You don"t know all the good folks in this town yet!"
XLIX
Calhoun Bennett dropped the matter, and contented himself with cutting Keith dead whenever they happened to meet. Jimmy Ware and Black were men of a different sort; indeed McDougall had made them his a.s.sociates mainly because of their knowledge of the city"s darker phases and their unscrupulousness. In the admirable organization thus sketched Calhoun Bennett had acted as a sort of go-between.
After the duel these two precious citizens held many anxious consultations. They could not tell just how much evidence Keith had succeeded in gathering, but they knew that plenty of it existed. If the matter came to an issue, they suspected the consequences might be serious. Either Keith or his evidence must in some way be got rid of.
Black, who was inclined by instinct and training to be direct, was in favour of the simple expedient of hiring a.s.sa.s.sins.
"Won"t do," negatived the more astute Ware. "The thing will be traced back to us--not legally, of course, but to a moral certainty, and while they won"t be able to prove anything on us, the state of the public mind is such that h.e.l.l would pop."
"He says he won"t fight another duel," said Black doubtfully.
"No."
"We"ve got to kill him in a street quarrel, then."
"He"s got to be killed in a street quarrel," amended Ware, "that"s certain; but n.o.body even remotely connected with this Cora trial must seem to have anything to do with it. It must have the appearance of a private quarrel from away outside. Otherwise----"
"Got anybody in mind?" asked the practical Black.
"Yes, and he ought to be here at any moment."
As though Jimmy Ware"s words had been the cue for which he waited, Morrell here entered the room.
L
At three o"clock in the afternoon of May 14, 1856, the current issue of the _Bulletin_ was placed on sale. A very few minutes later a copy found its way into the hands of James Casey. Casey at that time, in addition to his political cares, was editor of a small sheet he called the _Sunday Times_. With this he had strenuously supported the extreme wing of the Law party, which, as has been explained, comprised also the gambling and lawless element. It was suspected by some that his paper was more or less subsidized for the purpose, though the probability is that Casey found his reward merely in political support. This Casey it was who, to his own vast surprise, had at a previous election been returned as elected supervisor; although he was not a candidate, his name was not on the ticket, and no man could be found who had voted for him. Indeed, he was not even a resident of the district. However, Yankee Sullivan, who ran the election, said officially the votes had been cast for him; so elected he was proclaimed. Undoubtedly he proved useful; he had always proved useful at elections elsewhere, seldom appearing in person, but adept at selecting suitable agents. His methods were devious, dishonest, and rough. He was head of the Crescent Fire Engine Company, and was personally popular. In appearance he was a short, slight man, with a bright, keen face, a good forehead, a thin but florid countenance, dark curly hair, and light blue eyes, a type of unscrupulous Irish adventurer with a dash of romantic ideals. Like all the gentlemen rovers of his time, he was exceedingly touchy on the subject of "honour."
In the _Bulletin_ of the date mentioned James Casey read these words, apropos of the threat of one Bagby to shoot Casey on sight:
It does not matter how bad a man Casey had been, or how much benefit it might be to the public to have him out of the way, we cannot accord to any one citizen the right to kill him, or even beat him, without justifiable provocation. The fact that Casey has been an inmate of Sing Sing prison in New York is no offence against the laws of this State; nor is the fact of his having stuffed himself through the ballot box, as elected to the Board of Supervisors from a district where it is said he was not even a candidate, any justification for Mr. Bagby to shoot Casey, however richly the latter may deserve to have his neck stretched for such fraud on the public.
Casey read this in the full knowledge that thousands of his fellow-citizens would also read it. His thin face turned white with anger. He crumpled the paper into a ball and hurled it violently into the gutter, settled his hat more firmly on his head, and proceeded at once to the _Bulletin_ office with the full intention of shooting King on sight. Probably he would have done so, save for the accidental circ.u.mstance that King happened to be busy at a table, his back squarely to the door. Casey could not shoot a man in the back without a word. He was breathless and stuttering with excitement. King was alone, but an open door into an adjoining office permitted two witnesses to see and hear.
"What do you mean by that article?" cried Casey in a strangled voice.
King turned slowly, and examined his visitor for a moment.
"What article?" he inquired at last.
"That which says I was formerly an inmate of Sing Sing!"
King gazed at him with a depth of detached, patient sadness in his dark eyes.
"Is it not true?" he asked finally.
"That is not the question," retorted Casey, trying again to work himself up to the rage in which he had entered. "I do not wish my past acts rated up: on that point I am sensitive."
A faint smile came and went on King"s lips.
"Are you done?" he asked still quietly; then, receiving no reply, he turned in his chair and leaned forward with a sudden intensity. His next words. .h.i.t with the impact of bullets: "There"s the door! Go! Never show your face here again!" he commanded.
Casey found himself moving toward the open door. He did not want to do this, he wanted to shoot King, or at least to provoke a quarrel, but he was for the moment overcome by a stronger personality. At the door he gathered himself together a little.
"I"ll say in my paper what I please!" he a.s.serted, with a show of bravado.
King was leaning back, watching him steadily.
"You have a perfect right to do so," he rejoined. "I shall never notice your paper."
Casey struck himself on the breast.
"And if necessary I shall defend myself!" he cried.
King"s pa.s.sivity broke. He bounded from his seat bristling with anger.
"Go!" he commanded sharply, and Casey went.
LI
People had already read King"s article in the _Bulletin_. People had seen Casey heading for the _Bulletin_ office with blood in his eye. The news had spread. When the Irishman emerged he found waiting for him a curious crowd. His friends crowded around asking eager questions. Casey answered with vague but bloodthirsty generalities: he wasn"t a man to be trifled with, and egad some people had to find that out!
blackmailing was not a healthy occupation when it was aimed at a gentleman! He left the impression that King had recanted, had apologized, had even begged--there would be no more trouble. Uttering brags of this sort, Casey led the way to the Bank Exchange, a fashionable bar near at hand. Here he set up the drinks, and was treated in turn. His bragging became more boastful. He made a fine impression, but within his breast the taste of his interview with King curdled into dangerous bitterness. Casey could never stand much alcohol. The well-meant admiration and sympathy of his friends served only to increase his hidden, smouldering rage. His eyes became bloodshot, and he talked even more at random.
In the group that surrounded him was our old acquaintance, Judge Edward McGowan--Ned McGowan--jolly, hard drinking, oily, but not as noisy as usual. He was watching Casey closely. The Honourable Ned was himself a fugitive from Pennsylvania justice. By dint of a gay life, a happy combination of bullying and intrigue, he had made himself a place in the new city, and at last had "risen" to the bench. He was apparently all on the surface, but his schemes ran deep. Some historians claim that he had furnished King the doc.u.ments proving Casey an ex-convict!
Now, when he considered the moment opportune, he drew Casey from the noisy group at the bar.
"All this talk is very well," he said contemptuously to the Irishman, "but I see through it. What are you going to do about it?"
"I"ll get even with the----, don"t you worry about that!" promised Casey, still bl.u.s.tering.
This McGowan brushed aside as irrelevant. "Are you armed?" he asked.
"No, that little weapon is too uncertain. Take this." He glanced about him, and hastily pa.s.sed to Casey a big "navy" revolver. "You can hide it under your cloak--so!" He fixed Casey"s eyes with his own, and brought to bear on the little man all the force of his very vital personality, "Listen: King comes by here every evening. Everybody knows that, and everybody knows what has happened."
He stared at Casey significantly for a moment, then turned abruptly away. Casey, become suddenly quiet, his bl.u.s.tering mood fallen from him, his face thoughtful and white, his eyes dilated, said nothing. He returned to the bar, took a solitary drink, and walked out the door, his right hand concealed beneath his long cloak. McGowan watched him intently, following to the door, and looking after the other"s retreating form. Casey walked across the street, but stopped behind a wagon, where he stood, apparently waiting. McGowan, with a grunt of satisfaction, sauntered deliberately to the corner of the Bank Exchange. There he leaned against the wall, also waiting.
For nearly an h.o.a.r the two thus remained: Casey shrouded in his cloak, apparently oblivious to everything except the corner of Merchant and Montgomery streets, on which he kept his eyes fixed; McGowan lounging easily, occasionally speaking a low word to a pa.s.serby. Invariably the person so addressed came to a stop. Soon a little group had formed, idling with Judge McGowan. A small boy happening by was commandeered with a message for Pete Wrightman, the deputy sheriff, and shortly Pete arrived out of breath to join the group.