It was getting to be, as each moment passed, a mighty interesting experience, and I felt fading from me much of the reluctance which from time to time came to the fore and seemed to warn me away from the path I was pursuing, if indeed it had not all gone. I could feel myself really enjoying the situation; a sort of fascination for the work seemed to have taken hold of me. This same attraction, I must relate, ruled my doings the whole of my criminal career, overshadowing any desire for amassing wealth; for I can truly say that a longing for riches never drove me to the commission of crime, and to the breaking of the laws of my country which I loved.
As I recollect the scene of the night, it was better entertainment than many a stage performance I have since witnessed. At the right moment the gas-house watchman, purposely, under the direction of his captors, walked heavily up the bank steps, while Tall Jim and Hughes, treading softly, gave the impression that there was no one with him. The remainder of the party hovered near, but kept well within the shadows of the bank building. When the signal was given, the one-armed man thumped vigorously on the oaken door and called loudly: “Bill, Bill! oh, Bill! I’ve mashed my hand—it’s bleeding bad—let me in!”
There was no response, and Hughes ordered him to rap again, which he did, in a most earnest fashion. I was afraid that some one sleeping in a near-by store might be awakened. If the bank watchman couldn’t hear the pounding, he must be a sound sleeper indeed. Our very pliable tool thumped against the great door again, this time with the result that a voice from within shouted out, “Who’s there?”
“Me, Bill!” answered our one-armed man, in compliance with his promise. “I’ve jammed my hand bad.” Again there was a long silence, so it seemed to me; nothing but silence. I could hear my heart throb with excitement, as loudly, I imagined, as the thumping made by the watchman. Prodded again by Hughes, he rapped once more, and for the third time we listened for an answer, but none came. The watchman called again: “Bill, don’t you hear me? I’ve smashed my hand and I’m bleeding to death. For heaven’s sake open the door!”
“Oh, go to thunder!” came in a roar from within; a most sympathetic response, indeed, to a man in imminent danger of bleeding to death, and the men friendly too, as Tall Jim had informed us.
There was a wait of fully three minutes, which seemed like as many hours to me, but not another sound came from inside the bank. Tall Jim agreed with Hughes that the jig was over, so we retreated cautiously. We didn’t know, but felt inclined to believe, that the bank watchman had seen our approach, and thinking that we really were whitecaps, or perhaps guessing more accurately as to our mission, had remained discreetly inside his stronghold, quite satisfied that his one-armed friend would not bleed to death. I have since concluded that we were mighty lucky that some cold lead did not find a lodgment in the carcass of one or more of us.
The game being over, even before it had begun, we marched the gas-house man to where he had been picked up, and proceeded to dispose of him in a way to insure our safe departure. We certainly had no blame to put on him, for had he been one of us of his own free will, he couldn’t have done better. As a tool, he responded to our bidding with the same directness that a needle responds to the magnet. But for our safety he must be made to believe that we were actually a band of whitecaps, and not a lot of hungry bank looters. Tall Jim was the spokesman:—
“See here, one-armed chap,” said he, in a threatening voice, “our faces are covered, and you don’t know us, though some of us do you. More of us have seen the man in yonder bank, and he’s the feller we’re after. We’ll show him what happens to a man trotting around with another man’s wife, before morning.”
The old man was trembling with apprehension; not over the bank watchman’s doings, as alleged, but for fear of what we might do with him. He managed to gasp out, “I—I—never heard Bill wuz after wimmen; I—I think ye must be mistaken, sirs.”
“But we know, and that’s enough!” Tall Jim hissed the words much like a stage villain; and I laughed to myself, though I’d have felt better could I have roared freely, there was so much earnestness in the poor fellow’s voice.