VI
“That whiskey makes me feel better. I’ve been takin’ a good deal tonight and I s’pose I’ll take more in the mornin’. That’s one reason why I’m drinkin’ so much now. First I thought I wouldn’t take any tomorrow—or—I guess it’s today, ain’t it? It don’t seem possible; but I s’pose it is. I thought I’d show the newspapers and people that’s been tellin’ what a coward I was to kill a woman! but now I think I’ll take all I possibly can. I guess that’s the best way. It don’t make no difference—if I take it they’ll say I’m a coward and if I don’t, it’s only bravado. Most people takes so much that they almost have to be carried up, and they don’t hardly know. I guess that’s the best way. Some people take somethin’ to have a tooth pulled, and I don’t see why they shouldn’t for a thing like this. Mebbe the whiskey makes me talk more’n I meant to, and tell you a lot of things that hain’t nothin’ to do with the case, but it’s pretty hard for me to tell what has and what hain’t.
“After I got her laid out and the floor cleaned, I set down a minute to think what I’d do next. First I thought I’d go in and get the kid and take him away, and leave her there, and I guess now that would have been the best way, and they wouldn’t found it out so quick. But then I thought the people next door, or the postman, or milkman, or somebody, would come along in the mornin’ and find her there, and I couldn’t get far with the kid. Besides I only had about ten dollars and I knew that wouldn’t last long. Then I thought I’d just go out and jump onto one of the freight trains they was makin’ up in the yards, and leave her and the kid both; then I couldn’t bear to think of him wakin’ up and comin’ out into the settin’ room and findin’ her there. He wouldn’t know what it meant and would be scart to death and ‘twouldn’t be right. Then so long as I couldn’t do either one, I had to get her out, but I didn’t know how to do it, and what was I goin’ to do with her when I got her out. First I thought I’d try to put her in the sewer, and then I knew someone would find her there for that had been tried before; then I studied to see what else I could think of.
“Finally I happened to remember a place she and I went once picnickin’, just after we was married. I don’t know how I happened to remember it, ‘cept that I couldn’t think of anything to do, and then I was kind of goin’ over our life, and it seemed as if that was the nicest day we ever had. One of the boys had been tellin’ me about the new street car lines that run way off down through Pullman and South Chicago, and out into the country, and how nice it was out there away from all the houses. So one Sunday we went over to the street cars and started out. I don’t know whether we found the right place or not, but I remember just when we was goin’ to turn somewhere to go to Pullman or South Chicago we sawsome trees off in a field, and thought that would be a nice place to go and set in the shade and eat the lunch we’d brought along. So we went over under the trees, and then I saw some rock further over, and then she and I went over where they was and there was a great deep pond with big stones all ‘round the edge. I heard that it was an old stone quarry that had got filled up with water. But it was awful deep and big, and we set down under a little tree on top of one of them big rocks and let our feet hang over the sides, and the water was way down below, and I said to her just in fun, ‘Now, if I wanted to get rid of you, I could just push you over here and no one would ever know anything about it.’ She kind of laughed at the idea and said if I ever wanted to get rid of her I wouldn’t have to push her off any rock, that she’d go and jump in somewhere herself, and I told her if I ever wanted her to I’d let her know, and for her to just wait till I did. And we went all ‘round the pond, and I threw stones in it and tried to see how near across I could throw, and we stayed ‘round until it was time to take the car and go home. And I don’t believe I ever had a better time. Now and then when we was friendly or had got over a fight, we used to talk about goin’ back there again, but we never did.
“Well, after thinkin’ of ever’thing I could, I made up my mind that the best thing was for me to put her on the express wagon and take her out there, if I could find the place. I didn’t believe anybody would ever know anything about it, and if they did ‘twould be a long time and they wouldn’t know who she was.
“Then I thought it might be dangerous gettin’ her out of the house and gettin’ the wagon out on the street that time of night. If anyone seen us they’d be suspicious and want to know what I was doin’, and then I was afraid the policeman would be watchin’ for suspicious people and things along the street. But I didn’t see anything else to do, and I knew I had to take chances anyway and would most likely get caught in the end. I looked at the clock and found ‘twas only ten, and I felt as if that was too early to start out. The people next door wouldn’t be abed and if they ever saw me carryin’ her out they couldn’t help noticin’ it. So I set down and waited. You hain’t no idea how slow the time goes in such a case. I just set and heard that clock tick, and the boy breathin’ in the other room; it seemed as if every tick was just fetchin’ me that much nearer to the end—and I s’pose mebbe that’s so, whether we’ve killed anyone or not, but you don’t never think of it unless it’s some place where you’re waitin’ for someone to die, or somethin’ like that. Then of course I kept thinkin’ of ever’thing in my whole life, and I went over again how I’d done it, but I couldn’t make it come out any different no matter how hard I tried.
“Then I wondered what I was goin’ to do next, and how long ‘twould be before they’d ketch me, and if I’d stand any show to get out, if I got ketched. Of course, I thought I’d have to run away. I never seemed to think of anything but that. I guess ever’body runs away when they do any such thing; ‘tain’t so much bein’ safer, but they want to get away. It don’t seem as if they’d ever be anychance anymore where it’s done. But I couldn’t just figger out where to go. Of course, I knew I’d take the cars. There ain’t any other way to travel if you want to go quick. Then I thought I’d have a long enough time to figger it out while I was takin’ that drive down across the prairie. Anyhow I’d need somethin’ to think about while I was goin’.
“That feller that talked to us in the jail said the real reason why they hung people and locked ‘em up was to get even with ‘em, to make ‘em suffer because they’d done somethin’. He said all the smart men who’d studied books claimed that hangin’ and punishin’ didn’t keep other people from doin’ things. But if it’s done to make anyone suffer they ain’t any use in doin’ it at all. I never suffered so much since as I did when I was settin’ there and thinkin’ all about it, and what I was goin’ to do, and what would become of the kid, and how she was dead, and ever’thing else. You know it takes quite a while to get used to a thing like that, and while I was settin’ there beginnin’ to realize what it all meant, it was awful! If I’d only had the nerve I’d just cut my throat and fell right over alongside of her. A good many people does that and I wish I could’ve. But every time I thought of it I kind of hung back. I don’t ever want any more such nights; I’d rather they’d hang me and be done with it. I didn’t suffer so much when I was runnin’ away or gettin’ caught, or bein’ tried; even when I was waitin’ for the verdict to come in; nor I didn’t suffer so much waitin’ for the Supreme Court or the Governor, or even since they give up hope and I can hear ‘em puttin’ that thing up over there in the courtyard.
“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 religionto 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 policemanwalkin’ ‘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.
“By this time the moon had come up and it was about as light as day. It had stopped snowin’ and the wind had gone down but it was awful cold. I never saw a nicer night. You could see everything almost as well as daylight. I hurried the old horse as much as I could, but he couldn’t go fast. He hadn’t got much rested from the day before. Every once in a while I looked back at the load. I kind of hated to look, but I couldn’t help it. The blanket commenced to kind of take her shape so it looked to me as if anyone would know that someone was under there. So I got out and moved the blanket and fixed it up more on one side. But I didn’t look at her. Then I drove on across to Vincennes road and turned south. Every once in a while I’d meet someone, and I was afraid all the time that something would happen, but it didn’t and I drove on. The moon got clear up high and I could see everything on the road and around the wagon, and see where her feet came through under the seat and almost touched mine, and could see all the horse blanket that covered her up. I hadn’t got far down the Vincennes road until I thought the blanket had changed its shape and was lookin’ just like her again so I got out and fixed it up and went back and drove on.
“While I was goin’ ‘long I kep’ thinkin’ what I was goin’ to do and I s’pose it was the cold that made me think I’d better go south. I always did hate cold weather, and this winter I thought I’d haveto stay out and run ‘round from one place to another, if I didn’t get caught the first thing.
“Then I thought I must take the horse and wagon back home, and I wanted to see that the boy was all right; so I thought it might bother me to go clear out to that quarry and get away from Chicago before daylight. But anyhow I could go until one o’clock and then get back by three, and probably ketch a train before mornin’.
“After a while I begun to have a queer idea about her. I thought I could feel her lookin’ right at me,—kind of feel her eyes. I drove on, and said it was all bosh and she couldn’t do it, and I looked down at her feet and I seen they was in the same place, but still I couldn’t get over that feelin’. I thought she was lookin’ at me all the time, and I kind of ‘magined I could hear her say, ‘Where ‘re you takin’ me? Where are you takin’ me? Where are you takin’ me?’ just about the same as when she said, ‘Kill me! Kill me! Kill me!’ and no matter what I done, or how hard I tried, I could feel her lookin’ and hear them words in my ears.
“By this time I was gettin’ ‘way down the Vincennes road. You know it gets wide ‘way down south, and it ain’t much built up nor very well paved. There’s a lot of road-houses along the street; most of ‘em was open and a good many fellers was ‘round ‘em, just as they always is ‘round saloons. I’d like to have had a drink, for I was awful cold and scart, but I didn’t dare go in, though I did stop at a waterin’-trough in front of one of the places and watered the horse. He was pretty well blowed and was hot. I had urged him pretty hard and the road was heavy. Wherever there was mud it was frozen so stiff that it could almost hold up, and still let you break through, the very worse kind of roads for a horse to go on.
“After I got him watered I went on and kep’ meetin’ lots of wagons. I never had no idea how many people traveled nights before. I s’posed I wouldn’t see anyone, but I met a wagon ever’ little ways and I was always afraid when I passed ‘em. A great many of ‘em hollered out, ‘Hello, pardner,’ or ‘What you got to sell,’ or anything, to be sociable, and I would holler back the best I could, generally stickin’ to ‘Potatoes,’ when they asked me about my load. I thought I knew potatoes better’n anything else, and would be more at home with ‘em if anything was said.
“I hadn’t got far after I watered the horse before her eyes began to bother me again. Then I kept hearin’ them words plainer than I had before. Then I got to thinkin’ about all the things I had heard and read about people who were dead, and about murders, and that seemed to make it worse’n ever. Then I began to think of the things I’d read about people that were put away for dead, when they wa’n’t dead at all, and about mesmerism, and hypnotism, and Christian Science, but I knew none of them things was done the way she’d been killed. Then I remembered about trances, and how people was give up for dead sometimes for days, and even buried and then come to life, and about how people had dug up old graveyards and found out where lots of people had moved around after they’s dead. And then I thought I heard her say, ‘You thoughtyou’d killed me! You thought you’d killed me! You thought you’d killed me!’ And the further I went the plainer it sounded. Finally I began to think ‘twas so and of course I hoped it was, and I kep’ thinkin’ it more’n more and couldn’t get it out of my head. Of course, I looked around at the houses and the trees and fences and at the moon. It had clouded up a little with them kind of lightish heavy clouds you’ve seen that run so fast; they was just flyin’ along over the sky and across the moon, and I was wishin’ I could go ‘long with ‘em and get away from it all, and then the voice would come back, ‘Where are you takin’ me? Where are you takin’ me? Where are you takin’ me? You thought you’d killed me! You thought you’d killed me! You thought you’d killed me!’ And I felt so sure she wa’n’t dead that I couldn’t stand it any more, and I looked at her feet, but they hadn’t moved, and then I stopped the horse and got off’n the wagon and went back to the hind end and lifted up the blanket kind of slow. For I felt as if I’d stand more chance that way than if I did it all at once, and I got the blanket up, and then I got hold of the quilt just by the edge and kind of pulled it back so as to uncover her face, and just then the moon came out from behind a cloud and shone right down in her face, almost like day, and she looked just as white as a ghost, and the bandage had come off her jaw and it hung clear down, and her mouth was open, and I knew she was dead.
“Then I threw the things back and jumped onto the wagon, half crazy, and hurried on.
“It was gettin’ now where there wa’n’t no more houses, and I hardly ever met any teams, and I was gettin’ clear out on the prairies, and I looked at my old silver watch and saw it was close to one o’clock, and I thought mebbe I might just as well get through with it now as to wait any longer. So I looked along at the fields to find a good place, and after a while I saw where there was a great big field full of hummocks. It looked as if they’d been diggin’ for gravel or somethin’ of that kind, and I thought that was as good a place as any. So I looked up and down the road, and saw no one comin’, and I drove the old horse up in the fence corner and got off the wagon, and then I fixed a good place to get over, and fastened the quilt a little better, and took her in my arms and started as fast as ever I could. I went past the fence and run over to the first hummock, but the hole didn’t look very deep, and there was some more further over. So I went to them, but they wa’n’t deep enough either. Then I looked ‘round and saw one bigger’n the rest and went there. I laid her down and looked over. The moon was shinin’ all right, and I could see that the hole was pretty big and deep. I laid her down lengthwise ‘long the bank, and then took one more feel of her heart and ‘twas just the same. Then I fastened the quilt a little tighter, lifted her clear over to the edge, and held her head and feet in a straight line so she’d roll down the hill all right, and then I give her a shove and turned and run away.”