CHAPTER LII.
AN EXPRESS MESSENGER ROBS A TRAIN IN NEW YORK OF THIRTY-SIX HUNDRED DOLLARS—HE LOSES AT CARDS AND DRAWS UPON THE FUND IN HIS KEEPING—OFF FOR THE WEST—TRACED TO DENVER AND THEN TO SANTA FE BY DETECTIVE ARNOLD OF THE ROCKY MOUNTAIN DETECTIVE ASSOCIATION—ONLY TOO GLAD TO GET AWAY—THE ROBBER ROBBED IN A GAME OF POKER WITH HIS LANDLORD, WHO THEN ATTEMPTS TO DETAIN HIM FOR HIS BOARD BILL—BESIEGED FOR A NIGHT—JOE ARNOLD AS AN ARTFUL DODGER.
John A. Bemis is the name of a young man who must figure in this narrative because of his weakness—because he allowed himself to fall into bad habits when he was entrusted with money belonging to other people. When the crime was committed in the summer of 1877, Bemis was, and is yet if he is still living, a young man of good family. His people resided in Syracuse, N. Y., whence Bemis started out on one of the New York railroads as an agent for the American Express company, running into New York. As agent for a big carrying enterprise running into the nation’s financial metropolis, he became the custodian of large sums of money, often carrying a million dollars on a single trip. He was implicitly trusted by the company, being a young man whose life was supposed to be singularly exemplary, and backed by family connections of the very highest order. There were many times that he might have made a big haul without taking more than the ordinary risk which thieves take. But he seems to have resisted all the more luring bait which was thrown out to him, and to have at last been tempted by a comparatively small sum.
As was learned after his arrest by the Rocky Mountain Detective Association, he fell into loose company one day while carrying $3,600 for his company. He was lured into a game of penny-ante poker, which assumed, before the game was finished, extensive proportions. Having exhausted his own pile, and feeling chagrined at being beaten, he drew upon the money which he held in trust. He did not draw upon the pile very extensively, but sufficiently to create a deficit which he was unable to make good. Finding himself in a corner, fearing to explain his breach of trust, and being unable to supply the missing sum himself, he decided in an evil moment upon flight, and also concluded to carry the residue of the company’s money in his possession with him.
This decision once formed, he left his express car at a way station, and jumping upon a train coming westward, was off before the theft was discovered.
The company was thunderstruck when the crime was discovered. The New York papers were full of the details a few days afterwards, and the wires carried the report to all sections of the country, dwelling upon the young man’s family connections, the trust which had been reposed in him, and filled with surmises as to what could have induced him to take the foolish step which he had taken. Soon followed other telegrams and posters, the latter carrying portraits of the young fellow, offering a reward of $800 for his apprehension. The express company determined upon close pursuit and the capture and punishment of the defaulter, not because they did not respect the feelings of his family, but because they felt that he should be made an example of. Detectives throughout the eastern states and as far west as the Mississippi river were put to work on the case. They sought in vain for the fugitive. He was not to be found by the most vigilant of the officers who took the trail.
A month after the robbery, Gen. Cook received a letter from Mr. Fargo, president of the express company, giving a description of the robber, renewing his offer of a reward of $800 for his apprehension, and saying there were reasons to believe that Bemis had come to Denver. The principal reason urged was that Bemis had a cousin here, whose name was given.
The case was placed in the hands of Detective Arnold by Gen. Cook, who was relied upon to do his best work on it. Mr. Arnold worked a long time without a clue. The hotel registers for a month back were scanned with the keenest scrutiny. They were dumb. Not a shadow of a clue was presented. No one going by the name of Bemis had registered at any of the hotels since the time of the robbery. The cousin was sought out and skilfully pumped. He knew nothing, or professed to know nothing, of his relative. He declared that the young man had not been in Denver to his knowledge. This to Mr. Arnold. But Arnold soon came to the conclusion that he was not the best man to talk with the cousin. Arnold is one of the men who believe that there are more ways to accomplish a purpose than one. He made himself acquainted with the associates of Bemis’ cousin in Denver and set some of them quietly after him. Not only the man’s male friends, but some of his female friends were set to work. This ruse was at last successful. The cousin at last told one of these sub-detectives that his cousin had been in Denver; that while here he had gone by the name of James Walker, by which name he had registered at the American house, but that he had taken his departure some time previous. The kinsman professed to know nothing of the course Bemis had taken, leaving the detectives almost as much in the dark as they were before.
Having the Denver name of the man, they were enabled to ascertain something of his conduct while in Denver, to pick up information as to his habits, and to get a minute description of him. They found that he had been “one of the boys;” inclined to be a little loose and reckless, and considerably addicted to card playing. While still looking about for information as to the direction the man had taken, they received a note one day from Mr. Nat Hickman, who at that time was a confidential agent of the association, dated at Santa Fe, N. M., and telling them that there was a young stranger in that city going by the name of John L. Jerome, whose actions were quite mysterious. Hickman was a shrewd observer of human nature. He knew of no charges against the man concerning whom he had written to headquarters, but merely inferred from the fellow’s conduct that he was a fugitive from justice, and considered it probable that if he was such, Gen. Cook would know something about him. After reading the letter, Mr. Cook handed it over to Mr. Arnold, with the remark:
“There’s your man.”
To which Arnold replied, more forcibly than elegantly:
“Bemis, begad.”
After taking some preliminary steps, such as the procuring of a requisition for the arrest of the man, Arnold was off for Santa Fe. There was no doubt of his identity after getting Hickman’s description of the party.
In those days a trip to Santa Fe was not so easily made as now. Trains ran only to Trinidad, in Colorado, rendering it necessary that the traveler should make the rest of the journey of over two hundred miles on stage coach, which was not a very pleasant undertaking, considering that the roads were bad; that almost the entire population was Mexican, and road agents were both numerous and persistent. But these were obstacles which did not stand in the way of the Rocky Mountain Detective Association. So Mr. Arnold was off for Santa Fe, the ancient capital of New Mexico, in search of John A. Bemis, alias James Walker, alias John L. Jerome.
The southward trip was devoid of incident. There was a long and hard ride. Santa Fe was then further from Denver, considering the time necessary for the trip, than Chicago, and the ride was a far more trying one. But Joe Arnold is not very delicately organized, and he landed in Santa Fe “right side up with care.”
Arriving late in the evening, he went to the principal hotel—the Exchange—and was soon in possession of evidence which made it absolutely certain that the John L. Jerome, of Santa Fe, was the John A. Bemis, of Syracuse. Arnold had registered as “W. F. Smith, Salt Lake City,” that his arrival might create no suspicion in Bemis’ mind in case he should glance over the hotel register.
Being sure of the presence of his man, Mr. Arnold next went to work to find the governor, and to get him to honor his requisition. This was a work which consumed a greater part of the night after Arnold’s arrival, and morning came on soon after he had finished the preparation for the arrest. Having everything in readiness to spring his trap, he set out to find his game. It began now to look as if the detective had had all his trouble for nothing. He waited patiently about the hotel for Bemis to put in an appearance. He watched the breakfast hall carefully, supposing that his man would come in to get something to eat. Breakfast finally being over, Arnold wandered about the town during the forenoon, with the hope of getting a glimpse of his man. But his vigilance was not rewarded by the least trace of him. He was not to be seen anywhere. Going back to the hotel when the dinner hour approached, he again kept close watch upon the dining room. This time, as before, no Bemis made his appearance. Arnold was beginning to fear that the fellow had spotted him and given him the slip. But he resolved to put in the day in his search. Accordingly his investigations were continued during the afternoon. But still no Bemis.
T. JEFF. CARR, Cheyenne, Wyoming.
The supper hour had come on and had nearly passed. Arnold had kept an eagle eye upon the room. His man had not gone in. Finally he wandered into the billiard hall, which was then but dimly lighted, and was unoccupied except by Arnold. Throwing himself down in a chair, the detective was preparing for a little meditative spell to decide what course to pursue, when a footstep fell upon his ear. Looking up he saw that a man had entered the door opposite him. A second glance told him that the newcomer was none other than Bemis. Sitting still until the stranger approached quite close to him, Arnold then got up and advanced to meet the man, speaking to him when he had approached very near him:
“Mr. Bemis, I believe?”
The man did not appear startled or especially confused. He seemed to have been expecting to be overtaken.
“Bemis—yes, that’s my name, and you are an officer come for me?”
Mr. Arnold told him that he had made a very good guess.
“I knew it. I am glad of it. I am ready and anxious to go with you. I want to get out of this hole, and I am tired of skulking about. I would rather a thousand times over go back home and meet all my old-time friends, explain all to them and go to prison, than to go hiding about the country all my life. I could not stand it much longer. So I am glad that you have come. You need fear no resistance from me.”
Arnold took his prisoner to his own room, where the fellow continued his talk in the above strain for some time. It was not long before the detective discovered another interesting feature of the story. In answer to Arnold’s inquiries as to where Bemis had been during the day, he stated that when he had gone to Santa Fe he still retained the bulk of the money which he had stolen, and believing that he had found a place to which detective vigilance would not extend, he had decided to settle down and go into business. He had determined to buy a cigar store, and had closed the contract, nothing remaining to be done but to pay over the money. He had, soon after going to his hotel, left his money for deposit in the safe, the proprietor of the house being aware of the amount which he had. This same individual, it seems, had become anxious to possess the roll himself, and while he was not courageous enough to steal it outright, as Bemis had done, he hit upon another plan, which was just as effectual and far more safe. He had discovered Bemis’ propensity for cards, and finding that the money was about to slip out of his grasp into the hands of the then owner of the cigar store, he proposed to Bemis that they have a quiet game of poker.
Nothing was more to the liking of the Syracuse man. He was willing. These two men and a pair of accomplices of the hotel proprietor were playing poker while Arnold was getting his requisition papers into shape on the night of his arrival. The game at first ran along very smoothly. There was little excitement for a long while. There was plenty to drink, and there was a supply of good cigars. The game appeared to be purely social. The bets were small. There was a general good time, and the entire crowd appeared to be quite “mellow” when the wee sma’ hours came on. It was not a matter of appearance with Bemis. He drank too much. Finding the young man in good shape, his “friends” began to tighten the screws. They had determined to get his money before the night should pass, and about 2 o’clock in the morning prepared to put their plans into execution.
It was the landlord’s deal. As he pushed out the ante, one of his accomplices said to Bemis:
“Go a dollar blind.”
“All right,” said the now thoroughly excited young man, and shoved out the chip representing that amount.
The cards were dealt slowly. The first that fell to Bemis was an ace, and a gleam of gratification passed over his face. His countenance fell as a ten followed, but when another ten, and another, dropped, it was easily seen how much pleasure he took in the contemplation of the little pieces of cardboard. The landlord saw the blind and raised it five dollars. Bemis followed with a raise of ten dollars, which was promptly responded to by a raise of a like sum on the part of the landlord. Bemis raised it twenty dollars, and the landlord simply covered the raise.
“I’ll take two cards,” said Bemis.
“That’s about what I want, myself,” responded the landlord.
The cards were dealt, and after a careless glance at the draw, Bemis laid his hand down on the table and bet fifty dollars.
“I’ll raise you fifty,” was the response.
“That lets me out,” said one of the other players.
“Here, too,” said the second accomplice.
“See your fifty and go a hundred better,” exclaimed Bemis.
“We’ll play for two hundred,” exclaimed the landlord.
Bemis was now thoroughly excited, and the bystanders, accustomed as they were to high play, began to draw nearer to the contestants, and display an unusual interest in the game.
“Will you stand a raise?” asked Bemis, with an air of confident good humor.
“Try it and find out,” replied the landlord, while a close observer could not have failed to note the air of conscious triumph in his manner, so outwardly imperturbable.
“I’ll raise you five hundred dollars, then,” said Bemis.
“I’ll go you another five hundred,” was the answer.
“See here,” said Bemis; “I’ve got the boss hand, but I don’t want to win your money. I’ll raise it a thousand dollars.”
“I’ll see that and raise it another thousand,” came in the coolest terms from his antagonist; but immediately added, as he remembered the fact that Bemis’ bets now covered nearly all his capital: “No, I won’t either. It would be robbery to keep on betting with you. I’ll just call you.”
“Four Tens!” called Bemis, stretching out his hand to take in the stakes, with a smile.
“Hold on a minute,” exclaimed the landlord. “That’s a boss hand, ordinarily, but it don’t win this time;” and he laid down four kings.
“Four Kings!” exclaimed Bemis. “My God!”
Thus Bemis, a fugitive from justice and a long way from home, was “dead broke.” The game was abruptly ended. He had no more money, could borrow none, and must quit. He wandered out into the dark shadows of the adobe houses, and the thoughts which came to him were quite strong enough to sober him off. Here was, indeed, a pretty kettle of fish, and Bemis told Arnold that so great was his anguish that he had almost determined to free himself from it by committing suicide. Better counsel, however, prevailed, and he decided not only not to take his own life, but to make an effort to get back home, and when once arrived there, to surrender himself to the authorities.
He went to the hotel determined to go to bed and try to sleep the remainder of the night. But he was met at the counter by a refusal on the part of the clerk to turn over the keys of his room. He was then informed that he had not paid his bill, and that as he had no money he could get no further accommodations there. Thus was he robbed and turned loose penniless and to be persecuted by the man who had robbed him. He spent the remainder of the night walking about and thinking over his situation. He had not gone to the hotel for breakfast, because he had been forbidden to again enter the house. For the same reason he had gone without his dinner; but finding himself very hungry when supper time came on, he had decided to make an effort to steal in and get something to eat. This resolve he was trying to put into execution when he met Arnold and was arrested.
The fellow was really suffering from a fear that his life was not safe. In those days they could arrest and imprison a man for debt in New Mexico. He was satisfied that his late “host” would be only too glad to dispose of him in that way to get his mouth closed, and so informed Arnold.
Of course the officer promised every protection, and the promise had hardly been made before he was afforded an opportunity to fulfill it. The door of the room had been locked by the officer when he had entered with his prisoner. The story above related had hardly been finished when there came a loud rap on the door, in response to which Arnold demanded to know who was there.
“The proprietor of the house,” was the response.
“What do you want?”
“I want Jerome,” giving the name by which Bemis had gone in Santa Fe.
“Well, you can’t have him.”
A long parley ensued, but Arnold steadfastly declined to allow the hotel man to enter or to surrender Bemis to him. The fellow went away swearing vengeance. When he was well gone, Arnold began barring the door more securely than had been done before, and handing Bemis a pistol, told him to defend himself with it in case it should become necessary for him to do so, saying as he did so:
“He will come back with reinforcements, and if they get you I would not give much for your hide.”
Sure enough, the man did return, and with a body of men. They began to pound upon the door, but were met by Arnold with the assurance that the first man that entered would be shot down in his tracks. This defiance had the effect of cooling the ardor of the besiegers. They remained about the door all night, however, so that Arnold and Bemis were compelled to remain awake with their weapons in hand during the long night that followed, for it was a long night to both of them. Both had been exposed to great hardships and were fatigued. Arnold had been a night in the stage coming down. The next night he had devoted to his papers. Bemis’ experience has been described. But they had another night before them, and nothing was left to them but to make the best of it.
At last morning came. The stage was to start a 6 o’clock. They must get off on that stage or all was lost. Accordingly a few minutes before 6 the two men unbarred the door of their prison and walked out with their pistols in their hands.
The besiegers had disappeared. The stage was in waiting near the hotel. Arnold and his prisoner jumped in. As they did so, the landlord came up, and as he demanded his pay, struck at Bemis.
The stage driver had seen the row coming on, and having exclaimed, “Jerusalem! it’s after 6, and I am off!” had made a sudden start, which left the irate poker player standing alone, while Arnold and his prisoner were off for Denver.
This was a triumph, to be sure, but all was not yet over. The stage passed rapidly on to Las Vegas without incident. Arriving at that place it was stopped by a well-armed Mexican, who was followed by a dozen determined looking fellows, all evidently well heeled. Arnold had taken a seat by the driver’s side. The Mexican stated that he was the sheriff of the county, and said he had received a dispatch from Santa Fe, directing him to arrest one John Jerome, who was on the stage in charge of an officer named Smith, from Salt Lake City, on a capias. Arnold at once came to the front, and making himself spokesman for the stage party passed the question around to every passenger on the coach:
“Is your name Smith?” “Your name Jerome?” etc.
All answered no. “Must be a mistake,” said Joe. “My name is Arnold; I am an officer from Denver, and I have a prisoner here named Bemis, but of course we are not the people you want.” He then showed his papers, which confirmed his statement.
“Oh, naw,” replied the sheriff in broken English; “ve vant Smeet—no vant you.”
Mr. Arnold then volunteered the information that he had heard in Santa Fe of some trouble of the character described about a prisoner, but thought it probable that the fellow had evaded the officers and would be along on the next coach, which the sheriff also considered a plausible theory, and allowed Arnold and Bemis to pass on. The reader will see that the wrong names had been telegraphed. The Santa Fe officials had consulted the hotel register and not the territorial books for the names.
At Cimarron, the next station of importance, Arnold expected to have trouble, and determined to avoid it this time by not meeting it. Consequently he bought a quart bottle of whisky at Rayada, a few miles south of Cimarron, and presenting it to the driver, got off the coach with Bemis before the town was reached, requesting the driver in case they were asked for to state that they had left the coach, and promising to join the stage after the town should be passed. The Jehu promised compliance, but there was no demand for either the officer or his man. They jumped the coach per agreement, and were landed in Trinidad without further incident.
Bemis was sent back to Syracuse, where he pleaded guilty and threw himself upon the mercy of the court. Even the express company officials pleaded for clemency. Hence he was let off with a sentence of but eighteen months in the penitentiary. He should long remember Detective Arnold as his best friend.
A HORSE THIEF’S FOLLY.