John Fitzgerald GB 06 Return of (8 page)

Just then Papa came into the office holding a telegram and looking excited. “I sent a copy of the Advocate with the story of the train robbery and murder to the editor of the Hanksville Bugle,” he said. “I knew Cassidy and his gang make Hanksville a sort of second home and thought the editor would be interested in knowing Cassidy had been identified as the man who killed Simpson. I just received this telegram from the editor. He wired me that Cassidy was seen in Hanksville the day of the train robbery by several people including himself.”

Papa handed the telegram to Sheriff Baker who read it

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and then handed it to Uncle Mark to read.

“This,” Uncle Mark said, “makes a liar out of Sam Ludell. I think our best bet is to arrest Ludell and see if we can’t get a confession out of him on the strength of this telegram and him spending Kansas City bank notes.”

Sheriff Baker shook his head. “Ludell is a cool customer,” he said. “He has to be or he couldn’t be a blackjack dealer. He can always say the outlaw looked like Cassidy. And the bank notes mean nothing without the serial numbers.”

“We have no choice,” Uncle Mark said. “We’ve got to arrest Ludell before Saturday. Perkins will be in town buy-ing cattle, and Adenville will be flooded with Kansas City bank notes by Saturday night.”

Tom had been sitting with wrinkles in his forehead and concentrating with his great brain so hard that he wasn’t even listening. Papa stared at him.

“What’s on your mind, T.D.?” he asked.

Tom didn’t answer. Just sat there. I nudged him with my elbow.

“Papa asked you a question,” I said.

Tom blinked his eyes and then looked at our father. “I’m sorry, Papa,” he said. “I was thinking.”

“I know that look on your face,” Papa said. “What were you thinking?”

Tom looked at Sheriff Baker. “Let Papa read that telegram from the Bruford Brothers about their cattle buyers keeping a list of serial numbers,” he said.

Tom waited until Papa had read the telegram. “What kind of a man was Mr. Simpson?” he asked. “I mean was he a conscientious kind of man?”

“I’ve known Paul Simpson for about a dozen years,”

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Papa said. “I would say he was a very conscientious man. Why do you ask?”

“Because if Mr. Simpson was a conscientious man,” Tom said, “and knew it was company policy to keep a list of the serial numbers of bank notes he was carrying, then he must have made a list. Maybe he didn’t want to carry the list on his person in case robbers searched him. Maybe he didn’t want to put the list in his satchel or suitcase in case robbers took them believing he might have more money in them. My great brain has figured out there was only one way Mr. Simpson could make sure nobody but him ever got that list of serial numbers.”

Uncle Mark and Sheriff Baker came up from their chairs as we stared at Tom.

Tom stood up. “The only way Mr. Simpson could make sure,” Tom said, “was to mail the list to himself at the Sheepmen’s Hotel. Did you ask if there was any mail tor him at the hotel?”

Sheriff Baker slapped his hand on his hip. “No, we didn’t,” he said, “but by cracky we will now.”

I don’t believe Uncle Mark, Sheriff Baker, and Papa ever walked so fast in their lives. Tom and I had to run to keep up with them all the way to the hotel-Mr. Ricker was behind the desk. He had the longest neck and biggest Adam’s apple of anybody in town.

Sheriff Baker spoke to him. “Are you holding any mail for Paul Simpson?” he asked.

Mr. Picker’s Adam’s apple bobbed up and down as he talked- “I have a letter addressed to him in a Bruford Brothers envelope,” he said. “Figured it must be company business, so I decided to hold it and give it to Mr. Perkins when he arrives Saturday.”

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“Give me the letter,” Sheriff Baker ordered.

Mr Ricker removed the letter from a box and handed it to the sheriff, who opened it. Sheriff Baker was grinning as he looked at the letter and then showed it to us. Across the top was written, “ADENVILLE, UTAH, TRIP BANK NOTE SERIAL NUMBERS,” and below were listed the serial numbers.

Sheriff Baker patted Tom on the shoulder. “Thanks to your great brain we’ve got these outlaws cold,” he said. Then he spoke to Uncle Mark. “We’ll get Calvin Whitlock to open the bank so we can check the serial numbers of the Kansas City bank notes the gang has spent. And if they match any of the serial numbers written here, which I’m sure they will, we will arrest Hutch, Grant, Davis, Eggerson, and Ludell.”

Papa said it was time for Tom and me to go home and do the evening chores-Then he added, “I’ll be home late. Tell your mother to go ahead and have supper.”

Tom and I started for homev “Boy, oh, boy,” I said, “what a rotten deal. Your great brairi solved the train robbery and murder and you can’t be in on the most exciting part,”

“It wouldn’t look right,” Tom said. “The outlaws know Sheriff Baker is a bachelor and that we aren’t Uncle Mark’s kids. They would wonder why the sheriff and marshal would let Papa bring along a couple of his kids.”

But I couldn’t help noticing that Tom was just as nervous as I was until Papa finally came home a little after seven o’clock and told us what had happened.

Uncle Mark and Sheriff Baker arrested the five men with the help of three deputies. They found a money belt on Hutch with over a thousand dollars in it in Kansas City bank notes. Herb Grant was also wearing a money belt with his

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share of the notes. Earl Eggerson had his share hidden in the toes of a pair of boots in his room at the Sheepmen’s Hotel. Curly Davis had a receipt on him for an envelope he had deposited in the Whitehorse Saloon safe containing Kansas City bank notes. They didn’t find any of the stolen money in Ludell’s possession or in his room. But when they searched the room of his girl, Rose, they found Ludell’s share of the bank notes he hadn’t spent-She admitted Ludell had given her the money to hold for him.

With Curly Davis and Sam Ludell locked up in one cell and Herb Grant and Earl Eggerson in another and Hutch in a cell by himself, Sheriff Baker began the questioning with District Attorney Vickers and Papa present along with Uncle Mark. First Sheriff Baker showed Ludell the telegram Papa had received from the editor of the Hanksville Bugle.

“This proves you lied,” Sheriff Baker said.

Ludell just shrugged- “I didn’t lie,” he said. “The man looked like Butch Cassidy, and I honestly believed it was him. And you can’t send a man to prison for that.”

Then Sheriff Baker showed all the outlaws the telegram from the Bruford Brothers about their cattle buyers keeping records of the serial numbers of bank notes they carried. Sheriff Baker then showed them the list of serial numbers Mr. Simpson had mailed to himself at the hotel.

“We knew all we had to do was wait until the gang who held up the train started spending Kansas City bank notes,” Sheriff Baker said. “The serial numbers you see checked off are from bank notes that Davis and Hutchinson lost playing poker in the two saloons, that Grant used to buy a saddle from Jerry Stout, that Eggerson used to buy a watch and chain, and that Ludell used to buy dresses for Rose at Pearl Addison’s Dress Shop.”

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Sheriff Baker then walked in front of the cell Hutch was in. “We also know,” he said, “that you killed Simpson. He recognized you from that scar above your right eyebrow which the bandanna mask didn’t cover-And when he called you Hutch you knew he’d recognized you and you killed him.”

Then the sheriff walked back to his desk and sat down. “We will start with the’bank notes in the money belt Grant was wearing,” he said to Uncle Mark. “The district attorney and Mr, Fitzgerald will witness the serial numbers I cross off as you call them out.”

Uncle Mark opened Grant’s money belt. He removed the bank notes and made a pile of them. Then he began calling off the serial numbers. Sheriff Baker would locate the serial number on the list and check it off, then nod his head for Uncle Mark to call off the next serial number. Uncle Mark had only called off ten serial numbers when Grant pushed his face between the bars of the cell.

“That’s enough,” he shouted. “You’ve got us cold. But I wouldn’t have gone in on it if I’d known there was going to be any shooting.”

Eggerson was the next to crack. “Me neither,” he said. “Sam and Hutch planned the whole thing but promised there would be no shooting.”

Ludell then grabbed the bars of his cell and pushed his face against two of the bars. “I admit Hutch and I planned it,” he said. “But Hutch promised there would be no shooting. I couldn’t believe my eyes when I saw him kill Simpson in cold blood. The man didn’t reach for a gun or anything. I’ll turn state’s evidence.”

After Ludell said that, Hutchinson knew the game was up. “I had to kill him,” he said. “I forgot all about that

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damn scar. I saw Simpson staring at it, and when he called me Hutch I knew he’d recognized me.” Then he backed up and slumped down on the bunk in his cell, “I didn’t want to kill him but I had to.”

Sheriff Baker looked at Curly Davis. “That leaves just you,” he said.

Davis stared at the sheriff for a moment and then looked at District Attorney Vickers. “If I plead guilty will I get a lighter sentence?” he asked.

District Attorney Vickers thought for a moment and then spoke. “To save the state the expense of a trial,” he said, “I am willing to let four of you plead guilty to armed robbery and Hutchinson plead guilty to second degree mur-der. If you stand trial we have enough evidence to convict four of you as accessories to murder and send you to prison for life and enough evidence to see Hutchinson hang.”

All five of them said they would plead guilty and signed confessions. On Monday morning Judge Potter sentenced Eggerson, Grant. Davis, and Ludell to twenty years in prison and Hutchinson to life.

I thought Tom would be very disappointed when he found out the Bruford Brothers weren’t going to give any reward. I guess they figured Sheriff Baker and Uncle Mark were just doing their duty. Instead, on the day he found out there would be no reward he was whistling as we did the evening chores.

“I don’t know how you can be so cheerful,” I said. “If I were in your shoes I’d be so mad I could chew up railroad rails and spit out spikes.”

“Simmer down, J.D.,” he said. “Before I put my great brain to work on the train robbery and murder I made sure I’d get a reward if I solved the crime.”

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“Well,” I said, “the Bruford Brothers sure as heck aren’t going to give you a reward according to Sheriff Baker and Uncle Mark.”

“You are forgetting the railroad,” Tom said grinning. “Remember me telling you after lunch last Tuesday that I was going to the depot to talk to Mr. Larson before going back to school?”

“You said you wanted to talk to him about the train robbery/’ I said.

“Right,” Tom said. “Right what?” I asked.

“Yeah,” said Frankie, who had been listening. “Right what?”

“I asked Mr. Larson if the railroad paid any reward money for train robbers,” Tom said, “He told me there was a standing reward of five hundred dollars for the arrest and conviction of train robbers. Sheriff Baker will get the reward because the train robbery took place in the county under his jurisdiction. And Sheriff Baker isn’t the kind of a man who goes back on his word.”

“So,” I said, “that is why you made him promise you all the reward money if you solved the train robbery and murder.”

“Right,” Tom-said with a grin so wide I thought it would split his face-

“What are you going to do with all that money?” I asked-

“Put it in the bank where it will draw interest,” Tom said as he rubbed the palms of his hands together.

And, oh, how his money-loving heart must have been

x singing.

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IT WAS JUST A FEW DAYS after Tom had received

the five-hundred dollar reward that the Chautauqua came to town. Once a year people like Mayor Whitlock, Bishop Aden, Reverend Holcomb, Papa, Mamma, and Mrs. Vinson believed the citizens of Adenville needed a little cultural entertain-ment. The money to pay for the Chautauqua was raised by selling tickets before it arrived. It was a way of guaranteeing there would be enough money to pay for the cultural entertainment. I always sort of figured this selling of tickets was almost like blackmail because anybody who refused to buy a ticket would be considered uncultured and an ignoramus. About the only thing I enjoyed about a Chautauqua was

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watching them put up the tent at the campground. I guess that made me uncultured. But let me tell you what a Chautauqua was like in those days and see if you don’t agree with me. They always had a fellow who played a fiddle but not like anybody in town played one. They called it classical music, but all it ever sounded like to me was a fellow practicing the scales. And there was always a man or woman who recited poetry the likes of which had never been heard in Adenville. I doubt if three people in the audience understood what the poems were about. And they had singers. But did they sing good old songs like “My Old Kentucky Home” or “Sweet Adeline”? Heck, no. Papa said they sang arias from operas, which was enough to convince me that I’d never spend any money going to an opera. The singing was bad enough, but they made it worse by always singing in a foreign language. Then they would have a man or woman who read passages from classical literature-That was the silli-est thing of all. It didn’t make sense” unless you knew the whole story and the only time that happened was when a man read some passages from A Christmas Carol by Dickens. But he spoiled it by reading some passage from a Greek play written hundreds of years ago next. Sometimes they would act out a scene from one of Shakespeare’s plays. And sometimes a fellow would play solos on a cornet. I must admit there was one time they had Swiss bell ringers which I enjoyed. They had a lot of different sounding bells on a table, and by ringing them they could play a tune.

The Chautauqua we had this year was the worst yet tor my money. But rather than let anybody know they didn’t understand or appreciate the classical stuff, everybody applauded. There was one woman who must have scared every dog in town. I mentioned her to Tom as we sat on the corral