“The man who owned the ranch next to mine had offered to buy me out the year before, so I went to him and told him I’d made up my mind to go North and see if the doctors couldn’t do something for the boy, and if he’d take everything off my hands I’d sell out cheap.
“He took me up quick as a wink, and in less than a week the money was in my pocket and the boy and me were on our way to New York. I bought a small farm just across the river in New Jersey. There was a good house and barn on it, and I stocked it well, hired a good strong woman to do the inside work and a man to help me outside, and then settled down to a quiet life; for I didn’t believe anybody would think of lookin’ for me there.
“I took the name of ‘John Landers,’ and tried to make the boy call himself ‘George Landers’; but he didn’t know enough to learn it, and seemed to have forgotten how to talk at all; so I hadn’t much to fear from his lettin’ anything out. We lived here for almost five years more, and I got ahead a little every season. But, sir, the horror of that dreadful deed never left me for a minute. My Margery’s dead face was always before me, and my heart heavy with its load of guilt and loneliness. If ever a man paid for an evil deed in torment, I paid for mine a hundred times over.
“But the worst of my troubles was yet to come. The world’s a small place to hide in when a man has committed a crime. I went to town one day on business, and stepped into the post-office—which was in the same buildin’ with the railway station—to send a letter for the woman at home, when I heard two men talking in a low tone of voice, and one of them spoke the name of Jack Henly.
“My blood ran cold in a minute. My back was to them, for I was payin’ for the postage on the letter, and they hadn’t seemed to notice me. I didn’t hurry, frightened as I felt, but took my own time and listened.
“It was me they were after, sure enough; they had tracked me all the way from Texas to that place, but, somehow, couldn’t get any farther. Nobody had heard of a man named Jack Henly, and no one answered to their description. It was no wonder, for I was greatly changed, looking like an old man, for my grief had whitened my hair, wrinkled my face, and bent my form. I walked straight by them on goin’ out of the office, but they never suspected me. I’d got another scare, though, that I couldn’t get over, and made up my mind that I’d quit the country. So I sold off my stock, drew what money I’d laid by in the bank—my farm I couldn’t sell at such short notice—shut up my house, and, takin’ the boy, went to New York, intendin’ to take passage in a vessel goin’ to Australia, where I meant to go to sheep raisin’ again, since I had done so well in Texas, while I thought I needn’t fear any man in that country. I took passage, and bought a comfortable outfit for both of us, but the vessel wan’t to sail for a week, so I kep’ very quiet in a room I’d hired on a by-street, fearin’ those men might still be lookin’ me up.
“But I let the boy play out, for he pined in the house, while I sat by a window to watch that he did not get out of sight. Wall, one day I must have fallen asleep, for I woke with a start, and lookin’ out, couldn’t see hide nor hair of the boy. I went to the door, but he wasn’t nowhere in sight. I started out to find him, never thinkin’ of danger then. I walked for hours, askin’ people about him, but nobody could tell me anything of him.
“Three days I kep’ this up, until I nigh about went crazy, and wore myself out with loss on sleep, travelin’ about, and with my grief for the little fellow.
“On the last day before we were to sail, while I was rovin’ about the streets in search of him, I ran against those two men again—the ones who were lookin’ for me. I knew by their quick, keen glances at me that they had got a suspicion I might be their man, and I got out of their way in a hurry. I was discouraged about findin’ the boy. I didn’t dare to look for him any more. I was afraid to go to the police about him, lest they had been notified to be on the lookout, and should snap me up; so, half crazed with fear and grief, I staggered on board the vessel I was to sail in, crawled into my berth, and lay there till we were well out to sea.
“Wall, sir, my heart was broke. I thought I never could hold up my head again, and I wouldn’t have turned over my hand to have saved myself from goin’ to the bottom; for I got to lovin’ that poor little chap with my whole soul, and I didn’t know how to get on without him.