CHAPTER XV.
THE ROBBERY—CUMMINGS' NARROW ESCAPE—THE CAPTURE OF MORIARITY—JIM CUMMINGS SLIPS FROM THE TOILS—MR. PINKERTON TAKES A HAND.
The ranche was asleep. Heavy breathing and deep snores from the sleeping-rooms indicated that slumber had fallen on all the inmates. Swanson, who had been repeatedly urged to drink by Cummings and Moriarity and had accepted every invitation, was stretched on his back a drunken mass of stupidity.
The stamping of the horses and distant movements of the thousands of head of cattle alone broke the silence of the night and the darkness had cast its pall over the entire place.
In the large room Scip and the Doctor coolly and calmly awaited the hour of their triumph. Fear was a stranger to both, and as they quietly conversed in whispered accents it would be difficult to believe that they were about to engage in a most desperate enterprise. In another room lay Cummings and Moriarity, completely dressed. The former, with his habitual sang froid, was whispering to Moriarity, who, somewhat excited, was calmed by his companion's nonchalance, and as the hour for the work drew near became like him. A stealthy step, noiseless as an Indian's, interrupted the conversation, and the faint rap on the door gave them the long-looked-for signal.
Creeping on their hands and knees down the hall past Swanson's door, through which his hoarse breathing could be heard, the two men entered the room in which the treasure was stored. The dying embers in the fire-place created a dull glow, showing the Doctor and Scip, booted and spurred, standing in the center of the room. Softly Cummings approached the picture, his finger found the spring through the canvas and, pressing it hard, the frame swung slowly forward as if reluctant to give up its precious charge.
Rapidly taking one bag after another from the cavity Cummings passed them to Moriarity, who placed them in the bags prepared for them.
The Doctor and Scip had gone outside and now brought the four horses nearer the door. This they did that they might have as little to do with the robbery as possible, and they had so managed it that Jim and Dan had done the actual theft.
Moriarity had brought two of the bags which the Doctor had placed on his own and Scip's horse and had gone back for the third, when the door from the inner hall opened, and, his tangled hair hanging in mats over his eyes, his clothing disarranged, his face purple with rage and a revolver in each hand, Swanson appeared before the surprised robbers.
The dim light of the fire showed the picture open, and befogged as his brain was by the whisky, he realized he was being robbed, and with a roar like a mad bull he sprang upon Cummings.
Swift as a flash Cummings' fist, sent forward with all the force of his powerful frame, struck the ranchman under the ear, and tossing his arms above his head he fell like a dead man on the floor.
The sound of many feet hurrying to the scene was heard and, leaving the bag which he was about to take when Swanson sprang on him, Cummings bolted through the door, vaulted on his horse and followed closely by his companions, rushed swiftly into the darkness. It was none too soon, for at once a half score of men poured from the house, and the vicious snap of the rifles, followed by the pin-n-n-g of the bullets, as they cut the air close to their heads, caused the four men to drive their spurs into their ponies until the blood dropped from their lacerated flanks.
Galloping swiftly to where the herding ponies were tethered, Cummings sprang from his horse and, whipping out his keen bowie knife, cut lariat after lariat, stampeding the whole herd. This done he remounted his horse, saying,
"NOW, we can take our time. They won't get a horse to saddle under an hour," cantered off with an easy, strength-saving gait.
"Curse that Swanson," broke in Cummings, after riding in silence a few moments. "Curse him, he kept me from making an extra ten thousand by his cursed appearance."
Neither the Doctor nor Scip replied to this outburst from the disappointed outlaw. The time for action was coming, and as fast as their horses could gallop, the two outlaws were riding toward the trap laid for them. Leaning forward, with the skill of an expert pickpocket, Scip drew the revolver from the holster on Cummings' saddle, and dropped it in the dry grass which bordered the trail. Watching his opportunity, he pushed his horse against Moriarity, and in the slight confusion caused by the collision, he managed to obtain Dan's revolver in the same way. A whisper told the doctor that this had been done, and the disguised detectives each rode beside the man which they were to capture, the Doctor keeping his eye on Cummings and Scip ready to pull Moriarity off his horse at the proper time.
On the other side of the river, or divide, dark shadows stood under the few cottonwood trees, motionless and quiet as the grave, their ears strained to catch the first sound of their quarry, and their hands grasping the ready revolver.
The far-off sound of galloping horses warned them that the time to act had come, and soon the splashing of the water in the creek told them to stand ready.
The voice of Scip was heard saying in loud tones:
"Heah's de trail, gemmen, ovah dis yah way."
The scurry of hoofs as the horses clambered up the steep banks, the low-spoken words of encouragement which were given their steeds by the robbers, and suddenly the shrill whistle giving the long-looked-for signal rang out on the still air.
As Scip gave the whistle he passed his arm around Moriarity, saying:
"Dan Moriarity, you are my prisoner."
His words were instantly followed by the rush of the detectives who had been lying in ambush, and Moriarity, taken completely by surprise, threw his hands above his head in token of surrender, and then passively submitted to having the darbies snapped on his wrists.
Cummings, at the first note of the vibrating signal, had his eyes opened. His hand flew to his holster, and the mocking laugh of the detective followed the discovery that his revolver was gone.
Sam laid his hand on the outlaw's shoulder, and pressing his revolver against his head, called on him to surrender.
Throwing his hands over his head as Moriarity had done, he suddenly brought his clinched fists full against Sam's temple, putting into the blow the strength of three men. Without a groan the detective's head sank forward, his revolver dropped from his nerveless grasp, and he lay unconscious on his horse's back.
A yell of exultation, and Cummings, turning his horse, dashed down the bank, through the stream, and disappeared in the darkness on the other side.
Instantly the detectives followed, leaving two men to guard Moriarity, for in the darkness Sam's condition was not noticed, but seeing the folly of attempting a pursuit in so dark a night, Chip's whistle recalled them, and the chagrined and disappointed operatives gathered around the cottonwood trees.
Sam, who had merely been stunned, soon recovered, and with the aid of some brandy Richard was himself once more.
The notorious Jim Cummings had escaped, but two of his accomplices,
Cook and Moriarity, were in the clutches of the law.
Dan maintained a dogged silence as the cavalcade cantered toward Kansas City, nor did he speak a word until he was safe behind the bars in that city.
"You have caught me by a dirty, shabby trick, but you will never lay your hands on Jim Cummings," he boasted.
To this Chip replied with a smile, "We'll see, Daniel, we'll see. Make yourself comfortable, for you will stay here a good long time, my cock robin."
A growl and a curse was all that Dan deigned to answer, and turning on his heel Chip left the prison.
Mr. Pinkerton, who had received almost daily reports of what had occurred, which reports Chip had contrived to mail through some one of the detectives disguised as cowboys, now telegraphed that he would be in Kansas City the following night. Chip and Sam met him at the railway station and he accompanied them to Chip's room.
A full and detailed recital of all that occurred was given him by his subordinates, who then put the case in his hands.
"Boys," he said, "we must get one of these men, either Cook or
Moriarity, to squeal."
"They are both afraid of Jim Cummings, I can see that in every word they speak," said Chip, "they would rather go to Jefferson City than to turn State's evidence."
"We must work on them in some other manner, then. Sam," turning to the detective, "are you a good hand at forgery?"
"I can imitate most any one's handwriting," said Sam. "Sit down and I will dictate a letter to you."
Sam, taking some paper from the table, wrote as Mr. Pinkerton dictated.
MR. WILLIAM PINKERTON:
DEAR SIR—The letter I wrote to the St. Louis Globe-Democrat is all correct, excepting that I did not tell who plugged the bell-cord. The man, Dan Moriarity, who is now under arrest in Kansas City, was the man who did it. He also forged the order which I gave to the messenger Fotheringham, and was the one who planned the robbery. I make this statement, relying on your word of honor to secure me a light sentence if I turn State's evidence and give information leading to the recovery of the money which I secured.
Yours truly, JIM CUMMINGS.
Mr. Pinkerton, taking from his pocket-book the train robber's letter which he wrote to the St. Louis newspaper, handed it to Sam.
"There is a letter in Jim's handwriting. Now sit down and write this letter in the same hand."
In an hour the detective had completed his work and laid the forged letter before his superior. It was cleverly done, and Mr. Pinkerton felt satisfied.
"Now for the jail," he said, and accompanied by his two "bowers," as he often called them, he left the room and walked to the Kansas City jail.