George motioned toward the guards, and they began ushering Haywood the last distance to the automobile.
Walking backwards, Haywood pointed violently at George, then at Neva on the porch, then at Jack, and then back to George—as if his finger was the tip of a flailing spear. His mouth shaped unheard words, silent invectives. When he touched the car, one of the men opened the door for him to get into a rear seat. He did, but looked forward, keeping the dead-eye toward the house, toward the Pinkertons, toward to the Federation, toward Neva and his girls. Once the guards got in, the Packard drove away, turning from sight at Twenty-Sixth Street.
Approaching Jack, George whistled and Claus ambled back to the porch.
“Sticks in my craw,” said Jack. “Letting him go like that.”
“Mine too. But let’s see what happens,” replied George.
“Think he’ll try to come back?”
“Probably.”
“If he does,” said Jack, “he’ll be shot.”
“I think you made that clear.”
“We’ll see.”
“Yeah,” agreed George. “Either way, better days ahead.”
Jack smiled and shook George’s hand. “Better days, Wobbly.”
“Better days, Pink,” replied George. He then returned to the porch where he leaned to kiss Neva’s wet cheek.
Jack walked to his Runabout and slid behind the wheel.
As Neva wiped her tear and sniffed, something caught her eye. “Look, Cardinal Dedlock is back,” she whispered, pointing to the red bird preening beyond the end of the porch.
“He’s a handsome devil,” said George. “Lady Dedlock must be pleased.”
“I would imagine so,” she said with a wink.
George held the door wide as he rolled Neva inside.
Behind them, Jack had already driven away.
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– 74 –
TUESDAY
August 20, 1907
While the Red Star Line’s SS Finland was steaming from New York Harbor, rumor had it Steve Adams was on the run. At his mid-June murder trial in Wallace, his attorney had caused quite a stir. Even the judge had fawned like a black-robed ingénue at Clarence Darrow’s presence. But Sheriff Sutherland was not impressed. Quite the opposite. He raged at Darrow’s duplicity—the audacity of the snake to come defend Adams, the very man Darrow had helped Sutherland arrest.
Still, it would be a simple murder trial, no more than a day or two. Hardly worth seating a jury. The verdict a foregone conclusion. That is, once the circuit judge arrived. And once they obtained a sworn affidavit from Orchard, bearing witness to Adams killing Frankie, the sheriff’s boy. At that time, of course, Orchard was cooling his heels in the Idaho Pen while Darrow was away “sick.”
At first, Sutherland threatened to wire Judge Wood about Darrow’s unwelcome presence in Wallace, hoping Darrow would leave on his own accord, or be recalled to Boise—either way leaving Adams without representation—the way it should be for a guilty man, reasoned Sutherland. But that threat ended abruptly after Darrow explained two things: First, Sheriff Sutherland had committed felony perjury when he swore to Judge Wood that he had no knowledge of another warrant for Adams. In fact, Darrow had shown Sutherland a bench warrant for Adams from a San Francisco judge. It pre-dated Sutherland’s warrant. Darrow had then destroyed it, assuring Sutherland that it didn’t matter. (Sutherland didn’t know Darrow had instructed Captain Swain to mock up and send that San Francisco warrant.) Second, exposing the whole arrangement would trigger a mistrial, setting Adams loose—the last thing Sutherland wanted.
So Sutherland kept quiet. He was furious, but he thought he had the matter in hand. He sent a deputy down to Boise to discretely get a statement from Orchard. But the man returned empty handed—Orchard said he hadn’t seen Adams near the sheriff’s boy. Then the circuit judge was killed by a falling tree, and it took weeks for another to be appointed and arrive. Finally the trial came. But with no witness to the killing, the jury deadlocked and Adams walked free. Then Darrow returned to Boise on July 4th, and Adams disappeared.
At that, Sheriff Sutherland resolved to find and kill Adams by his own means. With the Canadian border so close, he knew where Adams would likely go. But to get there, Adams would need to flank the Cabinet Mountain range, either to the east or the west. He might go west from Wallace, past the destroyed Bunker Hill Mine, on to Coeur d’Alene, and then north to Canada. Or by train east, maybe as far as Missoula, then north through the Flathead Indian Reservation. Unable to search both directions, Sutherland chose east, betting Adams would think the reservation would give him cover. But weeks of searching, including scores of conversations with Flatheads, led to nothing. So, Sutherland returned to Wallace with plans for a tracking expedition into Canada.
His luck changed upon arriving home where an urgent message awaited him. It was from the barkeep at the Eagle Head Saloon there in Wallace: Adams had been spotted in town as recently as a week prior. Sutherland hurried to the Eagle Head and approached the bar. “Clement,” he said.
Clement poured Sutherland a drink, then spoke. “He was in here. Had his hat down round his eyes, but I recognized him. He knew I’d seen him cause he hurried out quick enough. But I knew it was him. Same sombitch as at that trial, about your boy. Same one that killed the mine fella, standing right there.” He indicated the spot where Adams had shot the Bunker Hill vice president. “You remember. Before he—”
“Yeah,” said Sutherland.
“Heard he’s been in Pat’s livery last few nights.”
Sutherland’s face tightened to stone. He turned to leave.
“He’ll know you’re coming,” said Clement.
“How?”
“Couple union boys just lit out. Knew you were back.”
“Just now?”
“Uh-huh. Ten minutes maybe.”
Sutherland looked toward the saloon’s front windows. “He won’t stay put. He’ll be trying to get—” Realizing something, Sutherland left before finishing either the sentence or his drink.
At the nearby Wallace depot, a short Northern Pacific steamer stood hissing as it took on water and a few passengers. Sutherland walked alongside the tracks, looking under each car, between each coupling, and then began the same on the far side—though he avoided looking at the spot where Frankie died. There was no sign of Adams. He heard the conductor bellow, “All aboard for Missoula and points east! All aboard!”
Sutherland ascended the steps and walked the length of the interior, moving through the passenger and cargo cars, checking faces, heading toward the rear. Then he hopped to the ground and climbed aboard the caboose, but found its door locked. He shielded his eyes to peer through the windows but saw nothing—he knew short hauls often pull an empty caboose.
The engineer blew the engine’s whistle, the bells rang, and the wheels began to screech and turn, each car successively lurching to life with a loud, steel clang. Sutherland returned to the station’s platform and walked with the train as it slowly rolled. Reaching the end of the platform, he stood and watched the remainder of the train move by. Just as the caboose came alongside, the face of Steve Adams momentarily appeared in the caboose’s dark window.
“Son of a bitch!” Sutherland shouted. He jumped from the platform and ran along the tracks. As he reached the steps to the caboose, he grabbed the rail and lifted himself aboard. He drew his pistol. Now clear of the station, the train was lazily gaining speed. He approached the door of the caboose. No longer locked, it was swinging open. On the floor, just inside the black interior, he saw the legs and back of a stabbed engineer. Sutherland’s nerves prickled. “Adams, you’re done,” he said, easing inside, pistol first.
In an instant, a knife sliced from the darkness, cutting Sutherland’s hand, causing him to drop the pistol and jerk himself back onto the rear deck, blood rushing from the wound. Ad
ams burst onto the deck, knife fast at Sutherland. Immediately they were struggling for control, to stay alive. Sutherland’s blood smeared Adams’s ferrety smile. Adams’s hands were shaking, the knife two inches from the sheriff’s ear. Then Sutherland pivoted, spinning, throwing Adams against the railing. For a moment they separated, panting, Sutherland’s gray eyes fixed unflinchingly on the killer’s face. Then they rushed each other again and Sutherland side-stepped the stab, grabbing Adams’s wrist. Holding the knife-wielding hand away, Sutherland began pummeling Adams in the ribs, overpowering him, beating the breath from the man. Finally, the knife came loose, clattering onto the deck. Both men dove for it. The train, now nearing speed, bore into a curve. They strained against the turn. After a few more deftly placed punches, Sutherland had the blade. He held Adams from behind, standing him up, left arm encasing the man, right arm bearing the big knife to the man’s scrawny neck.
“This it? Is this the knife?” Sutherland screamed over the clack-clack-clack of the cross-ties, the wind, the anger, the exhaustion, the regret. “You killed my son with this?” When Adams gave a nod, it ended. Sutherland yanked the blade across the man’s throat, opening his carotids, and shoved him from the caboose, watching him crash bloodily onto the rail bed. There Adams grew smaller and smaller until dissolving from view behind the train that remained, bearing ahead.
Sutherland collapsed, sliding till sitting, looking through the railing toward the winnowing ground. When he saw he still held the knife in his blood-drenched hand, he flung it—a blur twirling till it fell from the sky, its red blade clanging on the black steel road, a wending wound through the wilderness.
<><><>
EPILOGUE
Within a year, Neva and George had moved to Spokane. Though Neva’s health gradually declined, she managed an active life, attended by her daughters and a nurse, and always by George. George left the Federation in 1909 to make a career of building houses—including the home he built for Neva and himself. They were married in a small ceremony on July 10, 1911. In 1921, Neva’s health took a difficult turn and she died from polio-related complications. George, Winnie, and her daughters were by her side. She never heard from Bill again.
***
Winnie Minor remained with the Socialist Party of America for the rest of her life, though with limited activism. She married, had eight children, three of whom fought in World War Two. Of those three, one survived a Japanese prison camp, one was killed in North Africa, and the third was killed on Omaha Beach on D-Day. Winnie died in an automobile accident on Christmas Eve, 1951.
***
James McParland retired from the Pinkerton Detective Agency in 1908, the same year the Federal Bureau of Investigations (FBI) was formed. McParland spent his remaining years in Denver, alongside his wife, Mary. They had no children, but were visited regularly by many acquaintances, including Jack and Carla. McParland died in 1919, in Denver’s Mercy Hospital, just blocks from the Park Hill Heights home that once belonged to the Haywoods.
***
Harry Orchard was formally convicted of the murder of Governor Steunenberg, but, as had been pre-arranged, his death sentence was commuted to life in prison due to his cooperation in the Haywood trial. He remained in the Idaho State Penitentiary in Boise, working as a prison trustee, raising chickens and growing strawberries. He died there in 1954.
***
William Haywood arrived in St. Petersburg amid an early blizzard in November of 1907. There he made acquaintance with leaders of the Bolshevik party, including Leon Trotsky. Though he became fluent in Russian, participated in the 1917 Bolshevik revolution and the subsequent civil war, and became a confidant to Vladimir Lenin, his presence never amounted to more than political curiosity and occasional propaganda. In 1924, convinced that the new leader, Joseph Stalin, had poisoned Lenin, Haywood feared for his life and attempted to win an alliance with Stalin. But it was to no avail—he was no longer welcome at the Kremlin. In 1928, abandoned and penniless, he died of a stroke in a dilapidated barn outside of Moscow. Only then did Stalin honor him, interring half of Haywood’s ashes in the wall of the Kremlin’s necropolis. The other half were shipped to Chicago where they were buried with labor-hero honors near a monument to the 1886 Haymarket rioters—the men who had inspired Haywood’s life of radicalism. He never attempted to communicate with Neva or their daughters, nor did he attempt to return to the United States.
***
Due in no small part to its troubled history under Big Bill Haywood, the Western Federation of Miners (the Federation) changed its name to the International Union of Mine, Mill, and Smelter Workers (the Mine Mill), and ended all forms of sanctioned violence. Over the ensuing decades, the Mine Mill became increasingly active in the American Communist Party and helped form the Congress of Industrial Organizations (the CIO) which later joined the American Federation of Labor (the AFL) to become the AFL-CIO that exists today. Due to the Mine Mill’s heavy communist leanings, it was expelled from the CIO in 1950. Thereafter it disbanded slowly until the last remnant of the Federation was gone by 1967.
***
The Pinkerton Detective Agency disavowed all illegal practices after the trial of William Haywood. Still headquartered in the United States, and still bearing the solitary “private eye” logo, the Pinkerton Agency has continued to grow and works today in over one hundred countries. Its focus remains on corporate risk management and security services.
***
Clarence Darrow, “America’s Lawyer,” continued his celebrated legal career, taking on many high-profile defense cases. In 1910, his work took him to Los Angeles where he defended the bombers of the Los Angeles Times, only to find himself indicted for jury tampering. When, in 1924, two wealthy, thrill-seeking, Chicago teenagers kidnapped and murdered another teenager, Darrow defended them, successfully keeping them from the noose. Then, in the famous 1925 case of Tennessee v. John Scopes, commonly known as the Scopes Monkey Trial, Darrow defended a public-school teacher accused of teaching evolution. William Jennings Bryan, “America’s Orator,” and famous legal scholar (and donor of the Denver Zoo’s first bear), represented the State. Though Darrow lost the case, it nevertheless opened America’s national discussion of evolution. His tactics and oral arguments are still studied in law schools across the United States, especially his closing argument in the trial of William “Big Bill” Haywood. Clarence Darrow died in Chicago in 1938.
***
Iain Lennox became a pilot and worked for William Boeing in Seattle, creating one of the first factory-produced airplanes. In 1910, his work took him to Los Angeles where he participated in America’s first Aviation Meet.
***
Jack Garrett and Carla Capone were married in Chicago in 1908. Soon thereafter, they formed their own independent detective agency. In 1910, their services took them to Los Angeles where the Los Angeles Times had been bombed by radical terrorists. There they reconnected with Iain Lennox and once again found themselves in a struggle of wits with Clarence Darrow.
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AUTHOR’S NOTE
Historians may note that a few of the dates of actual events were adjusted in service of the story, though none significantly. Also, many readers have inquired regarding which characters were real persons and which are fictional. The following characters in this book were real people, and their actions, though dramatized, are depicted close to historically accurate. Those not listed here are amalgams of actual persons, created for dramatic purposes.
William Haywood
Nevada “Neva” Haywood
Winnie Minor
Clarence Darrow
Ruby Hammerstrom
Senator William Borah
Judge Freemont Wood
Governor Frank Steunenberg
James Branson III
Captain W. S. Swain
Chief Justice Luther Goddard
Sheriff Angus Sutherland
James McParland
Robert Pinkerton
Operative 21
Morris Friedman
Charles Siringo
Harry Orchard
Steve Adams
Lloyd Lillard
James Bullock
General Grenville Dodge
Ethel Barrymore
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ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
I offer my unwavering gratitude and appreciation to you, the reader. Your love of written stories makes this crazy profession have meaning. I write for you.
Special thanks to my team of extraordinary editors (especially Carolyn Marlett and the inimitable Philip Newey); my array of loyal beta readers; my unflagging and ridiculously patient publisher, Lou Aronica; and the late J. Anthony Lukas, Pulitzer-winning author of Big Trouble, the seminal non-fiction work on the Haywood trial.
Also, I am indebted and grateful to the many historical, institutional, and governmental organizations that were invaluable to my research for this novel, including:
Ada County Courthouse
AFL-CIO
Boise State University
City of Boise
City of Denver
Found San Francisco
Historic Vehicle Association
History Colorado
History.com
Idaho Architecture Project
Idaho Mining Association
Idaho Museum of Mining and Geology
Idaho State Historical Society
American Red Page 57
