How prophetic these words were I shall relate in another volume. We talked considerably about Hughes, conjecturing as to whether he would come back to New York, Billy finally expressing the opinion that he was too wise, owing to the feeling of the police toward him. Hughes had not “squared up” the last “trick,” and now he possessed too much money.
The remainder of the week I occupied in preparing myself for another journey to Steubenville, but under vastly different circumstances. When, early in the following week, I found myself there, stopping at another hotel, the observer would have seen what appeared to be a highly respectable business man, attired in the newest cut of cloth, and wearing a shining beaver. It may have been unwise to thus clothe myself, some of my critics will possibly aver, having in mind the gentleman burglar of to-day and the mission that took me there the second time; but in those days that slick, smooth knight of the jimmy we hear so much about now was unknown except in sensational novels in yellow covers. The authorities who were after me would not be looking for any one but the hard-up, trampish-looking individual I was when the Cadiz bank was looted.
I told the clerk that I was going out for a walk, and to have my room ready with all the necessaries for an extended stay at the hotel, when, late in the afternoon of the day I arrived at Steubenville, I went in quest of my treasure hidden in the railroad stone wall. I walked much faster and easier than when I came up the track a few days before, a hunted man. As I expected, I found the cash and bonds where I had left them, but I must admit being a little irritated on discovering that rats had taken a liking to some of the greenbacks and had eaten holes in them. It happened that the bills were of small denominations, consequently the loss was not so great as it would have been had the pesky things attacked the other side of the package. I went back to the hotel with a snug little fortune in my inside pocket, and without any fear of detection. I passed the barber shop where I encountered that sympathetic artist of the comb and brush, but not needing a shampoo, and for obvious reasons not wishing to renew our acquaintance, carefully avoided a too close scrutiny from that direction. By midnight I had my satchel repacked, the treasure hidden at the bottom, and, leaving a call at the desk for the first train in the morning, with the regret that I had been suddenly summoned away, turned in for a sound sleep. In a trifle more than twenty-four hours I found myself in the metropolis once more, bestirring myself on behalf of my associates in limbo. I knew of no crook to help me but Billy Matthews, my associations with the class taking in but eight men, so I appealed to him for a letter to another friend of Mark Shinburn’s, who proved to be Johnny Ryan of Buffalo. Before starting west on my mission, I gave Matthews six one-thousand-dollar five-twenty government bonds to market for me.
I found Ryan an affable fellow and quite willing to use his good offices on behalf of my jailed associates, for he had been in many a bank job with them. He sought out an all-round crook, whom he introduced to me as Asa King, and together we began to form a plan. Many ways were suggested, but the simplest one was adopted. It was that King immediately proceed to Cadiz, with plenty of money, and play the part of a drunkard to the extent of getting locked in the jail with my comrades. With them, it would then be no insurmountable task to devise a plan to break out of jail. Ryan, King, and I went to Pittsburg, King going on to Cadiz. Having known him only a few hours, I was in no position to guess how well he would play the part of a sot. I hoped that he would not make too much of an effort, whereby the game might be spoiled. When I was in Pittsburg, prior to our bank-looting expedition, I, being short of money, had taken a most disgraceful departure from the Scott House. I had left an overcoat there; it had a bad rip in the skirt, to which my attention had been called by Jack Utley. The more I examined into the character of the man, the more I became convinced that he would betray his comrades upon being assured of any leniency by the authorities. It occurred to me that he would be likely to remember my coat and make it a telling instrument in his description of me, and thus believing, I very much wanted to put any such advantage out of the way. So I asked Ryan to pay the board bill and get the coat. He did so, and I felt better satisfied. Having agreed to meet King at Wheeling, we proceeded there, and two days later he came to us with a long face and a much longer tale of failure. I learned from him something about swift-winged justice as it was practised in Ohio. The day King got to Cadiz, Tall Jim, Big Bill, and Utley were on their way to the state prison at Columbus. Jack Utley, the serpent, had obtained a shorter sentence by pleading guilty after having betrayed us, while Jim and Big Bill, hopelessly in the toils of the law, also pleaded guilty and received a fourteen-year sentence each. George Wilson, poor fellow, was still in the hospital, and awaited the same fate. Nothing could be done for him, King said, and we returned east. At Buffalo I paid Ryan and King for their assistance and went to New York, only to meet a train of stirring events.
* * * * *
“What’s up, Billy?” I inquired cheerily, upon meeting Matthews the next morning after my return; “have you been playing hookey from school and got caught at it?” His face was as long as a search-warrant and twice as grim. Somehow I expected a piece of unwelcome news, but my recent escape from a very hot trail had made me a little philosophical.
“That would be easy,” he said, smiling sickly, and passed a joke about his schooldays when the paternal hand had more than once sought unerringly a certain region near the equator, in what many households have often designated a “warming-the-jacket” bee. Then he added: “The devil’s to pay. I’ve had bad luck trying to sell your bonds.”
“Been playing Dexter at long odds, and had the wrong end of the game, eh?” I asked, taking the matter as calmly as I could, at the same time throwing a little horse-racing chaff at him. He disregarded the pleasantry.
“I hate like the devil to tell you, George, but the bonds—they’re gone, and I can’t produce you the money in place of ’em.”
“Well?” I interrogated as cheerfully as I could under the circumstances.