Driftwood: A Story

Driftwood. BY BARBARA MILLER. The railroad tracks stretched out till they converged and melted into the horizon. Above the yellow, seemingly endless fields of ripening grain, extending along each side, the heat of midday quivered and shimmered in a white glare, unbroken save by a bunch of willows here and there, or marshy pool of stagnant water, with tall rushes growing rank upon its edges. Several miles apart, two black spots, like huge ants, had crawled slowly along since daybreak, unconscious of each other. The foremost black speck halted, and shading bloodshot eyes with a trembling hand, gazed around searchingly and discovered the other man Then, as though satisfied with his inspection, he crouched beside the hot track, his face hidden in his folded arms, that rested nearly upon his knees. The other tramp drew nearer, with the peculiar jerk that is acquired by many miles of track walking. He was large, surly and aggressive looking, with matted, black beard, coarse features and a mean, furtive look. With eyes downcast, he shuffled along until he paused beside the crouching figure, and the two outcasts of humanity gazed silently for a moment at each other. "Which way you goin'?" the newcomer asked. "Same way as you," was the apathetic reply. "Got anything to drink?" "No; not even water. I drank a little from that pond back there, but the water was brackish and didn't help much. This heat is fierce, isn't it? I'm just about all in." He spoke with almost lifeless monotone, again letting his head droop forward upon his arms.

884 IMPROVEMENT ERA. For an instant the other eyed him up and down, half curiously, half scornfully. "You sure seem to have had some hard knocks, pard," he Slid gruffly. "Guess you ain't much used to Shank's pony. Better get a move on, though; there ain't no use sittin' there. This can't last forever,'' with a comprehensive move of one dirty hand towards the neighboring grain fields,' 'and we'll probably get somewhere after awhile. I ain't in no special hurry myself. Come along, if you want to." Slowly and painfully the smaller man obeyed, and rising, limped behind the other as if devoid of personal volition. "There's a little town just around that bluff over there," he said in a low, weak voice, after he had hobbled along for some distance. "I was heading for there myself when I saw you." "Oh!" The big man slackened his pace to allow the other to come alongside. "You've been in these parts before, hev ye?" To this question he received no answer, and after a little he repeated it. "Been in these parts before, pard?" "Why do you ask?" parried the other evasively. "A man back yonder told me I'd find houses, and people about two miles further on—that's all I know about it." And as they plodded along in silence, the big man wondered idly what the other's object could be in lying to him. On the outskirts of the town they paused, the larger man looking with contempt upon the quiet, peaceful little village, lying at the foot of the blue, hazy mountains. "No use for two of us to hit that place at the same time," he said scornfully. " 'Tain't big enough. I know the ropes best, I guess. You'd better lay down in the shade of them trees over there, and take it easy for a spell. You look like you'd sure need to, if you expect to move on again tonight." With a sigh of utter exhaustion the smaller tramp threw himself down in the cool grass beside a small spring that gurgled and bubbled a short distance from the railroad track. Then, as his companion was moving away, he raised himself upon one elbow and called after him, seeming to forget his recent denial of all knowledge of their whereabouts.

DRIFTWOOD. 885 "Say, friend, do you see that white house over there among the trees—the one with the porch and the flower beds in front? Well, if you go there, I promise you you'll be treated white. There's a woman living in that house who's never been known to turn a hungry man away from her door—she'll give you the best she's got, and give it willingly, too." Then oblivious to the queer look that the other bestowed upon him, he again threw himself prostrate upon the ground. Almost an hour had elapsed when the sleeping tramp awoke at the gruff command to get up. Opening his eyes he saw his traveling companion holding a bulky parcel in one hand and a can of cold coffee in the other. It took very few minutes t^ collect enough dead brush to make a fire, heat the coffee, and divide the lunch, wholesome and generous, which they devoured greedily. Afterwards, under the influence of a full stomach, the old tramp waxed loquacious. "That sure was a mighty nice old gal you directed me to," he said, picking up the last crumb of bread from the paper spread before him on the ground. "She spoke so kind and pleasant like, just as if she thought I was a human like herself, you know; and before I hardly knowed what I was about, I done what I don't often do, you bet! offered to chop some wood to pay for the grub,"—here he grinned in a disagreeable way, disclosing a row of long, yellow teeth—"and what do you suppose she said? Jest smiled a little, and said she never done any work herself in the heat of the day, and didn't like to see others do it. Told me to sit in the cool of the porch, while she went to get the eatables, and didn't seem a mite afeared that I'd swipe the porch settee or the pump-handle while she was gone, either." Painfully the younger man drew himself up to a sitting posture from where he lay on the grass, and with eyes that held a queer, wistful expression, gazed towards the little, white cottage nestling among the trees. "How did she look—well and happy, or worried and anxious?" The question came from his lips with apparent effort, causing the other to wonder if he were very ill, that his lips should tremble so. "I dunno," he replied. "I couldn't hardly be expected to

88S IMPROVEMENT ERA. know if she wasjhappy or not jest what time I seen her. But" —he hesitated a little in a kind of shame-faced way—"I kin tell you how it made me feel to look at her. Made me think of churches and Sunday schools and bein' good, and all that sort of nonsense that 1 hadn't thought of sense I was a kid. And when she looked at me with her clear, pleasant eyes, I felt kinder queer and sneakin' inside, and for the first time in my life was ashamed that I was—was—well, what I am. And as I came mosey in' back along the road, I kep' wonderin' what kind of a guy I'd 'a' bin if I'd 'a' had a mother like her. Would the road keep a callin' me'as it does now, or would I 'a' been the sort of son she needn't be ashamed to own, with hands clean enough to touch her kind ones—" "Cut that out, you driveling idiot!" Springing to his feet the youuger man stood with livid face and blazing eyes, and his companion, cut short in his speech, eyed him in open-mouthed astonishment. For an instant they faced each other thus, then the smaller tramp sank to the ground again with a groan. ''Don't mind me, friend," he said hoarsely, burying his face in the grass. "I am sick, and somehow what you said got on my nerves. I hurt my leg a few days ago, and it pains me terribly.'' "Huh!" grunted the other, highly offended; and with no further words the two men. stretched themselves out under the trees to rest, till the heat of the day had passed, and the smaller man fell immediately into a sleep that was almost stupor. His comrade idly watched him for a while, then picked up the torn, greasy newspaper that had contained the "hand out," scanned it lazily for an instant, then tossed it aside. On his way back from the farm house he had noticed a man tacking a placard upon the trunk of a tree in front of the postoffice. Leaving several of the bills outside upon a bench the man went into the building, and the tramp, out of curiosity, had picked up one of the papers and stuffed it into one of bis pockets for future perusal. He now drew it forth, and the following met his gaze: Five Hundred Dollars Reward! The above reward will be paid by the undersigned for the arrest and conviction of Stephen Andrews, alias Gentleman Steve, for forgery and

DRIFTWOOD. 887 train-robbery. Description: Age about thirty-two, height about 5 feet 10 inches, weight 160 pounds, complexion fair, eyes brown, hair brown and wavy. Slight moustache and curious V-shaped scar on forehead, just at edge of hair. Was shot in leg while he and his accomplices were attempting to hold up X. & W. mail train on night of July 1">. Five hundred dollars reward! The largest sum he had ever possessed had been a stolen five dollars. Five hundred! Gee whiz! Five hundred His thoughts were interrupted as the sleeping man moaned and moved restlessly. The tramp glanced at him carelessly, started and leaned nearer, staring intently. The man's hat had fallen from his head, and there, at the edge of the brown, wavy hair, was a rigid, V-shaped scar, plain to be seen. Slowly and deliberately the watcher again read and compared the description on the placard with the ieatures of the unconscious man, until satisfied that the identity was correct beyond doubt. A wolfish grin exposed his ugly teeth, and he gloated over his discovery, like a spider spinning its meshes around its helpless victim. Five hundred dollars! And it would take half an hour's walk to reach town and come back. Even if the fellow should wake up he couldn't get very far. It was just like finding money. Already the elated tramp felt the weight of those five hundred dollars in his pockets, and smiled grimly as he remembered he would have to get needles and thread to make his pockets secure. Needles and thread! Why not get a new suit —new shoes? And he surveyed the tattered excuse for shoes and clothes, noticing their deficiencies for the first time. Why not buy a ticket and ride inside a train for once, instead of clinging to a brakebeam? He could even go into a Pullman and make one of those high-toned coons wait on him! Aladdin's lamp never suggested a wilder dream, and the hobo chuckled as he pictured himself lolling back in the smoking-room of a Pullman, ordering the porter about as he had seen other men do when the train had stopped at some stat;on. He could go to a hotel and play the gentleman; loaf and try his luck with the cards while the money lasted; have a Hing for

888 IMPROVEMENT ERA. once—and afterwards? Well, what did he care? There was always the road again. He was rising to his feet, when he became aware that the other man had awakened, and lay with his eyes fixed upon him. Somehow this angered him, and he grunted out viciously, "The jig's up, Andrews. I found one of your visitin' cards over by thepostoffice. I didn't know I was travelin' in such hightoned sassiety Any hobo with five hundred dollars is too valuable a piece of bricky-brack to be lyin' round promiscus, and I don't want no such responsibility on me." "Are you going to give me up?" asked Andrews, without anxiety or anger in his voice—just a tired, indifferent tone, as though the answer were of no importance. "Well, I can't run away, so you needn't be in such a hurry." The tramp looked at him suspiciously, and replied in a dogged way, "I don't get no chance at five hundred dollars every day, and get it clean, too, so I don't have to sneak, and run to keep it." "Oh, cut it out!" answered Andrews wearily. "I understand all that. Go on! You'll find me here when you get back. Can't you see I'm about done for? If it were murder instead of robbery I couldn't run to save my life!" The tramp hesitated, shifted his feet and sat down, scowling fiercely and muttering, "It's a blame sight more money than I'll ever see again. I don't see why I should hold back for you. I never seen you till today; and it won't do no good to try any tricks on me. I want that money, and you bet your sweet life I'm going to have it! You ain't got no strings on me." "I said I would be here when you come back. I promise you I won't move a foot from this spot until you get back with the officers. Isn't that enough?" impatiently. "I shall be glad to end it all—I am sick and tired of hiding and skulking.'' " 'Tain't that I want to see you pinched," said the tramp, a trifle apologetically. "I ain't got nothin' ag'in you—it's the dough I want." "Money—yes money!" The robber's words were fierce and bitter. "It's the same—always the same with all of us—no matter what or where we are. Money, money! I wonder if St.

DRIFTWOOD. 889 Peter will hold out his hand for a fee at the gates of heaven?" The tramp stared hard at the speaker, who lay with white, drawn face gazing up at the fleecy clouds drifting across the sky. Then, with a sudd#n, quick movement the robber flung himself over upon his face in the grass, sobbing convulsively. The tramp walked away a short distance, then came back, and laying a dirty, rough hand on Andrews' shoulder said huskily, "There, there, old man! Brace up! I ain't no Sunday school teacher, but I know when a hurt festers it eases it a blame sight to open it. Maybe, now, you'd feel better if you was to tell me your trouble." After a little, Andrews raised his face and turned toward his companion who, ashamed of his recent display of emotion, hastily gathered up a handful of pebbles and commenced throwing them at a flock of sparrows hovering over an adjacent grain field. "You're thinking that I'm nothing but a sniveling coward,now that I've come to the end of my rope, aren't you, friend?" the robber asked quietly. "But it isn't that. I have felt for a long time that sooner or later it must come to this, that some day I should have to face the penalty of a wicked, misspent life. I once knew a man—he is serving a life sentence in the prison at Leavenworth now, but he wasn't all bad, though he was known all over as a hardened criminal—'go home, boy,' he said to me one day — it was when I first fell in with him and others like him—'go home and be the man that God intended you to be. You may flourish for awhile in this kind of business, but vice and sin don't pay, boy, neither in this world nor the next.' But I laughed at him. I hadn't yet come to the time when heart and soul cried out in loathing at the thing I have now become—an outcast, a fugitive from the eyes of honest men, spending my days in hiding and skulking like a hunted animal, and my nights in helping others of my kind in robbing and pilfering, and with them sinking deeper each day in a hideous slough of sin and wickedness. You ask me for my story, friend; there isn't much to tell—it is a common enough one. Just the story of one more weak fool who hadn't the moral force to resist temptation when it beckoned him on, and when once started on that road—0 God, how easy it was to keep on sliding! I was born on a farm, the

890 MPROVEMENT ERA. only son of simple, honest parents whose only faults, so far as I can remember, were pampering and humoring me in my every selfish, wayward wish. My father had never had the chance of an education, and from the day of my birth until I was old enough to send off to school,his whole aim and object in life seemed to be that of educating me, of lifting me out of the homely ruts of farm work, that I hated so, and giving me the chance among men that somehow he had missed. "Well," the robber shifted his lame leg impatiently, "I got my chance and missed it, wasted and squandered it, paid with ingratitude and shameless profligacy the life-long devotion and sacrifice of father and mother, made of my life a failure, a misfit, a disgrace to respectable society, a menace to humankind." For a moment he lay with clenched hands in bitter self-abasement, then after a little went on again, a softer note in his voice: "I dreamed a few nights ago—it was after I got this" — touching his wounded leg, "and I had fallen asleep in a barn where I had been hiding for a couple of days—that I was a boy again, and at home in my own warm bed under the eaves. I could see the gray rafters overhead, the little square window beyond, with the branches of the big maple outside swaying back and forth in the breeze. Then there stole to my bedside a white figure, and a warm hand nestling close to my cheek tucked the border of a quilt under my chin, and, 'I thought you might be cold, son,' came to me in the voice of my mother. "Then something disturbed my rest—my cramped position in the hay, perhaps, or the cold air sweeping in through the crevices of the barn—and I woke to find myself no longer a happy, innocent boy, but a man, cold, wounded, hunted, and bearing a load of sin so heavy that I cried aloud in fear and misery, as childishly as the boy I had been dreaming about might have done. "Since then—born of the pain and the darkness and the dream, I suppose—I have been haunted by a feverish desire, a miserable homesick longing to crawl to my mother's door, to beg her forgiveness for all the heartache I have given her, then lay down and die in my little bed under the shingles. Day or night, waking or sleeping, the thought, how to get home quickest, has been uppermost in my mind. How to elude my pursuers until,

DRIFTWOOD. 891 the door of my mother's cottage closing behind me, I should be safe from the hand of the law, safe to breathe freely once more, 3afe to sleep and rest, and safe from all the horrors of sin and degradation that 1 have brought upon myself. So things have run in my dreams." For a little the man seamed to wander in his mind, and muttered and babbled under his breath, then rousing himself, turned again to his compani n, "Well, friend,' he said, with a wan attempt at a smile, "it seems that fate was against my sleeping beneath the old home roof tonight, as I should have done for the first time in years had I not fallen in with you. It makes me wonder at myself now, to think that I ever expected to reach there undetected. Well," with along-dravvn breath, "there is nothing left for me to do now —I might as well give up. Life in a cell cannot be much more of a hell, anyway, than mine has been lately. Go on, and get the reward. Someone was sure to get it, and you might as well be the one. Y.u have spoken the first kind words I have heard for a long time, and this is the only way I can show that I appreciate it. I will wait here until you get back, or, if you want me to, I will go in with you. I am feeling better now—the rest has done me good." The tramp did not answer at once; he seemed to be pondering something in his mind. "You talk like you'd got close to home today, boss," he then said shortly, "do you mind tellin' me if it's hereabouts -where your folks live, I mean? ' And hoarsely the other replied, "My father died some years ago, my mother"—the words came with difficulty—"that was she who gave us our dinner today—she whose face, you said, reminded you of all good things. Perhaps, friend, it is best after all that you frustrated my plans, [t will at least spare her the pain and humiliation of seeing me dragged off to prison before her eyes, as I must have been sooner or later. The name I bear is an assumed one, and should she now hear of my arrest, it will reveal nothing to her -she will never know how close her vagabond son has been to her today." His voice trailed off into silence, and the tramp sat deliber-

892 IMPROVEMENT ERA. ately, his eyes on the figure of the man lying inert beside him. A tarantula wasp buzzed and disappeared in a tiny hole, searching for its prey; a buzzard with lazily flapping wings wheeled nearer, remembering it had seen other men lying thus on the desert. Then the tramp spoke. "I never had nothin' all my life, no fine chances, no home— from the first I was nothin' but a scrubby little street waif that nobody wanted, and there wasn't ever anyone to bother theirselves whether I lived straight or crooked, so I jest took the easiest way and drifted. But I can't help wonderin' if things had been different, and I'd 'a' been born in your shoes, say, would I 'a' went the same way you have? or—oh, I ain't jedging you—Lordy, no! A poor, old hobo like me ain't got no right to do that." Slowly he rose to his feet, picking up his tattered, old hat as he did so. "Well," he said, "I'm goin' now—goin' back the way I came, and I don't want you to go with me. I might want that five hundred dollars mighty bad sometime, and if I don't know where you are I can't get it. See?" Andrews raised himself on one elbow and stared at the tramp in incredulous astonishment. "But before I go, understand one thing, will ye? It ain't for you I'm lettin' all that dough slip through my fingers. I ain't much stuck on the way you've done things—seems to me you've made a hull lot of fool plays in your life—tut I guess you're thinkin' that ain't none o' my business. The reason I'm lettin' you go is because you're lucky enough to be the sen of that old lady over yonder; and it 'ud take more'n five hundred dollars to make me take a hand in any game that might bring tears o' trouble to her kind old eyes. Savvy? Queer, ain't it? but I'm still wonderin' what kind of a son I'd 'a' made if I'd 'a' had a mother like you've got." Suddenly he bent forward and catching Andrews by the shoulders said, in a voice full of meaning, "Look here, pard, don't you dare go sneakin' round home jest yet; she's better off without your company yet awhile, and you've done her dirt enough to last the rest of your days, I should think. Keep on traveling " pointing down the track, "and meet whatever's comin' to you like a man. You've got one chance in fifty of getin' away from them that's huntin' for ye, and if ye do happen to