CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
When the trial took place, the fact that Alpaugh and Glendon had been intheir homes, and there being no proof of their actual connection withthe attempted robbery, merely the unsupported statement ofThree-fingered Jack, augured their complete vindication.
As the case was about to be closed, a bomb was thrown by the prosecutingattorney, who asked to have Wentz put on the stand as a witness for theProsecution. Alpaugh and Glendon, with their attorneys were not preparedfor Wentz' evidence which corroborated the story of Three-fingered Jack.Assured of a very light sentence, or possible freedom, as result of histurning State's evidence, Wentz made a complete confession of his partin the matter, and the convincing details remained unshaken by the mostsevere cross-examination by the lawyers for the defence.
Alpaugh and Glendon, as the testimony progressed exchanged glances ofconsternation, and the confusion of their attorneys was apparent notonly to Judge and jury, but also to casual spectators who had noknowledge of the twists of legal procedure. The jury was out but a shorttime, and the verdict of "Guilty" was no surprise to any one who was inthe Court room. A few days later Glendon and Alpaugh, together with allthe others implicated, were sentenced to ten years in the YumaPenitentiary. Public sentiment approved of the verdict, but manysympathizing eyes turned on Katherine Glendon, who sat white-faced, atthe back of the Court room.
She had remained in Tombstone during the entire time of the trial, andlike many others, believed Glendon and Alpaugh the victims of spite onthe part of Three-fingered Jack. To her, the unexpected development wascrushing. In her heart she felt it was the truth, although her husbandpersisted in declaring his and the constable's innocence. Her owntestimony had been brief and convincing, but in no way conflicted withthe minute circumstances stated by Wentz regarding Glendon's activities.In fact, it only served to prove that Glendon had planned a perfectalibi with his wife as an innocent accomplice.
Immediately after the conviction, Wentz was given his liberty aspromised. With his first appearance a few hours later on the streets ofTombstone, the open threats of friends of the convicted men, caused himto hasten back to the County jail and ask its protection until he couldarrange to get away from Arizona safely.
The warden allowed him the privilege, but was not enthusiastic over it,as he said, "Well, Wentz, you're in a fine mess, now. I wouldn't changeplaces with you for a lot! You're out a job, busted, got no friends andhave to quit the country. Derned if I haven't got more respect for thosefellows in the cells!"
Wentz made no reply, but slumped down in a chair, trying to figure someway out of his dilemma, and the warden, lighting a cigar, continuedgrimly, "You're in the same fix as the feller that sawed the limb offthe tree, while he was sitting on the end of the limb."
The other man scowled, but held his tongue. This was his only place ofrefuge at present. Even those who had no sympathy for the outlaws hadstill less use for the man who had betrayed them. The warden rose with asmile as Katherine Glendon entered the room. She had come to see herhusband. Wentz' head dropped until he heard their retreating steps inthe corridor.
"Is there anything I can do?" Katherine asked almost hopelessly, as shesat in the cell talking to Glendon when they were alone.
"Go home," commanded Glendon. "There's no use hanging around here anymore. Forbes, our lawyer, says that the railroad company stretched apoint in having the indictment read 'interfering with the United Statesmail.' No one touched the mail car. The railroad company never couldhave won, and that's why they made it a Federal case. It was a put upjob all around, and Wentz stood in with the railroad people to get us."
"Why should Three-fingered Jack have accused you?" she uttered a thoughtthat had puzzled her.
"Well, you see I had a row with him in Willcox the last time I was inthere," Glendon replied glibly, then hurried to add, "Now, see here,Katherine, you've got a chance to help me, and no one else can do it.Will you stand by me? I swear that if I get out of this trouble you willhave no further cause to reproach me. I have done a few decent thingssince I married you. Not many, but can't you remember that I let youkeep Donnie instead of sending him to father, as I had a legal right todo?"
"Yes, Jim! I will never forget it! But even without that, I would do myutmost to help you, because you are the father of my boy."
"You're a brick, Katherine! Now, see here, I want you to circulate apetition for my pardon, after the first excitement has died down and Ihave shown myself a model prisoner. You will have to get a certainnumber of names, as the petition has to go to Washington, because it wasa Federal case. The Governor of the Territory has no jurisdiction overit. You won't refuse to do this for me, will you? Every one is againstme now, and if you fail me, I shall take advantage of the firstopportunity to kill myself."
"Jim, have I ever failed you yet?" she asked simply.
"No; you've been a long way too good for me," he answered, "and if I canget this squared, I'll show you how I appreciate you and what you havedone."
Despite his promises, she left the jail with a heavy heart, knowing hisweak and vacillating character, and feeling that his protestations werenot to be reckoned seriously. But, she also knew that when the timecame, she would help in any way she was able. So husband and wifeparted, and the woman returned to the Circle Cross ranch the followingday.
Juan and Tatters met her with delight. The old Mexican hovered about herin dumb sympathy. A letter from Donnie was full of his childishinterests. The touch of the badly scrawled pages comforted her as thoughthe child's hands were laid on her own. A feeling of thanksgiving surgedover her, that the boy was away where no knowledge of the shadow intheir home could cloud his eyes.
When the Mexican stood in the door of the kitchen, saying in his liquid,native tongue, "Buenos noches, Senora" (Good night), she remembered thatshe could not keep the man, there was so little money left now.
Gently she explained the situation to Juan. The bewildered expression onhis face suddenly changed to eagerness.
"Senora, I have saved up money. Eet is for both of us. Someday--manana--you pay me back."
"I cannot use your money, Juan." Her voice told how the offer touchedher. "I must look out for the cattle myself, there is not enough to payyou wages."
"You have frijoles, no?" demanded Juan. "Eet is enough. I stay!"
The matter was ended by Juan hurrying from the room before she couldprotest further. Each time during the following days when Katherinebroached the subject, Juan evaded the issue by having important work,and Katherine unable to do otherwise, let their lives settle in aroutine that promised to stretch into years.
She made one more trip to Tombstone after the sentence had been passed.Glendon instructed her about circulating the petition, but bade her waituntil four or five months after he had begun serving his term. She lefthim in his cell, carrying with her an undefinable impression of a manwhom she did not know; for already she sensed a subtle change.
The day before the convicted men were to be transported to thepenitentiary, Glendon lay on his bunk in his cell, wondering whether hisplans would fail or succeed. He was playing for high stakes; to losemeant forfeiting his life.
Panchita had called at the jail several times since the trial,ostensibly to sell tamales to the prisoners and their guards. In no wayhad the Mexican girl been identified with the train-robbers, so heractions created no suspicion. She managed to let Glendon understand thatshe was ready to co-operate in any plans he might make.
He had given up his original idea of hoping to win a pardon, which ifobtained, would only mean being financially penniless, and branded as afelon. The more he thought of the alternative, the more alluring itbecame.
Panchita had told him that the money from the first train hold-up, wassafely sewn in a bustle made of newspapers which she wore constantly.She had whispered this while he pretended to joke and dicker fortamales. Tonight, there would be little steel saw-blades in the tamalesshe was to bring for his supper. In order to disarm any suspicion, shehad l
aughingly promised to bring tamales for all of them, because theywere going on their long journey the next morning. The warden had givenconsent, especially as she had promised double allowance for him so thathe could take them home to his wife.
Glendon knew that once he possessed those tiny saws, he could cut thebars of his cell before morning. Panchita would be waiting with a pony,and later she would follow to Mexico where they would meet. He had nofear of her failing him, knowing her insane jealousy of his wife.
He rose and paced the floor nervously, as the afternoon waned. Fiveo'clock passed--half-past five--then the clock in the sheriff's roomstruck six. The jailer passed the barred door.
"Say," called Glendon, "hasn't that tamale girl been around yet? Shepromised to give us all a tamale supper tonight, you know. Celebratingour journey."
"She's dead," answered the jailer, stopping at the door. "The placewhere she was staying caught fire last night. It was a frame shack, andthe rest all got out except her. She wasn't burnt but smothered in thesmoke."
"That's tough luck," said Glendon, trying to appear careless. "Was itmuch of a fire?"
"No, they got it out in half an hour."
"Was she living with her folks?" Glendon was striving not to betray hisdisappointment and anxiety, but he felt like springing at the jailer andchoking the truth from his lips. Panchita was dead--but where was themoney?
"She boarded with a Mexican family, and they didn't know anything exceptshe came here lately and sold tamales. She was making tamales last nightjust before they all went to bed."
"Who takes charge of the body and property in such cases?"
"Oh, the County buries them and burns up their old duds. These Mex womennever have nothing! Funny thing, though, about that," he paused to coaxa cigar that failed to draw properly. "Gosh! That's a rank cigar!" heejaculated taking it from his mouth and regarding it in disgust, whileGlendon's fingers twitched. "I gave two bits for it, too."
"You were saying something about the tamale girl's duds. What was thejoke?"
"Oh, yes"; the jailer resumed, laughing. "You see, there is a Mexicanwoman that lives in the same shack and she works for my wife. Doeswashing. She had some of our clothes there and so came up to explainthat she couldn't get them done up on time. She told my wife all aboutthe fire, and that the girl had only an old dress and a black shawl, buta fine pair of high-heeled slippers and silk stockings, and--ha! ha! ha!a bustle made out of newspapers. Can you beat that? Got to be in style,someway."
Glendon's eyes flickered and he caught his breath quickly.
"Funny combination, wasn't it? But all women folks are alike. If one ofthem rigs up so she has a hump on her back like a camel, all the othersbreak their necks fixing up humps. If they were born that way, it wouldkeep the doctors busy operating to get rid of 'em."
Glendon stretched his face in an effort to smile, but the muscles werealmost rigid.
"Well," continued the narrator, enjoying his own story, "after the bodywas taken away, this old washwoman and another one started to clean upthe place, and picking around they found the things. They got toscrapping over the stockings and shoes, that was too small for either ofthem to wear. But they never let up till they had 'em tore to pieces.The old woman was crying when she told about it. My wife almost hadhysterics when she told me the story."
Glendon pretended to enjoy the joke hugely. Then after a short period,he asked, "But what did they do with the bustle? Who got that souvenir?"
"Oh, they burnt that up. It was just old newspapers. Nobody wanted that.My wife asked about it, because she thought the old woman might bewearing it herself. So that's why none of us got our tamales tonight!"the man concluded as he moved away from the cell door.
Glendon threw himself on the bunk, cursing his ill-luck.
"Seventy thousand gone up in smoke!" he muttered, never giving a thoughtto the girl who had risked everything for his sake. His only regret wasthat her inopportune death interfered with his plans for escape. Hisformer passion for the woman turned to resentment.
"Paddy's money is safe," he meditated as he lay staring at the wall. "IfI could only get out!"
His last hope lay in the slim possibility that Katherine might be ableto obtain a pardon for him, then he could get Paddy's money and go toSouth America. But such a pardon would take months to accomplish.Glendon got up and walked the length of his cell, kicking the wall whenhe reached the end of the room. Curses rose to his lips. The wall infront of him reminded him of the grim grey walls of the ArizonaPenitentiary, and he felt that if he could only get Wentz by the throatand choke him slowly to death, he would be willing to go to thePenitentiary for life. But--Wentz was free.