Jim Cummings | Page 8

belonging
to a man as "Gents' Furnishing." The socks were common, and like
thousands of similar socks.
"Not much of a find, Chip--the letters on the handkerchief can be found
in a hundred different names--a sore knee is covered by a pair of
trousers, and one out of every ten men you meet, limps."
The other detective, who had all this time been silent, now laid some
Adams Express letter-heads on the table. On these were written "J. B.
Barrett," in all forms of chirography--several sheets were covered with
the name.
"Where did you get these?"
"Out of Fotheringham's trunk, in his room."
"By Jove, what a consummate actor that man is. Do you know, boys,
up to this minute, I firmly believed that messenger was innocent--I
have been sold like an ordinary fool," and Mr. Pinkerton looked at the

tell-tale papers admiringly, for, although he felt a trifle chagrined at
being taken in so nicely, he could not but pay tribute to the man who
did it, for the man that could get the better of "Billy" Pinkerton, must
be one of extraordinary ability.
"If you please," said Chip, "I do not see that the mere finding of this
paper in Fotheringham's trunk should fasten suspicion on him. If he
was shrewd enough to capture the money, he would certainly not leave
such damaging evidence as this paper would be. It seems to me that it
would be a very plausible theory to advance, that the real robbers
placed this in his trunk to direct suspicion against him. In fact, it was
the first thing to be seen when the lid was lifted, for I was with Barney
when he searched the room."
Barney said nothing to his companion's remarks, but nodded his head to
show that he acquiesced.
Mr. Pinkerton listened carefully, and merely saying, "we'll look at this
later," gave a very careful and complete description of Cummings,
which he directed Chip and Barney to take to the St. Louis branch of
this firm, and from there send it through all the divisions and
sub-divisions of this vast detective cob-web.
After issuing further and more orders relating to the case in hand, he
put on his hat, and descended to the hotel office, followed by his two
subordinates.
After the exciting episode in the express car had been brought to a close
by Jim Cummings leaping from the car, the train moved on, and left
him alone, the possessor of nearly $100,000. The game had been a
desperate one, and well played, and nervy and cool as he was, the
desperado was forced to seat himself on a pile of railroad ties, until he
could regain possession of himself, for he trembled in every limb, and
shook as with a chill. He pulled himself together, however, and picking
up his valise, with its valuable contents, turned toward the river.
He stepped from tie to tie, feeling his way in the darkness, every sense
on the alert, and straining his eyes to catch a glimpse of some landmark.
He had walked nearly a mile when, from behind a pile of brush heaped
up near the track, a man stepped forth. The double click of a revolver
was heard, and in an imperative tone, the unknown man called out:
"Halt! Put your hands above your head. I've got the drop on you!"
Startled as he was by the sudden appearance of the man, and hardly

recovered from his hard fight with the messenger, Cummings was too
brave and too daring to yield so tamely. Dropping his valise, he sprang
upon the audacious stranger so suddenly that he was taken completely
by surprise. The sharp report of the revolver rang out upon the quiet
night, and the two men, Cummings uppermost, fell upon the grading of
the road. The men were very evenly matched, and the fortunes of war
wavered from one to the other. The hoarse breathing, the muttered
curses, and savage blows told that a desperate conflict was taking place.
Clasped in each other's embrace, the men lay, side by side, neither able
to gain the mastery. Far around the curve the rumbling of an
approaching freight train was heard. Nearer and nearer it came, and still
the men fought on. With a grip of iron Cummings held the stranger's
throat to the rail, and with arms of steel clasped around Cummings, his
assailant pressed him to the ground.
It was an even thing, a fair field and no favor, when the sudden flash of
the headlight of the approaching engine, as it shot around the curve,
caused both men to lose their hold and spring from the track. The
strong, clear light flooded both with its brilliancy, and in that instant
mutual recognition took place.
"Wittrock!"
"Moriarity!"
The train