The Best American Mystery Stories of the Nineteenth Century

by Penzler, Otto

  “Stop thief! stop thief!”

  The crowds in the saloons began to pour out, and all was excitement. I was a swift runner, and felt sure of catching my man. He ran due east for a time, and then, turning north, passed through a street lined with trees. He had a good start of me, and was rapidly nearing the woods on the edge of the town. I had a clear view of him, as he ran, so I raised my pistol and shouted:

  “Stop! or you are a dead man!”

  He did not answer, but kept on running; so, I took a hurried aim and fired.

  “Confound it! have I lost that shot!” I muttered. I again sighted at him and fired, as I continued the chase.

  Someone at my side said:

  “For God’s sake! Pinkerton, stop firing! Don’t you see that you have killed me?”

  Just as Blake said this, he staggered and fell down, close by the fence. I found that my first shot had taken effect; the second, I found in the trunk of a tree, next morning.

  “Get up!” I said to Blake, in a harsh tone; “I told you I would shoot you, if you tried to escape, and now I have done it.”

  He tried to rise, but could not. By this time, the crowd from the saloons had come up. Someone said:

  “Blake, who shot you?”

  Seeing that there were many of Blake’s old chums in the crowd, some of whom were dangerous-looking characters, I raised Blake up and said:

  “He is my prisoner.”

  At this, the crowd fell back; but, at my request, four of them raised him up and conveyed him to a small tavern, nearby, where he was laid on a lounge. He was then insensible, and medical aid was at once called. I remained with him to hear the surgeon’s report; and, once, Blake opened his eyes and muttered:

  “Pinkerton, I will kill you yet!” to which I made no reply.

  In a few minutes, two doctors arrived and probed Blake’s wound. It was on the right side of the spine, near the small of the back, and they immediately said that he could not live more than a day or two. By this time, a great crowd had gathered around the tavern door; and, as I passed out, several voices cried out:

  “There goes the murderer!”

  “Send for the sheriff,” I replied; “I will answer to the proper authorities.”

  I then went back into the tavern and wrote a note to Mr. Holland, a lawyer, asking him to meet me at the Washington House, as soon as possible. Having sent this note, I started for the hotel. The streets were filled with people, all in a state of great excitement, and my situation was neither pleasant nor safe.

  On reaching the hotel, I went up to see Mary. I knocked at the door, and she immediately let me in. She was crying quietly, and was, evidently, very weak.

  “Mary,” I asked, “what is in that phial?” and I pointed to the one I had seen in Blake’s hand.

  “I don’t know,” she replied. “Blake always poured a few drops out of it into our wine, when he wished to make us sleep.”

  “Mary,” I said, “you must not get excited at what I am going to tell you. Blake is shot. I had to shoot him to prevent his escape. I had no alternative, as he would have got into the woods.”

  She said nothing, but continued to weep, even more bitterly than before. The thought flashed across me: “Can it be possible that she cared for this handsome scoundrel?” and I said:

  “You do not feel angry with me, because I have done this, do you?”

  “Oh! no sir; it is not anger that makes me weep; but oh! how horrible it is, to think of him being ushered into eternity with all his sins unrepented of! I have not words to express my gratitude to you for your kindness in rescuing me, and I hope no harm will come to you.”

  At this moment, the sheriff and several citizens entered the room. I took the sheriff into an adjoining room, closed the door, and told him all that had happened. I then asked him to go over to the tavern and secure the papers on Blake’s person; I felt sure that some evidence of his guilt would be found on him. I, also, called Mary into the room and asked her whether she knew where Alice was.

  “No, sir; Sloan took her away last Thursday week; but I don’t know where they went. Blake was writing a letter to Sloan, this evening, and I think he has it in his pocket, now.”

  “I know where Alice is,” I said; “Sloan took her to Janesville. Sheriff, you would oblige me very much, by getting Blake’s papers. You need not fear that I shall run away.”

  Mr. Holland, my lawyer, came in, at this moment, and I explained my case to him. He shook me warmly by the hand and said:

  “It will give me great pleasure to defend you. I, not only, sympathize with you heartily, but wholly approve your course. You will have more friends in Rockford than ever before.”

  Mr. Holland and the sheriff then went over to obtain Blake’s papers. They found the streets crowded with people, as the shooting had been plainly heard, and every one was anxious to learn the cause of the trouble. During the sheriff’s absence, I advised the people who had crowded into the hotel, to go away quietly; and they, finally, did so. I induced Mary to lie down to get some sleep, and the landlord, at my request, sent a girl to stay with her.

  I was just about to retire, when a gentleman asked to see me. He proved to be the pastor of the Methodist church in Rockford; he stated that, having heard, briefly, from the sheriff, the story of Mary’s wrongs, he had come to offer to take her to his own home, until her family should arrive, to take care of her. The hotel was so noisy, and the excitement was so bad for Mary, that I thankfully accepted his kind offer. I, therefore, procured a carriage, and Mary was, at once, conveyed to the minister’s house.

  Meanwhile, the sheriff had searched Blake’s clothing, and the following letter was found:

  FRIEND SLOAN: I am just coining money. Mary has several admirers, and I often have two gentlemen up to see her of a night. She is getting d—d pale, but all the gentlemen pronounce her a regular beauty.

  I have my eye on two stunning girls in West Rockford; and we will get them to go out on the plains with us, when we take Mary and Alice to the “diggins.” If they won’t come willingly, we know how to make them.

  Are you doing well with Alice? I am making more money out of this speculation than out of any I ever attempted before.

  Yours, etc., BLAKE.

  The sheriff brought this letter to me, and went off without locking me up; although I advised him to arrest me, as a matter of form.

  “After reading that letter,” said he, “there is no power on earth that could make me arrest you.”

  CHAPTER 14

  IT WAS NEARLY four o’clock before I went to bed, but by six, I was up. I, at once, sent the following dispatch to Sheriff Church:

  SHERIFF W. L. CHURCH, Chicago:

  I arrested Blake last night. He broke away from me and ran for the woods. After a sharp race, I fired two shots at him. The first ball entered his back and passed through his body. The doctors pronounce the wound fatal. A letter to Sloan, found on his person, stated that he had two Rockford girls under his eye, whom he intended to debauch and take to California. Send William and Deputy-Sheriff Green by first train. Sloan and Alice are at Janesville. Will leave for Belvidere as soon as possible. I want Alice here. Fear Mary will be sick. She asks all the time for her father and William.

  ALLAN PINKERTON.

  Having sent the dispatch, I ate breakfast, and then, paid a visit to all the clergymen on both sides of the river. I narrated the particulars of the outrage that had been perpetrated on the girls; spoke of their innocence and beauty, and of the hellish means used to destroy them; called attention to the letter found on Blake’s person, in which he spoke of an intention to debauch two Rockford girls; and, in fact, laid bare the whole vile scheme, which had been successfully carried out, in part.

  The clergymen, unanimously, approved of my course. In their morning discourses, they gave their congregations a short sketch of Blake’s wicked plots, and offered devout thanks that he had been stopped in his career of crime, before he had had the opportunity to carry out his designs on
the two Rockford girls. Prayer was offered up for Mary and Alice; also, for Mr. and Mrs. Wells, that they might be given strength to bear up under their terrible affliction. In this way, Mary’s sad story was conveyed to all the church-going people in Rockford, and many ladies called that day at the Methodist parsonage, to offer their services.

  During the forenoon, I called to see Mary, and found that she was quite delirious. At times, Blake would appear to her; the fearful events of the first stormy night would float before her; and she would shudder and almost faint with agony. Again, she thought she was on the cars, making the forced trip, and she suddenly startled every one by a piercing cry for Alice. Then she was at home, with her father, mother, and William, and her pleasant smiles showed that all was peace, purity, and happiness.

  A physician stayed with her all the time; as I left, he went to the door with me and said that she had no appetite, and was running down fast. He wished that her sister would come, as Alice would have more influence over her, than strangers, although the Rockford ladies were doing everything in their power. She had youth and a good constitution on her side, however, and might pull through.

  I returned to the Washington House, and as I passed some of the groggeries, the loafers, congregated in front of them, jeered at me, and called me a murderer. One bloated sot swaggered up to me and said:

  “So, you are the murderer, are you? D—n you, I will put a ball through you!”

  I turned on him and calmly said:

  “I don’t know you, nor do I wish to; but if you give me cause, I will shoot you, too. I will show the people of Rockford what kind of a man you are,” and I advanced toward him.

  He was, evidently, a cowardly braggart, for he slunk away into the crowd, and said no more.

  Sunday was a busy day with me, as people came in to see me every minute. All the respectable people of the community were anxious to express to me their approval of my actions.

  At seven o’clock in the evening, a carriage drove up, and, to my astonishment, William and Deputy-Sheriff Green jumped out. Immediately on receipt of my dispatch, in Chicago, they had obtained a special train, which had brought them to Belvidere; there, they had hired a carriage, in which they had come to Rockford.

  I was delighted to see them, and, after a hasty supper, I took William to see Mary. I impressed upon him the necessity of being perfectly calm, and then led him into her room. Mary was propped up with pillows in a half-reclining position, and was very weak. William’s color rose and his eyes flashed, as he saw what a wreck Mary had become; but, in a second, tears filled his eyes, and he almost fell, as he walked carefully across the room, and knelt at the bedside.

  “Mary, don’t you know me?” he said, in a voice trembling with emotion. “Don’t you know William?”

  As the familiar tones reached her ear, a look of delight came into her face; she raised herself on her arm, gazed lovingly at William, and tried to speak; but her emotions overcame her, and she dropped back in a swoon. The Doctor, assisted by two ladies who were present, soon revived her, and she was able to speak in a faint voice.

  “Oh! William, I am so delighted to see you! Where are father, mother, and Alice? Won’t they come to me?”

  William took her hand gently, and endeavored in vain, to suppress the sobs that would come in spite of himself. His chest heaved convulsively, and his eyes were full of tears. Finally, he mastered his grief with great effort, and said:

  “Father is coming as soon as he can. You will meet him in Chicago, if you are strong enough to make the journey.”

  I will not dwell upon this affecting meeting. Sorrow is the heritage of the whole world, and we all have so much unhappiness in our own lives, that we, naturally, do not desire to contemplate the misery of others, too long.

  CHAPTER 15

  I LEFT WILLIAM WITH Mary, and returned to the Washington House, to see Deputy-Sheriff Green. Having told him that Sloan was in Janesville, I offered to go there to arrest the villain and get Alice. Mary needed her sister’s presence immediately, as the physicians feared the worst.

  Green said that I had already done everything, and that I ought to have some rest; so, he would go to Janesville. Accordingly, I gave him a letter of introduction to the sheriff of Rock county, and, in less than an hour, he had hired a buggy and started on his journey.

  He reached Janesville at three o’clock in the morning; he then called up the sheriff and asked his assistance in arresting Sloan. The sheriff hurriedly dressed himself and accompanied Green to Sloan’s room. Green had not forgotten his handcuffs, and, in an instant, Sloan was a prisoner.

  Alice fairly cried for joy at her deliverance, but her joy vanished on hearing of Mary’s illness.

  Green brought both Sloan and Alice back to Rockford in the buggy he had used in going to Janesville; and, on reaching Rockford, Sloan was lodged in jail, while Alice went to Mary’s bedside.

  Blake lived through Monday, but died that night. I cared but little for this. I had done only my duty. I had the approval, not only of my own conscience, but, also, of all the law-loving people of Rockford. A death by violence was the natural end of such a life as Blake’s. Sooner or later his sin was sure to find him out; in the course of my duty, I was the appointed instrument of vengeance.

  The arrival of William and Alice did Mary much good, and she cheered up perceptibly. I thought it would be best to move her to Chicago, and the doctor agreed with me. We, therefore, started Tuesday morning by stage, and took the train at Belvidere. We reached Chicago without accident, and Mary was immediately taken to the Sherman House, where the proprietors, Messrs. Tuttle & Brown, had prepared their best room. The whole community deeply sympathized with the unfortunate family, and Mary received the greatest attention and kindness from every one.

  Doctor McVickar was called, and his opinion was awaited with deep anxiety. When he came out from Mary’s room, he said that it would be impossible for her to live. She had been poisoned by heavy doses of cantharides, or Spanish fly, administered for a purpose better imagined than described. It had been given to her in such large doses, and had had time to work into her system so thoroughly, that it would be impossible to save her.

  Mrs. Wells was quite ill, at home, from the overpowering effects of grief, and Mr. Wells was not in Chicago, on our arrival there. He came on, immediately; but Mary had been dead an hour and a half, when he entered the Sherman House.

  Poor Mary! Only a few days before, she had been so full of life, so beautiful—now, she was a corpse. To her, however, death came as a release; and few would have cared to call her back to the suffering, which life would have entailed upon her.

  Green obtained the necessary papers, and conveyed Sloan to the jail in Coldwater. He was there tried, convicted, and sentenced to imprisonment, at hard labor, for five years—the longest term allowable by law for his offense, at that time. The villains, Harris, Dick, and Joe, had taken an early alarm, and fled to the wilds of the Far West; so that they escaped, temporarily, from the hands of justice. Their further career was never known, but, in all probability, they were hanged.

  CHAPTER 16

  TEN EVENTFUL YEARS passed away. I had entered into business, on my own account, and was doing well. I had gone into Montcalm County, Michigan, on the track of some parties, who were suspected of stealing goods from the Michigan Central Railroad. Montcalm County was just becoming settled up; and, as I drove along in my buggy, on my way to the little town of Stanton, I began to fear that I had lost my way. It was a very sultry summer day, and my horse jogged along, with drooping head, evidently suffering greatly from the heat. I, therefore, decided to stop at the first farm-house, to water my horse and inquire the way to Stanton.

  I soon came in sight of a farm-house, situated in a large clearing. It was, evidently, a well-kept farm. The house was neat and comfortable; the fences and barns were in good order; and the stock looked well-fed and well-cared for. Everything showed thrifty, capable management.

  I drove up to the house, an
d entered the open door. A handsome lady was seated at a table, sewing, and three children were playing around her. I asked her where I could get water for myself and my horse. She gave me a drink, took down a pail, and handed it to me, at the same time pointing to the well.

  I thanked her, and made a few remarks about the fine appearance of her farm. She said nothing, but I noticed that she looked at me in a very curious manner. I then went out, watered my horse, and returned to the house with the pail; the lady took it from me, and handed it to a brown-eyed little boy, to take into the house, all the time keeping her eyes fixed upon me. I have always had a great liking for a handsome face, and this lady was, certainly, a beauty; but she gazed at me so steadily that, I must confess, I was somewhat abashed. However, I asked the road to Stanton, which she told me; and I then turned to get into my buggy. At this, she inquired, in a shy, timid way:

  “Is your name Pinkerton?”

  This question was rather startling, as I did not wish to be known; and Montcalm County having been so recently settled, I had not expected to be recognized there. Still, I could not deceive her, so I said, politely:

  “Yes, madam; but you have the advantage of me.”

  She held out both her hands, and said, smilingly:

  “Why, don’t you know me, Mr. Pinkerton?”

  I looked at her, and then at her three children, but could not recall a single familiar feature; so I was obliged to say: