were nearly deserted; but a few loiterers followed the group and, emboldened by invisibility, shouted imprecations at the prisoner.
“Lynch the cursed Scowrer!” they cried. “Lynch him!” They laughed and jeered as he was pushed into the police depôt. After a short formal examination from the inspector in charge he was put into the common cell. Here he found Baldwin and three other criminals of the night before, all arrested that afternoon and waiting their trial next morning.
But even within this inner fortress of the law the long arm of the Freemen was able to extend. Late at night there came a jailer with a straw bundle for their bedding, out of which he extracted two bottles of whisky, some glasses, and a pack of cards. They spent an hilarious night, without an anxious thought as to the ordeal of the morning.
Nor had they cause, as the result was to show. The magistrate could not possibly, on the evidence, have carried the matter to a higher court. On the one hand the compositors and pressmen were forced to admit that the light was uncertain, that they were themselves much perturbed, and that it was difficult for them to swear to the identity of the assailants; although they believed that the accused were among them. Cross examined by the clever attorney who had been engaged by McGinty, they were even more nebulous in their evidence.
The injured man had already deposed that he was so taken by surprise by the suddenness of the attack that he could state nothing beyond the fact that the first man who struck him wore a moustache. He added that he knew them to be Scowrers, since no one else in the community could possibly have any enmity to him, and he had long been threatened on account of his outspoken editorials. On the other hand, it was clearly shown by the united and unfaltering evidence of six citizens, including that high municipal official, Councillor McGinty, that the men had been at a card party at the Union House until an hour very much later than the commission of the outrage.
Needless to say that they were discharged with something very near to an apology from the Bench for the inconvenience to which they had been put, together with an implied censure of Captain Marvin and the police for their officious zeal.
The verdict was greeted with loud applause by a Court in which McMurdo saw many familiar faces. Brothers of the Lodge smiled and waved. But there were others who sat with compressed lips and brooding eyes as the men filed out of the dock. One of them, a little, dark-bearded, resolute fellow, put the thoughts of himself and comrades into words as the ex-prisoners passed him.
“You damned murderers!” he said. “We’ll fix you yet!”
140 In 1848, Oliver Fisher Winchester set up a dress-shirt factory in New Haven, Connecticut, and with the windfall from this business was able to purchase the Volcanic Repeating Arms Company in 1857. Reorganised as the Winchester Repeating Arms Company in 1867, the gun manufacturer made a policy of aggressively acquiring others’ designs, including a lever-action repeating rifle designed by B. T. Henry, the Winchester plant manager and chief mechanic. Patented in 1860, it was widely used in the Civil War. Also tremendously popular among Western settlers was the Model 73 (short for The New Model of 1873), favoured by such lawmakers and ruffians as Billy the Kid, Wyatt Earp, and Buffalo Bill Cody. It remained in production for fifty-two years, and 720,610 were manufactured in all. It is likely the Model 73 that the police officers were carrying.
141 Michael Harrison, in In the Footsteps of Sherlock Holmes, identifies Miller Hill as the highest point in Tamaqua, behind the railroad station. A modern church, rather than a park, now rests on this site, but a flagpole is still there. The Conways (and David L. Hammer, in To Play the Game) are of a different mind, naming the Saint Jerome Cemetery, also in Tamaqua, as “Miller Hill.”
142 That is, one formed to provide health or life insurance for its members and their families. The fraternal insurance movement in America formally began in 1868 when a group of railroad mechanics formed such a group in Readville, Pennsylvania. The insurance industry had previously catered almost exclusively to the rich, but as the middle class grew, demand for insurance grew as well. Fraternal organisations provided members with life insurance, protection against loss of income from sickness or accident, and financial aid when no benefits were otherwise due. Some even arranged for medical care on a fixed-fee basis, through doctors affiliated with the organisation, much in the way that today’s HMOs operate. The idea of “fraternal insurance” caught on, particularly in the face of ineffective regulation and poor management among legitimate insurance companies. Leslie Siddeley estimates that by 1920, over 9 million people were insured through fraternal insurance organisations, via over 200 member societies and 120,000 local affiliated lodges. Market forces and regulation, however, led to their decline, and after World War II, they had all but vanished.
143 The Catholic church did not relish the adverse publicity incurred by the Molly Maguires’ activities. Brother Morris was not alone; miners who were alleged to belong to the organisation were often excommunicated.
CHAPTER
V
THE DARKEST HOUR
IF ANYTHING HAD been needed to give an impetus to Jack McMurdo’s popularity among his fellows it would have been his arrest and acquittal. That a man on the very night of joining the Lodge should have done something which brought him before the magistrate was a new record in the annals of the society. Already he had earned the reputation of a good boon companion, a cheery reveller, and withal a man of high temper, who would not take an insult even from the all-powerful Boss himself. But in addition to this he impressed his comrades with the idea that among them all there was not one whose brain was so ready to devise a bloodthirsty scheme, or whose hand would be more capable of carrying it out. “He’ll be the boy for the clean job,” said the oldsters to each other, and waited their time until they could set him to his work.
McGinty had instruments enough already, but he recognized that this was a supremely able one. He felt like a man holding a fierce bloodh
ound in leash. There were curs to do the smaller work, but some day he would slip this creature upon its prey. A few members of the Lodge, Ted Baldwin among them, resented the rapid rise of the stranger and hated him for it, but they kept clear of him, for he was as ready to fight as to laugh.
But if he gained favour with his fellows, there was another quarter, one which had become even more vital to him, in which he lost it. Ettie Shafter’s father would have nothing more to do with him, nor would he allow him to enter the house. Ettie herself was too deeply in love to give him up altogether, and yet her own good sense warned her of what would come from a marriage with a man who was regarded as a criminal.
One morning after a sleepless night she determined to see him, possibly for the last time, and make one strong endeavour to draw him from those evil influences which were sucking him down. She went to his house, as he had often begged her to do, and made her way into the room which he used as his sitting-room. He was seated at a table with his back turned and a letter in front of him. A sudden spirit of girlish mischief came over her—she was still only nineteen. He had not heard her when she pushed open the door. Now she tip-toed forward and laid her hand lightly upon his bended shoulders.
If she had expected to startle him, she certainly succeeded; but only in turn to be startled herself. With a tiger spring he turned on her, and his right hand was feeling for her throat. At the same moment with the other hand he crumpled up the paper that lay before him. For an instant he stood glaring. Then astonishment and joy took the place of the ferocity which had convulsed his features—a ferocity which had sent her shrinking back in horror as from something which had never before intruded into her gentle life.
The New Annotated Sherlock Holmes Page 92
