CLOSE CALLS.
I never will forget the night that Canada Bill and myself were on the Michigan Southern Road, where we had been working for some time, and finally shaken down a man for $1,200. He telegraphed ahead for a warrant to arrest Canada Bill, and I knew that Bill would have to hustle, as the cars would be searched. I hurried him into the sleeper and found a top berth that was empty, while a lady occupied the lower. Her dress was laying in the top berth, and she was fast asleep in the lower one.
"Bill, jump into this," I cried, holding up the garment.
He refused at first, but as the emergency was desperate, at last consented, and, tying a handkerchief around his head, his face being as smooth as a baby's, made as fine a looking woman as you would want to see.
Along came the officers with the conductor and lantern, and searched all the berths in the sleeper; but as soon as they spied the two ladies in the two berths, upper and lower, they apologized and hastily withdrew. When I was asked where Bill was, I informed everybody that he had gotten off, and I feared was seriously injured. Reaching Detroit early in the morning, Bill managed to escape from the cars unnoticed, and I got out at the depot as if nothing had happened.
Another time, on the Missouri Pacific from Kansas City to St. Louis, Bill and I succeeded in beating a Jew out of a few hundred dollars. He was a gamey little hooked-nosed son of Abraham, and, like all the rest of his class, loved money as a duck does water. So when he was on the platform he drew a pistol from his hip pocket, and resolved in an instant to die, thinking, no doubt, it was preferable for a Jew to be dead, rather than penniless.
Placing the muzzle to his mouth, he pulled the trigger. A flash, loud report, when all the passengers rushed out to see what had happened. The Jew lay on the platform, bleeding at the mouth. We straightened him up, held over his head to spit out the blood, when out dropped the bullet. Two of his teeth were gone, which must have checked the speed of the bullet, as it had found lodgment in the rear of his mouth. Of course he didn't die, but he had a close call.
Bill and I made a good deal of money one night going up on the cars from Jackson, Miss., to Vicksburg. The suckers began to kick, and I saw trouble ahead, so I told Bill to hustle into the sleeper, but he sat still. I went on into the smoking car. A large man grappled Bill, and, pulling a long bowie-knife, demanded every dollar he had won, and the watches. The conductor hurriedly called me, and grabbing my Betsy Jane, I rushed back just in time to knock one of the men senseless with the butt end of the weapon, which I drew on the rest and held them at bay. This was long enough to allow Bill a chance to reach the platform, pull the bell cord, and jump off. I was not long in following, and that, too, was too close a call to be styled pleasant.