“I don’t s’pose hangin’ will hurt so very much after all. The main thing is, I want ‘em to hurry after they start out. Of course, I’ll be pretty drunk, and won’t know much about what they’re doin’, and I don’t s’pose they’ll take long after I put on them clothes until it’s all over. Goin’ from here to the place won’t hurt, though I s’pose it’ll be pretty hard work walkin’ up the ladder and seein’ that rope hangin’ over the beam, and knowin’ what it’s for. But I s’pose they’ll help me up. And then strappin’ my hands and feet’ll take some time. But they don’t need to do that with me for I shan’t do a thing;—still mebbe if they didn’t I’d kind of grab at the rope when they knocked the door out from under my feet. I might do that without knowin’ it. So I s’pose it’s just as well. It must be kind of sickish when they tie the rope ‘round your neck, and when they pull that cap over your head, and you know you ain’t never goin’ to see anything again. I don’t s’pose they’ll wait long after that; they oughtn’t to. You won’t feel anything when you’re fallin’ down through, but it must hurt when you’re pulled up short by the neck. But that can’t last long, can it? They do say the fellers kicks a good deal after they’re hung, but the doctors say they don’t really feel it, and I s’pose they know, but I don’t see how they can all be so smart about ever’thing; they hain’t never been hung.
“I s’pose the priest will be here; he’s a trump, and I think more of him than I ever did before. He’s been a great help to me, and I don’t know what I’d done without him. Of course, he talks religion to me, but he’s kind of cheerful and ain’t always making out that I’m so much worse than anyone else ever was. I ain’t much afraid ‘bout God; somehow I kind of feel as if He knows that I’ve always had a pretty tough time, and that He’ll make allowances on account of a lot of them things that the judge ruled out, and He knows how I’ve suffered about it all and how sorry I be for her and the kid, and He’ll give me a fair show. Still sometimes I can’t help wonderin’ if mebbe there ain’t nothin’ in all of it, and if I hain’t got through when my wind’s shut off. Well, ‘scuse me, I didn’t want to make you feel bad, but I’ve thought about it so much and gone over it so many times that it don’t seem as if it was me, but that someone else was goin’ to get hung; but I hain’t no right to tell it to anybody else, and I didn’t mean to.
“Well, I set there and waited and waited, until about eleven o’clock, and then I thought mebbe ‘twould be safe enough to start, just then the boy woke up, and I heard him say ‘Mamma,’ and it kind of gave me a start, and I hurried in and asked him what he wanted and he said he wanted a drink of water, and I came out to the kitchen sink and got it and took it back and gave it to him. Then he asked me what time it was, and I told him about eleven o’clock, and he asked me why I had my clothes on and where mamma was, and I told him we hadn’t gone to bed yet, and for him to turn over and go to sleep, and he said a few more words and then dropped off.
“Then I went out to the barn to hitch up the rig. The horse was layin’ down asleep, and I felt kind of mean to wake him, for I knew he was about played out anyhow; but it couldn’t be helped, so I got him up and put on the harness. I s’pose he didn’t know much about the time, and thought he was goin’ down to Water Street after a load of potatoes. I didn’t bring any lantern; I knew the barn so well I could hitch up in the dark. Then I took the hay off’n the potatoes and put it in the bottom of the wagon to lay her on, and then run the wagon out and turned it ‘round and backed it in again. I ‘most always hitched up outside the barn for there was more room outdoors, but I didn’t want to be out there any more’n I could help, so I thought I’d get all ready in the barn so I could just drive away.
“Well, I got the horse all harnessed and the bits in his mouth, and ever’thing ready to hitch up, and then went back in the house. I’d been thinkin’ that I’d better take one more look, not that ‘twould do any good but just because it might. You know when you’ve lost a knife, or a quarter, or anything, and you look through all your pockets and find it ‘tain’t there, and then go back and look through all of ‘em again and don’t find it; then you ain’t satisfied with that and mebbe you keep a lookin’ through ‘em all day, even when you know ‘tain’t there. Well, that’s the way I felt about her, only I s’pose a good deal worse, so when I got in I looked her over again just the same way’s I had before. I felt for her pulse and her heart but ‘twa’n’t no use. Then I got my old overcoat and my hat and got ready to start, but before I left I thought I’d just look out once to see if the folks in the next house was abed, and I found they wa’n’t, for there was a light in the kitchen right next to mine, and I knew ‘twould never do to carry that kind of a bundle out the back door while they was up. So I waited a little while until the light went out and ever’thing was still, and then put on my coat and hat and picked her up in my arms. It was an awful hard thing to do, but there wa’n’t nothin’ else for it, so I just kind of took my mind off’n it and picked her up. When I got her kind of in my arms one of her arms sort of fell over, and her legs kind of hung down like they was wood, and then I see I had to fasten ‘em some way or I couldn’t never carry her. It wa’n’t like a live person that can stay right where they want to; it was more like carryin’ an arm full of wood that would scatter all around unless you get it held tight.
“Then I laid her down and found some string and tied her arms tight around her body, and then fastened her ankles together. Then I went into the bedroom and got a quilt off’n our bed and rolled her up in that. You know at my trial they made out that ‘twas bad for me to tie her that way, and if I hadn’t been awful wicked I wouldn’t have done it. But I can’t see anything in that; there wa’n’t no other way to do it. Then they said it was awful bad the way I took her off and the place I dumped her, and the newspapers made that out one of the worst things about it all; but I tried to think up something else to do and I couldn’t, and there she was dead, and I had to do the best I could. I washed her and fixed her all up before I went away, and if there’d been anything else I could have done I know I would.
“When I got her fixed up, I went to the door and looked out, and I saw some drunken fellers goin’ along in the alley, so I waited a minute for them; and then I got her in my arms and opened the door and then turned off the light and went out and shut the door as soft as I could. It wa’n’t but a few steps to the barn, but I hurried as fast as I could, and just as I was takin’ the first step I heard the most unearthly screech that scart me so I ‘most dropped her; but in a minute I knew it was only a train pullin’ into the yards and I hurried to get to the barn before the engine come up.
“Well, I guess nobody saw me, and I got her in the wagon and laid her on the hay. I fixed her head to the end and her feet reachin’ up under the seat. I didn’t want her head so near me in that long drive down over the prairie. Then I covered her up the best I could with one of the old horse blankets, so it wouldn’t look suspicious if anyone seen me.
“I tell you it was awful pokerish out there in the barn, worse than in the house, for I had a light there. I didn’t want to stay in the barn a minute longer than I could help, so I hurried and hitched the old horse onto the wagon, then went out to the alley and looked up and down to see if anyone was there. Then I got on the seat and put a blanket around me and drove off. I was afraid the neighbors would notice me drive out of the barn, but they didn’t. The moon hadn’t quite got up and there couldn’t anyone see unless they was right close. When I got about a block away I seen a policeman walkin’ ‘long the street and goin’ up to pull a box. Of course I was scart; he looked at me kind of suspicious like, and looked at the wagon to see what was in there, but it was rather dark and I braced up the best I could and drove right ‘long and he didn’t say nothin’. Then I found a lot of fellers that was comin’ down the street makin’ a lot of noise. They was a gang of politicians that had been goin’ round to the saloons and was pretty full. I was afraid some of ‘em might know me, but they didn’t pay any attention and I went along up to the corner of Halsted and turned south. I knew Halsted was a pretty public street, but the roads was better and I had a long way to go, so I thought I might just as well chance that.
“I got along down about Twenty-ninth Street and met a gang of fellers that was makin’ a lot of noise singin’ and talkin’, and braggin’ and tellin’ what they could do. I was a little ‘fraid of ‘em, not because I thought they’d hurt me, but I didn’t know but what they’d see what was in the wagon. When I come up to ‘em they told me to stop, that they was the ‘Bridgeport threshers’ and no one had any right there but them, and they wanted to know what reason I had to be out at that time o’ night. I told ‘em I was just gettin’ home, that I’d been kep’ late up town. Then one of ‘em said, ‘What you got in the wagon?’ and I said, ‘Potatoes.’ Then one feller said, ‘Let’s see ‘em,’ and started for the wagon. But another one spoke up and said, ‘Oh, Bill, leave him alone, he’s all right.’ And then they all started up another road and went away. That was a pretty narrow escape and I was ‘most scart to death for fear they’d look under the blanket. I met a good many teams but nothin’ more happened till I got down to Fifty-fifth Street Boulevard, where I turned east to go over to the Vincennes road.