The Twin Hells - Chapter VIII



CHAPTER VIII. THE PRISONERS 

Thinking that it may be interesting to some of my readers, I will now 
give, in brief form as possible, a history of some of the most noted 
inmates of the penitentiary. 

FEMALE CONVICTS 

He must be of a very unsympathizing nature who does not feel for his 
brother, who, though sinful and deserving, is imprisoned, and excluded 
from the society of friends. While we are sad when we behold our fellowmen 
in chains and bondage, how much sadder do we become when, passing through 
the prisons, we behold those of the same sex with our sisters, wives and 
mothers. In this land, blessed with the most exalted civilization, woman 
receives our highest regard, affection and admiration. While she occupies 
her true sphere of sister, wife or mother, she is the true man's ideal of 
love, purity and devotion. When, overcome by temptation, she falls from 
her exalted sphere, not only do men feel the keenest sorrow and regret, 
but, if it is possible, the angels of God weep. 

In the Kansas penitentiary, just outside the high stone wall, but 
surrounded by a tight board fence some fifteen feet high, stands a stone 
structure--the female prison. In this lonely place, the stone building, 
shut out from society, there are thirteen female prisoners. During the 
week these women spend their time in sewing, patching and washing. But 
very few visitors are allowed to enter this department, so that the 
occupants are permitted to see very few people. Their keepers are a couple 
of Christian ladies, who endeavor to surround them with all the sunshine 
possible. For these inmates the week consists of one continual round of 
labor. It is wash, patch and sew from one year's end to the other. The 
Sabbath is spent in reading and religious exercises. In the afternoon the 
chaplain visits them and preaches a discourse. Several of these women are 
here for murder. When a woman falls she generally descends to the lowest 
plane. 

A few days before I was discharged, there came to the prison a little old 
grandmother, seventy years of age. She had lived with her husband fifty-
two years, was the mother of ten children, and had fifteen grand-children. 
She and her aged husband owned a very beautiful farm and were in good 
circumstances, probably worth $50,000. Her husband died very suddenly. She 
was accused of administering poison. After the funeral, she went over into 
Missouri to make her home with one of her married daughters. She had not 
been there but a short time when her eldest son secured a requisition, and 
had his aged mother brought back to Kansas and placed on trial for murder. 
She was convicted. The sentence imposed, was one year in the penitentiary, 
and at the end of which time she was to be hung by the neck until dead, 
which in Kansas is equivalent to a life sentence. The old woman will do 
well if she lives out one year in prison. She claims that her eldest son 
desires her property, and that was the motive which induced him to drag 
her before the tribunal of justice to swear her life away, During her long 
life of three score and ten years, this was the only charge against her 
character for anything whatever. She always bore a good name and was 
highly esteemed in the neighborhood in which she lived. 

Another important female prisoner is Mary J. Scales. She is sixty-five 
years of age, and is called Aunt Mary in the prison. She is also a 
murderess. She took the life of her husband, and was sentenced to be hung 
April 16, 1871. Her sentence was commuted to a life imprisonment. For 
eighteen years this old woman has been an inmate of the Kansas 
penitentiary. While she is very popular inside the prison, as all the 
officers and their families are very fond of Aunt Mary, it seems that she 
has but few, if any, friends on the outside. Several old men have been 
pardoned since this old woman was put into prison, and if any more 
murderers are to be set at liberty, it is my opinion that it will soon be 
Aunt Mary's turn to go out into the world to be free once more. 

MRS. HENRIETTA COOK 

This woman was twenty-five years of age when she came to the Kansas 
penitentiary to serve out a life's sentence. She was charged with having 
poisoned her husband. For fifteen years she remained in close confinement, 
at the end of which time she received a pardon, it being discovered that 
she was innocent. When Mrs. Cook entered the prison she was young and 
beautiful, but when she took her departure she had the appearance of an 
old, broken-down woman. Fifteen years of imprisonment are sufficient to 
bring wrinkles to the face, and change the color of the hair to gray. This 
prisoner made the mistake of her life in getting married. She, a young 
woman, married an old man of seventy. She was poor, he was rich. After 
they had been married a short time she awoke one morning to find her aged 
husband a corpse at her side. During the night he had breathed his last. 
The tongue of gossip soon had it reported that the young and beautiful 
wife had poisoned her husband to obtain his wealth, that she might spend 
the rest of her days with a younger and handsomer man, After burial the 
body was exhumed and examined. The stomach showed the presence of arsenic 
in sufficient quantity to produce death. The home of the deceased was 
searched and a package of the deadly poison found. She was tried, and 
sufficient circumstantial evidence produced to secure her conviction, and 
she was sent to prison for life. A short time before this sad event 
happened, a young drug clerk took his departure from the town where the 
Cook family resided, where he had been employed in a drug store, and took 
up his abode in California. After fifteen years of absence he returned. 
Learning of the Cook murder, he went before the board of pardons and made 
affidavit that the old gentleman was in the habit of using arsenic, and 
that while a clerk in the drug store he had sold him the identical package 
found in the house. 

Other evidence was adduced supporting this testimony, and the board of 
pardons decided that the husband had died from an overdose of arsenic 
taken by himself and of his own accord. The wife was immediately pardoned. 
How is she ever to obtain satisfaction for her fifteen years of intense 
suffering. The great State of Kansas should pension this poor woman, who 
now is scarcely able to work; and juries in the future should not be so 
fast in sending people to the penitentiary on flimsy, circumstantial 
evidence. 

The other female prisoners are nearly all in for short terms, and the 
crime laid to their charge is that of stealing. 

INDIANS IN THE PENITENTIARY 

John Washington and Simmons Wolf are two young Indians tried and convicted 
in the U. S. District Court on the charge of rape. They were sentenced to 
be hung. After conviction these Indians were taken to the penitentiary to 
await the day set for their execution. In the meantime an application was 
made to the President to change the sentence of death to that of life 
imprisonment. The change was made. These two Indians were placed in the 
coal mines on their arrival, where they are at the present time getting 
out their daily task of coal. They both attend the school of the prison, 
and are learning very rapidly. Prior to this, Washington served out a one-
year sentence in the Detroit house of correction for stealing. He is a bad 
Indian. 

At present there are fourteen Indians incarcerated in the Kansas 
penitentiary. The Indian pines for his liberty more than the white man or 
negro. The burdens of imprisonment are therefore greater for him to bear. 
One young Indian was sent to the penitentiary whose history is indeed 
touching. Ten Indians had been arrested in the Territory by U. S. marshals 
for horse-stealing. They were tried and convicted in the U. S. District 
Court. Their sentence was one year in the State's prison. On their arrival 
at the penitentiary they were sent to the mines to dig coal. This was a 
different business from being supported by the government and stealing 
horses as a diversion. The Indians soon wanted to go home. One of them was 
unable to get out his task of coal. The officer in charge thought he was 
trying to shirk his work and reported him to the deputy warden. The young 
Indian was placed in the dungeon. He remained there several days and 
nights. He begged piteously to get out of that hole of torture. Finally 
the officers released him and sent him back to the mines. While in the 
dungeon he contracted a severe cold. He had not been in the mines more 
than a couple of days, after being punished, when he gave suddenly out and 
was sent to the hospital, where in a few days he died. That young Indian 
was murdered, either in that dungeon or in the mines. A few weeks before, 
he came to the penitentiary from roaming over the prairies, a picture of 
health. It did not take long for the Kansas penitentiary to "box him up" 
for all time to come. He now sleeps "in the valley," as the prison 
graveyard is called. 

Another one of the same group did not fare quite so badly as his 
associate. The one I am now describing was sent with the rest of his 
companions to the bottom of the mines. He remained there during the first 
day. A short time after he went down on the following morning he became 
sick. He began to cry. The officer in charge sent him to the surface. He 
was conducted to the cell-house officer, Mr. Elliott. I was on duty that 
day in the cell house, and Mr. Elliott, on the arrival of the Indian, 
ordered me to show him to the hospital. After we had started on our 
journey from the cell house to the hospital building to see the doctor, 
and had got out of hearing of the officer, I said, "Injun, what's the 
matter with you?" This question being asked, he began to "boo-hoo" worse 
than ever, and, rubbing his breast and sides with his hands, said, between 
his sobs, "Me got pecce ecce." I was not Indian enough to know what "pecce 
ecce" meant. In a few moments we reached the hospital building, and I 
conducted my charge into the nicely furnished room of the prison 
physician, and into the immediate presence of that medical gentleman. 
Removing my cap, and making a low bow, as required, I said, "Dr. Nealley, 
permit me to introduce a representative of the Oklahoma district, who 
needs medical attention." 

While I was relieving myself of this little declamation the young Indian 
was standing at my side sobbing as if he had recently buried his mother. 

"Reynolds, what is the matter with him?" asked the doctor. 

I then turned to my charge and said, "Injun, tell the doctor what ails 
you." 

Mister Indian then began rubbing his sides and front, with tears rolling 
down his face, and sobbing like a whipped school-boy, he exclaimed, "Me 
got pecce ecce." 

"There, doctor," said I, "you have it. This Indian has got that dreadful 
disease known as 'pecce ecce.'" 

The physician, somewhat astonished, frankly informed me that he never had 
heard of such a disease before. I was in a similar boat, for I had never 
heard of such words prior to this. The sick Indian was unable to talk the 
language of the white man. The doctor then sent down into the mines for 
another of the Indians who could speak English and had acted as an 
interpreter. On entering the office, the doctor said to him, "Elihu," for 
that was his name, "this Indian says he has an attack of pecce ecce. Now 
what does he mean by that?" 

During all this time the sick Indian kept rubbing his body and sobbing. 
What was our great astonishment and amusement when the interpreter 
informed us that "pecce ecce" meant nothing more nor less than "belly-
ache." The doctor administered the proper remedy for this troublesome 
disease, and the Indian was sent back to the mines. He had not dug coal 
more than an hour when he had another attack, and began his crying, and 
was sent to the top. He kept this up until he wore out the patience of the 
officers, and they finally decided to take him out of the mines altogether 
and give him work at the surface. Even here, every few minutes the Indian 
would have an attack of "pecce ecce," and would start for the hospital. At 
last, the chaplain, taking pity on the poor outcast, wrote to President 
Cleveland, and putting the case in a very strong light, was successful in 
securing a pardon for the Indian. That "cheeky" red youth was no fool. He 
belly-ached himself out of that penitentiary. I trust I may never have to 
spend any more of my time in prison. If I do, I think about the first day 
I will get a dose of "pecce ecce," and keep it up, and see if I can't get 
a pardon. 

MALE PRISONERS 

Ed. Stanfield.--The history of this prisoner is as follows: He was about 
nineteen years of age when he entered the prison, which was some five 
years ago. His people reside in South Bend, Indiana. His father, prior to 
his death, was a prominent judge. The family was wealthy, influential and 
highly respected. It consisted of the parents and two sons. Ed. proved to 
be the black lamb of the flock. At the early age of nine years, being sent 
away to school, he bade all good-bye one day and followed in the wake of a 
circus show which was holding forth in the town where he was attending 
school, He was not heard of anymore for several years. His parents spent 
vast sums of money attempting to ascertain his whereabouts. They finally 
heard of him in the following accidental manner: His father, Judge 
Stanfield, had been out in Nebraska looking after some land he had 
recently purchased, and, on his return home, sitting in the cars, 
purchased a newspaper of the newsboy as he came around. Looking over the 
paper he caught the name of his prodigal son. There, before him, was the 
account of his son who, having knocked down a prosecuting attorney in 
broad daylight with a coupling pin, with the intention of robbery, had 
been tried, convicted and sentenced to the penitentiary for ten years, and 
was on that day safely lodged behind the walls. The sad father, on 
reaching home, dispatched his elder son to the Kansas prison to ascertain 
if it was his younger son who was a convict. The young man came on and 
soon satisfied himself of the identity of the long-lost brother. He 
returned home and made the report to his parents. From that day Judge 
Stanfield was a broken-hearted man. He soon grieved himself to death over 
the sad fate of his boy, and the disgrace he had brought upon the family. 
In making his will, however, he gave Ed. an equal share in the estate with 
his brother. After the death of the father, the mother began to put forth 
efforts to secure a pardon for her son. His crime was so heinous and so 
uncalled for that it was necessary for some time to elapse before an 
application was presented. At the earliest moment possible the wheel began 
to turn. The prosecuting attorney of Bourbon County, who had been knocked 
down with an iron coupling pin, was soon satisfied, for the family had 
wealth. It is of course unknown how much money was passed to him to make 
his heart tender and his eyes weep over the erring child that had come so 
near getting away with his gold watch and chain. A petition was soon in 
circulation for his release, signed by many prominent citizens. An open 
pocketbook will easily secure a petition for pardon, it makes but little 
difference as to the "gravamen" of the crime. The convict promised not to 
engage again in this pleasant pastime for filthy lucre. The mother of the 
young man came on from the East and remained until she had secured a 
pardon for her boy. The young man stated in our hearing that it took one 
thousand big dollars to secure his pardon. A great many who are acquainted 
with the facts in the case are not slow in saying that if Stanfield had 
been a poor, friendless boy, he never would have received a pardon, but 
would have had to serve his time out. There are more than five hundred men 
in that prison whose crimes are of a less serious nature, and who are far 
more deserving of executive clemency than Stanfield. It is said that 
"rocks talk" in the penitentiaries as well as on the outside. The history 
of this criminal will show my boy readers the future of many of those who, 
in early youth, ran away from home, and go out into the world to mingle in 
bad company. 

Cyrenius B. Hendricks.--This man was sent from Chatauqua County. He was 
twenty-seven years of age when sentenced. His crime was murder in the 
first degree. The particulars are as follows: He had been down to the 
Indian Territory looking after his own and his father's cattle. He was 
absent on this business some little time. On his return his wife informed 
him that a neighbor had been talking about her in his absence, and had 
given her a bad character, and that on account of it she had become the 
talk of the entire neighborhood. The enraged husband compels his wife to 
go with him, and they proceed to the neighbor's house. Hendricks took his 
gun with him. When they reached the neighbor's gate they halted and called 
the unsuspecting man out of his home. Hendricks then asked him if the 
charges were true as to his talking about Mrs. Hendricks. The neighbor 
neither affirmed nor denied the statement. At this Hendricks leveled his 
gun and shot him dead on the spot. He and his wife in a few hours after 
were arrested, and, as it was too late to take them to the county seat 
that night, they were guarded in an old log house in the neighborhood. 
Hendricks was fastened to the wall with a log-chain. During the night some 
one, supposed to be the brother of the murdered man, came to the window of 
the house in which they were confined, and, placing the muzzle of a gun 
through the window, shot Hendricks. The ball struck him near one of the 
eyes, rendering him blind in that eye, but did not kill him. The next day 
the two prisoners were taken to jail. They were tried, and both found 
guilty of murder in the first degree. The husband was sentenced to be 
hanged, while the wife received a life sentence. They were both taken to 
the penitentiary. After they had been there a short time Hendricks lost 
the other eye, from sympathy, as they call it. For a time the husband and 
wife remained on good terms. They were allowed to visit each other once a 
month. After a while she tired of him and would have nothing more to do 
with him. She served four years, and received a pardon. Hendricks still 
remains in prison, and is a pitiable and helpless wreck. He is totally 
blind, and his nervous system entirely shattered. He can scarcely lift 
food to his mouth. He is so weak that it is with difficulty he walks about 
the prison park. An aged prisoner waits on him constantly to care for his 
wants, and to see that he does not commit suicide. Abandoned by his wife 
and friends, left to his own sad fate, totally blind and physically 
helpless, he is another testimonial to the truth that "the way of the 
transgressor is hard," and it also illustrates how much trouble may arise 
from using that little member called the tongue in an indiscriminate 
manner. Since my discharge from the prison I have learned of the death of 
Hendricks. 

Ed. Miner.--One of the men whose history will be interesting to the 
general reader is Ed. Miner. This man is forty-nine years of age. He 
served in the Missouri penitentiary two years on the charge and conviction 
of assault and battery with intent to kill. After the expiration of his 
sentence, drifting down the current of crime, he next embarked in stealing 
horses. He was arrested, tried and convicted. He received a five years' 
sentence, served his time, and went out into the world a free man. Again 
falling into bad company, he tries his hand once more at the same old 
trade of riding fast horses, is again caught, tried, convicted, and 
received another sentence of five years in the prison, which he is now 
serving out. As a prisoner, Miner is one of the very best. He never 
violates a prison regulation and was never known to be punished. During 
the war he served his country faithfully for four years as a member of the 
12th Illinois Infantry. At the close of the war, and just before the 
troops were discharged, one day on review, the governor of the State of 
Illinois being present, Miner was asked by the commanding officer to step 
from the ranks, and was introduced to the governor as the bravest and most 
daring man in the command. The governor gave him a hearty shake of the 
hand, and afterward sent him a neat little golden medal as a token of his 
esteem. Miner now wears this suspended on a small gold chain about his 
neck. He is very proud of it. One of our prison officers, Mr. Elliott, was 
in the army with Miner, and says there never was a braver man. It may be a 
surprise to the reader that such a brave man, such a bold defender of his 
country's rights, would now be filling a felon's cell. The answer to this 
is easily given. It is all contained in the one word--liquor. Miner loves 
strong drink, and when he is under its influence appears to have no sense. 
He is then ready for the commission of any offense, ready to participate 
in any kind of deviltry. Were it not for this baneful appetite there is 
every reason to believe he would be a highly respected citizen. I asked 
him one day what he would do when he got out. His reply was, "I don't 
know; if I could not get the smell of whisky I could be a man; it has 
downed me so many times that I fear my life is now a wreck; the future 
looks dreary; awful dreary." With this remark Ed. went away to attend to 
his duties. My eyes followed the old soldier, and, reader, do you blame me 
when I say to you that from within my heart there came forth the earnest 
desire that God in some way would save that man, who, away from strong 
drink and the influence of wicked companions, is a good-hearted, generous 
man. 

Gordon Skinner.--A young man of twenty, possessed of an innocent, boyish 
appearance, whom none would take for a murderer, was sent up from Ellis 
County. His victim was Andrew Ericson, a respectable and worthy citizen 
about thirty-seven years of age. Skinner claims the shooting was purely 
accidental; that he was carelessly handling a six-shooter when it went 
off, the ball striking Ericson. He claims, also, that he and his victim 
were good friends, and that he never had any intention of killing him. The 
other side of the story is that there lived near Hayes City a beautiful 
girl, and that Skinner and Ericson were rivals for her heart and hand. 
Ericson, being much older than young Skinner, possessed of some property, 
and doubtless more skillful in the art of winning hearts, was beginning to 
crowd his rival to the wall. Young Skinner, not being able to endure the 
sight of his fair one being thus ruthlessly torn away by an old bachelor 
of thirty-seven, met him one day and the two engaged in a spirited 
controversy, when Skinner drew his revolver and shot him. Ericson lived 
several days afterward. Just before death, Ericson begged of his friends 
not to have Skinner arrested, stating he was not to blame. Skinner, 
moneyless, friendless, a comparative stranger in the neighborhood, his 
people all residing in Phillips County, this State, and, with the 
prejudices of the Ericson people against him, was tried, convicted and 
sentenced to twenty years' imprisonment. If the Board of Pardons ever 
takes the trouble to investigate this case, with a view of tempering 
justice with mercy, they will find it worthy. Skinner is a good prisoner, 
and has ingratiated himself in the good opinion of the officers. But the 
weight of a twenty years' term is heavy, and is visibly affecting his 
health. Death should not be left to accomplish what the Board of Pardons 
should take pleasure in doing. This delicate boy should be sent home to 
his parents. 

FREAKS OF JUSTICE 

Robert W. Corey was sent from Wyandotte County with a sentence of three 
years for stealing cattle. This is a remarkable case. Corey is a blind 
man, and had been totally blind for thirteen months prior to his arrival 
at the prison; he was a taxidermist, and some years ago had taken a 
contract for furnishing stuffed birds for the museum of the Agricultural 
College of Ames; Iowa. This business requires the use of arsenic; 
carelessly handling it destroyed his eyesight. How a man, blind as he is, 
and was, at the commission of the alleged offense, could drive off and 
sell these cattle, is a mystery. The man who swore that he committed the 
theft is now an inmate of the institution, sent here for stealing since 
the arrival of blind Corey. This man now says that he is not positive that 
Corey took the cattle. On the trial, however, he swore it was Corey, and 
that he was positive of that fact! About the the truth of the matter is, 
he was the villain that took the cattle and swore it on the blind man. 
Corey has only a few months to remain in prison at this writing. It is 
terrible to heap such a disgrace upon as helpless a creature as Corey. 

His case calls to mind another in the penitentiary. He is a colored man 
who cannot write, by the name of Thomas Green, from Fort Scott, serving 
out a five years' sentence for forging a check for $1,368. He was tried, 
convicted, and sentenced. Taking an appeal to the Supreme Court, the 
judgment of the lower court was set aside; but at his second trial, he was 
found guilty again, and is now in prison serving out his sentence. How can 
one commit the crime of forgery who cannot write? Probably some "Smart 
Aleck" of a district judge can explain. I admit that it is beyond my 
powers of comprehension. It may be law, but there is not much COMMON SENSE 
in it. 

OH! RIGHTEOUS JUDGE! 

Gus Arndt is the next. The history of this man will show the freaks of 
whisky when enclosed in the hide of a raw Dutchman. Gus came to this 
country a number of years ago, and went to work for his uncle in Wabaunsee 
County. Not being able to speak English, his uncle took advantage of him, 
no doubt, for he paid him only ten dollars a month for his services as a 
farm hand during the summer season, and nothing but his board during the 
winter. Gus remained here for some time, three or four years, working at 
these wages. He had learned and could understand and speak English a 
little. One day as he was pitching grain in the field an Irishman came by 
who resided on a farm a few miles distant. Needing a hand and noticing 
that Arndt handled himself in a satisfactory manner, he offered him twenty 
dollars per month to go and work for him. Arndt accepted his proposition, 
and agreed to report at the Irishman's farm the following Monday, this 
being Thursday when the bargain was made. That night the German settled up 
with his uncle, and received the balance of his wages, some $75. He had 
been in America long enough to reach that point in our civilization that, 
after working awhile, and getting a balance ahead, he must take a rest and 
go on a "spree." He started for the nearest town. For a couple of days he 
fared sumptuously, constantly drinking. He at length reached a point below 
zero. Half crazed, he staggers off to the fence across the way where the 
farmers who had come to town to do their shopping on Saturday had hitched 
their teams, and, untying a horse that was hitched to a buggy, Gus thought 
he would take a ride. Lumbering into the buggy, as a drunken man can, he 
drove down the main street of the town in broad daylight and out into the 
country. In an hour or so the owner getting ready to return, misses his 
horse and buggy. Making numerous inquiries about them and getting nothing 
satisfactory, he places the matter in the hands of a sheriff, who 
commences a search for the missing property. Not finding it in town he 
sends men out on the roads leading to the country, himself taking one. In 
a very short time he overtakes the noted horse-thief. Gus was sitting in 
the buggy sound asleep; the lines were hanging down over the dashboard, 
and the old horse was marching along at a snail's pace. He was out some 
two miles from town, and, no doubt, had traveled at this gait all the way. 
He was faced about, and, assisted by the sheriff, drove back to town. He 
was then placed under arrest and sent to jail, subsequently had his trial, 
and for this little drive was sent to the penitentiary for five years. Of 
a more unjust sentence I never heard. Gus served his time out and a better 
behaved person was never behind the walls. When he regained his liberty, 
instead of returning to Wabaunsee County, and to his uncle's house, he 
finds his way to Marysville, Kansas. Here reside a number of prosperous 
German farmers, and the ex-convict soon got work. When he applied for work 
he forgot to tell his employer that he had just finished up a contract for 
the State of Kansas. Some months had elapsed and Gus had worked hard and 
industriously, had accumulated a neat little sum of money, and began to 
feel happy once more. At this time a man passed through the country that 
was acquainted with Arndt's antecedents, and being a dirty dog he thought 
it was his duty to inform the farmer that his hired man was an ex-convict, 
horse-thief and a desperado of the worst type. Some men are so officious 
and are so anxious to do their duty when it is in their power to injure a 
fellow-man who is trying to earn an honest living. Gus immediately got the 
"bounce." He was informed by his employer that he did not want to make his 
home a harbor for horse-thieves. Gus took his wages and clothes and 
started for Marysville. He could not bear the idea of being discharged 
because of his former misfortune. He again applies to the bottle for 
consolation. He goes on another spree. When crazed with liquor he acted 
just as he did before; he goes to a hitching post, and unties a team of 
horses attached to a buggy. One of the horses had had its leg broken at 
some former time, and was almost worthless, while the other one was very 
old. He seemed to select the very worst team he could find. Maybe it was 
the buggy he was after! He was probably very tired and wanted an easy 
place to rest. He unhitched them just as if they had been his own. It was 
in the afternoon. The streets were full of people. Gus crawled into the 
buggy in his half drunken manner and started off down the road. When found 
by the sheriff some two hours after he had gone, about half a mile from 
town, the old horses were standing at one side of the road and the drunken 
Dutchman was lying in the buggy sound asleep, with one bottle of whisky 
uncorked, the contents of which had run out and over his clothes, and 
another bottle in his pocket untouched. He had evidently gone out for a 
drive. He was taken to jail, and the news soon spread that he was an ex-
convict and horse-thief. He was tried on a charge of stealing horses, and 
was returned to the penitentiary for a term of two years. Here were seven 
years' service for two drunks! Ancient Jacob, "how tuff!" After Gus had 
completed his narration to me he wound up by saying, "Ven I shall oudt git 
this time, I let von visky alones." 

BOVINE TROUBLE 

Woodward R. Lopeman was sent up from Neosho County for murder in the first 
degree. Under his sentence he was to be hanged at the close of the first 
year. This part of the sentence is never carried out in Kansas. The 
particulars of his crime are as follows: He was a well-to-do farmer 
residing in Neosho County, and never had any difficulty to amount to 
anything before this time. He was an old soldier and served his country 
faithfully and bravely for four years. For some trivial cause he and one 
of his neighbors had a little difficulty, but it was thought nothing would 
ever come of it, as each of them had been advised by their friends to bury 
their animosity before it should lead to graver results. Lopeman seemed 
willing to do this, but his irate neighbor would not meet him half way. 
One day a calf of Lopeman's, worth but a few dollars, got through the 
fence and over into his neighbor's pasture. Word was sent to the owner of 
the calf that if he would come over and pay damages for the trouble of 
penning it up he could have his property. This had a tendency to arouse a 
bad feeling in the heart of Lopeman; so, placing his revolver in his 
pocket, and asking his grown up son to accompany him, they went to the 
house of the neighbor and directly to the lot where the calf was shut in 
and commenced to lay down the bars to let it out, when the neighbor came 
from the house with his son, and Lopeman was ordered to leave the bars 
alone. The neighbor, who was a strong, muscular man, proceeded to chastise 
Lopeman; the two sons also got ready for an encounter. Lopeman, being by 
far the smaller man of the two, began to retreat slowly as his enemy 
advanced brandishing a club. When almost near enough Lopeman to strike him 
with the uplifted club, Lopeman, in self-defense, as he claims, drew his 
revolver and shot him. He fell lifeless to the ground. The son of the 
murdered man perceiving what was done, ran quickly into the house, and 
getting a double-barreled shotgun, came out and fired twice at Lopeman and 
his son. The shots did not take effect. Lopeman fired two shots at him. At 
this the son retired into the house, and Lopeman and son taking the almost 
worthless calf, which had been the cause of so much trouble, went to their 
home. Lopeman then went to the county seat and gave himself up to the 
authorities. As soon as the news spread over the neighborhood, excitement 
ran high and there was loud talk of lynching. The murdered man was very 
popular. His old neighbors smelled blood, and it was with some difficulty 
that they were prevented from taking the law into their own hands. Better 
judgment prevailed, however, and after six months the trial came off and 
the murderer was convicted and sentenced as aforesaid. THIS MAN WAS MY 
CELL MATE. He is something over sixty years of age, of medium height, and 
during his younger days must have been very hard to handle. The first 
evening we occupied the cell together he told me of all his troubles, and 
I learned from his own lips that I was to room with a murderer. I felt I 
would much rather be at home, than locked in that 4x7 cell with a man 
whose hands were dyed with the blood of his neighbor. My alarm somewhat 
subsided when the time came for retiring. The old man, as solemnly as the 
Apostle Paul would have done, took down the Bible, read a few verses, and 
then knelt down and prayed. I sat there in mute astonishment at the 
proceedings of this gray haired criminal. How was it possible for a man 
who was guilty of such a grave crime to be devout. He often told me that 
he had no consciousness whatever of guilt, nor the fear and dread of a 
murderer. I asked him if in his dreams he could not often see the face of 
his victim. With a shrug of the shoulders he admitted that he could. For 
six months this old man and myself occupied that small cell together, so 
small that it was very difficult for us to get by each other when the 
sleeping bunks were down. We never had the least trouble during the entire 
time. A kinder hearted man I never met. Whenever he received any little 
delicacies from home he would always divide with me, and in such a 
cheerful spirit that I soon came to think a good deal of the old man. If 
we had both been on the outside world I would not have desired a kinder 
neighbor. His son, later on, was convicted as an accomplice, and sent up 
for two years. The old man has hopes of a pardon in a few years. He has a 
wife and several children who are highly respected and much beloved in the 
neighborhood where they reside. They have the sympathy of all their 
neighbors in this affliction and bereavement. 

WHISKY AND WOMEN 

Doc. Crunk.--One of the many desperadoes now behind the prison walls of 
the Kansas penitentiary is this noted Texas outlaw. He is a native Texan, 
now nearly fifty years of age. After years of crime he was finally caught 
in the Indian Territory while introducing whisky among the Indians. He had 
his trial in the U. S. District Court, was convicted and sent to the 
penitentiary for three years. For a time during the war he was a 
confederate soldier. Becoming dissatisfied with the profession of arms, he 
deserted and entered upon the life of an outlaw. He gathered about him a 
few kindred spirits with which Southern Texas was infested, and organized 
a band of cattle and horse thieves. This band of banditti became so 
numerous that after a time it extended along the lower line of Texas into 
the Indian Territory and up into Kansas. Their ravages were also felt in 
Arkansas. They had a regular organized band, and stations where they could 
dispose of their stolen property. The cattle that were stolen were run to 
the frontiers and sold to cattlemen who were in collusion with them, and 
which latter were getting immensely rich out of the operations of these 
thieves. They would steal horses, run them off and sell them to buyers who 
knew they were purchasing stolen property. For years this gang flourished. 
Another mode of securing stock was the following: A great many estrays 
would be taken up and advertised. In every instance some member of the 
Crunk gang would claim the property under oath and take it away. The 
leader of these outlaws stood trial for nineteen different murders, and 
was acquitted each time. He could always prove an alibi. His assistants 
would come in and swear him clear every time. He was an intimate 
acquaintance and on friendly terms with the James boys, and related many 
trips that he had made with these noted and desperate men in their work of 
"seeking revenge," as he styled it. He has no love for a colored man, and 
as he works now in the prison with a number, pointing to them one day he 
said to me, "I wish I had a five-dollar note for each one of them black 
skunks I have killed since the wa'." He said he considered "a 'niggah' 
that wouldn't vote the way decent people wanted him to should not vote at 
all." Said he: "I know of a number that will not vote any mo'. I saw them 
pass in their last ballot." "The most money, made the easiest and 
quickest, was made by our men," said he, "as moonshiners in Montague 
County. We carried on this business successfully for a long time, but 
finally the U. S. marshals became too much for us, and we had to close up 
shop. We had several engagements with them; men were dropped on both 
sides, until finally we concluded to quit the business and return to our 
old trade of stealing cattle and horses. The way our moonshiner's nest was 
found out was very romantic. A young woman came into the district, and 
tried to get up a school, seemingly, but failed. I guess she did not try 
very hard to get scholars. At any rate she remained with a family in the 
neighborhood for some time, whom she claimed were her relatives. One of my 
men fell desperately in love with this young woman. He would be out riding 
with her, and, as none of us suspected anything, he would at times bring 
her over to our camp, and we taught her how to make whisky. She seemed 
deeply interested in the business. I told the boys several times that I 
was a little afraid of that 'gal,' but they laughed at me, and so I said, 
'I can stand it if the rest of you can.' She even went so far as to become 
familiarly acquainted with all of us. We all got to thinking that she was 
a nice young woman, and her lover simply thought he had secured the finest 
prize in the world. But alas! At the proper time she fixed our camp. She 
proved to be a female detective from New York city. She gave away our 
fellows, and soon we were surrounded by a posse of U. S. marshals and 
their deputies. Her lover was captured and is now in the Texas 
penitentiary. Several of our boys were killed or wounded, and those of us 
who escaped made up our minds to go back to the old cattle trade." "What 
are you going to do, Doc.," said I, "when you get out of this place?" 
"Going back to Texas; hunt up the boys, and see if we can't find some more 
horses and cattle. One thing is certain I will never go to another 
penitentiary. I will swallow a dose of cold lead first." 

And, with this, the famous outlaw went off to his room in the mine to get 
out his task of coal to keep from being punished. Of the nine hundred 
criminals in the prison, probably there is not one of them who has seen so 
much of a life of crime as the famous Doc. Crunk. 

EIGHT TIMES A CONVICT 

Thomas A. Currens.--One of the most unique characters to be found in the 
striped ranks of the Kansas penitentiary is that of the man who is herein 
described. This convict is fifty-two years of age, and a native of 
Kentucky. His life, save a short time spent in the army, has been one of 
crime. He was a courageous lad. Leaving his home at the early age of ten 
years, thus deprived of all parental protection and restraints, he formed 
bad associations, and soon his future career was in the direction of 
crime. The greater part of his boyhood was spent in city and county jails 
and reform schools. At the age of twenty-two years he was convicted on a 
charge of horse-stealing and sent to the Frankfort, Ky., penitentiary for 
six years. After serving four years he was pardoned by the Legislature. He 
remained out of prison for the two following years. We next find him in 
"limbo" in Indiana. He was arrested, and twenty different charges were 
preferred against him. By pleading guilty to the count of stealing a 
wagon, the court dismissed the other cases and gave him a sentence of 
three years at hard labor. He was taken to the State's prison. Shortly 
after his arrival he was put to work running an engine during the night-
time. After five months had passed away, Thomas, reaching the conclusion 
that he did not enjoy watching over an engine during the lonely hours of 
the night, determined to escape. Stealing an old suit of clothes belonging 
to an officer, which he drew on over his suit of stripes, he scaled the 
walls and was once more a free man. It was a cold winter's night. After 
traveling some distance through the woods his feet were almost frozen. 
Daylight was now approaching. He must find a place of hiding during the 
coming day. In a few hours he would be missed at the penitentiary. The 
alarm being given, the usual reward being offered, scores would be on the 
lookout for him. Approaching a farmyard, he sat down and cut up his 
striped pantaloons and wrapped up his almost frozen feet. He then crawled 
under a hay-stack. In this place he came near being discovered, for in a 
couple of hours the farmer came out to feed his cattle, and as chance 
would have it took the hay from the stack under which the convict was 
secreted. As he was removing the hay, several times prongs of the fork 
sank deep enough to penetrate the flesh of the runaway. He endured this 
pitchfork probing heroically while it lasted, and was thankful when the 
cattle had received sufficient provender. Here he remained until 
nightfall. He did not renew his journey until the farmer and his family 
had retired and were in the land of dreams. Almost starved, uninvited he 
enters the kitchen and helps himself to what he can find. His hunger being 
appeased, his old habit of taking things that he should leave alone, 
forced him into the bed-room of the sleeping farmer, and forced his hand 
into the pocket of the aforesaid granger's pantaloons, from which he took 
his pocketbook containing twenty dollars in money. He was now prepared for 
traveling. Continuing his journey for several miles, becoming very tired, 
he decided not to walk any longer as there was so much good horse-flesh in 
the vicinity. Near the hour of midnight, this weary tramp entered the 
farmyard of a wealthy old Indiana farmer, and going into the barn led out 
one of his fleetest steeds. Once more astride a good horse, Thomas felt 
like a free man. During the rest of the night he made good headway, and by 
the morning sun was up the rider and horse were many miles away from the 
place where first they met. Entering a small village, the horse was fed 
and nicely groomed. At the same time Thomas partook of a good breakfast, 
which he heartily enjoyed. The fates seemed to favor the man of crime. It 
is an old saying: "The devil looks after his own." A horse-buyer had 
arrived in the village a few days before. When the noon train came 
whistling up to the station, the convict having converted his horse into 
one hundred and twenty-five dollars, purchased a new suit of clothes, a 
silk hat, and a pair of kid gloves, and, representing himself to be a 
traveling salesman, getting aboard, soon reaches Chicago, where, soon 
after his arrival, he joined a band of crooks. He was never discovered by 
the Indiana prison officials. Fifteen years after his escape, he got a 
"pal" to wire the authorities of the Indiana penitentiary, and inquired of 
them what reward they would pay for the return of Thomas A. Currens, a 
convict who had effected his escape many years before. An answer came that 
if he would remain out of the State, he would never be molested. 

Wandering about several months after his escape, he arrives in Sedalia, 
Missouri. Among other little articles he was accused of stealing at this 
place was an eight hundred dollar barouche, the property of Judge 
Ferguson, of that place. Again this noted thief was arrested and confined 
in the county jail to await trial. He was not anxious for trial, for he 
knew the "yawning pen" was waiting to receive him. For eleven months he 
remained in this jail, having his trial continued from term to term. When 
his case was called up for the first time he feigned sickness. The next 
time one of the principal witnesses was absent, and thus for eleven months 
his case was continued. Thomas now yearned for freedom. How to get out of 
that jail was the problem. Another term of court would soon convene. He 
had no grounds for further continuance. Fortune favored him. At this time 
a man was arrested and placed in the same cell with Currens. The face of 
the new arrival was covered over with blotches. The next morning Currens 
in a confidential manner stated to the sheriff that his cell mate had the 
small-pox. Being interrogated the prisoner said he had been exposed 
recently, and a physician being called, on examination it was decided to 
remove him to the pest-house. Currens was sent along on account of his 
exposure to the contagion. An officer was placed in charge of the two jail-
birds at the pest-house. During the night following their arrival at this 
out-of-the-way place, the officer was pounced upon by the two desperate 
criminals, bound hand and foot, and with a large cork placed between his 
teeth, was gently laid on the floor. His gold watch and chain, and all the 
loose change he had with him were taken from his person, and the two small-
pox patients walked forth into the darkness and gloom of that night 
unattended by any friendly official. 

Thomas never believed in criminals traveling in groups, so he bade his 
companion an affectionate farewell. Wending his way to the southwestern 
portion of the State he was arrested for additional crimes and 
misdemeanors. Knowing that the officers had not sufficient evidence 
against him he bravely stood trial and was acquitted. However, as he was 
going forth from his prison cell a free man, much to his surprise, an 
official from Sedalia put in an appearance and took him back to the scene 
of his small-pox escapade. At his trial he was convicted and received a 
sentence of six and one-half years. He now took a cell in the Jefferson 
City penitentiary. After four years of imprisonment this notorious 
criminal makes an application for pardon, setting up an alibi as the basis 
of the application, and succeeded in influencing the Governor to believe 
the testimony, and was set at liberty, promising that he would leave the 
State of Missouri, never to return. The conscience of the said Thomas 
never troubled him over failing to keep his word with the officers of the 
law. He did not leave Missouri, as he agreed, but betook himself to the 
pleasant little city of Carthage. Scarcely three moths had elapsed before 
he found himself again in durance vile for stealing horses. He was tried, 
convicted and returned to Jefferson City penitentiary under a sentence of 
six years. He took an appeal to the Supreme Court. The judgment of the 
lower court was reversed. He was taken back to Carthage for another trial, 
and was convicted the second time, and again received a sentence of six 
years at hard labor in the penitentiary. As before, he appealed the case, 
and the governor, thinking the State was getting the worst of the matter, 
and that a large amount of costs were being made, pardoned the convict 
under another promise that he would leave the State. Currens, now 
following Greeley's advice, turns his eyes toward the setting sun. He 
crosses the Big Muddy, and plants his feet upon the sacred soil of Kansas. 
He makes a raid upon Lawrence, breaks into a house, and is caught in the 
act of trying to carry off the household goods. A courteous policeman 
takes charge of him--now deeply steeped in crime--soon landing him behind 
the bars. In the presence of the court he next makes a solemn statement 
that, prior to this, he had been a Sunday-school teacher; that misfortune 
had overtaken him, and he was forced to enter some friend's kitchen or 
starve. Those who listened to his pathetic appeal inform me that the stern 
judge was moved to tears, and that while he had contemplated giving the 
wayward Thomas six years, he made it three. This was the first 
introduction of our hero to the principal brown stone front of Lansing. It 
was not long after his arrival at the Kansas penitentiary before he gained 
the confidence of the authorities, and was made a "trusty." He had an easy 
place given him. 

His three years' sentence soon passed away. His term was reduced three 
months because of his excellent conduct while in prison. Bearing with him 
the good wishes of a majority of the prison officials, and followed by the 
prayers of the pious chaplain, he goes forth to engage in life's battle 
again. Thomas could not fully enjoy the sweets of liberty unless on 
horseback. He makes his way to the capital of Kansas, and engages at once 
in the dangerous business of stealing horses. He had not continued this 
course long before he was arrested, tried, convicted and returned to 
Lansing for five years more. Thomas had not been in the Kansas 
penitentiary the second time but a few months, when he called upon the 
chaplain, and with tears rolling down his face confessed he was a great 
sinner, promised to lead a different life, and urged the chaplain to pray 
for him. Delighted at the prospect of snatching such a brand from the 
eternal burning, the man of God took Thomas into a private room, and the 
two knelt down. The chaplain offered a fervent prayer that the loving 
Father would take to His embrace the returning, sinful prodigal. At the 
conclusion of this prayer the chaplain called upon the "sin sick soul" to 
pray for himself. This was an unexpected movement by the chaplain, and 
Thomas was hardly prepared for the emergency. However, he prayed. He was 
converted on the spot. At least, the chaplain thought so. Strange as it 
may appear to my readers, instead of this noted convict having to remain 
and serve out his five years' sentence, through the influence of this 
minister he secured a pardon. At the expiration of eighteen months the 
shrewd convict was a free man. That chaplain was "worked." 

The fortunate Thomas next visits Atchison. A farmer came to the city one 
day, driving a beautiful horse. The temptation was too great, and the man 
who had been an inmate of a penitentiary seven different times followed 
the unsuspecting farmer to his home, and that night rode away the coveted 
prize. The Atchison County Vigilance Committee traced and soon caught the 
guilty horse-thief, landing him in Atchison County's beautiful jail. 
Shortly after, Thomas had an interview with the county attorney, and it 
was agreed by and between them, if the horse-thief would plead guilty, he 
should be let off with one year in the penitentiary. To this the grave 
offender agreed, and, presenting himself before the tribunal of justice, 
Hon. W. D. Gilbert presiding, plead guilty. The county attorney being 
absent, the court gave Thomas, instead of twelve months, a year and a half 
at hard labor. I met him in the penitentiary a few days ago, and learned 
that he is putting forth an effort to secure a pardon on the ground that 
had he not been promised only a one year's sentence, he would have stood 
trial and been acquitted. He claims that he should be given his liberty 
when his one year is up. 

Thomas was out of the penitentiary long enough to go into the army and get 
a bullet through his ankle, and therefor draws a pension of twenty-four 
dollars per month. He takes good care of his money, and has enough on hand 
to enable him to get a good start in life when he obtains his freedom. He 
is a well-behaved prisoner. He is true to his pals in crime, never having 
been known to turn State's evidence. He has a mania for taking things that 
do not belong to him. He claims that he never would have been caught the 
last time had not his housekeeper "given him away." The two had a domestic 
quarrel, and in her efforts to get even, she told the authorities of his 
theft. After his trial and conviction, womanlike, she repented in 
sackcloth and ashes, but Thomas would have no more to do with her. Later, 
she went over into Missouri, where she has since died. One of the first 
things Thomas will do on regaining his liberty will be to secure another 
housekeeper, and probably the the next thing will be to steal some 
farmer's horse. 

This convict is now serving out his eighth term in the penitentiary. It is 
fearful to contemplate these human wrecks. A wasted life, golden 
opportunities unimproved, a dark and dismal future will constitute the 
death knell of such fallen beings. Young man, remember the life of this 
convict, and shun such a course. 

SKILLED LABOR 

William Hurst.--Some of the narratives in this book read like the story of 
Aladin's Lamp, and we have no doubt some of them so reading are absolutely 
true, while for the Lamp story nothing is claimed. For many ages men, and 
particularly those engaged in the literary field of thought, have 
discanted on the baseness of the passion of jealousy. There is no sense in 
being jealous. You are either loved or you are not, and hence the absolute 
foolishness of indulging the passion. 

William Hurst, whose history we now relate, is a man of rough personal 
appearance, Irish descent, and his age is now about fifty-five. Coming to 
Kansas at an early day, he settled in Doniphan County, and there courted 
and subsequently married one of Doniphan County's pretty girls. Time went 
along as usual, and in a few years there were several little cherubs that 
blessed the household of Hurst. But, as sometimes happens, the husband 
began to drink, love grew colder, the necessities of the family hourly 
grew greater, poverty in all its hideousness came to curse the home once 
so happy. The poor, distracted wife and mother did all she could, by 
taking in washing and ironing, to prevent the starvation of her little 
ones. The husband through his bleared eyes imagined he could see that 
other men were too friendly to his wife. He charged her with 
unfaithfulness to the marriage vows. She denied the charge. Only incensed 
by this he would beat and mistreat her out of all reason. For protection 
she had him arrested, intending to bind him over to keep the peace, but on 
the advice of officers, who are so full of it, she withdrew the charge and 
he was set at liberty. For a few days he was quiet, but soon the red 
liquor poured down his throat, and like a mountain devil stirred all the 
dark passions of his lost and ruined nature. He attempted to debauch his 
own daughter, and was only prevented by the physical force of the ever-
watchful mother. The father (great God! is such a human being entitled to 
the endearing term?) turned upon her, and again, as had often happened, 
abused, kicked and mistreated her in a most shameful manner. She had him 
arrested a second time with the intention of binding him over to keep the 
peace. He pretended, while in charge of the officer, that he must see his 
wife, and together they started toward the hovel where they lived. They 
met the wife and mother at the outskirts of the little village, had some 
words, and before the officer could prevent it, Hurst sprang upon the 
woman and cut her throat from ear to ear jumped away, and made good his 
escape to the woods, the officer, meanwhile, deeming it more important to 
aid the woman, not knowing, for a moment, that the cutting was fatal. That 
fact was very soon apparent. Others were called who took charge of the 
body, and the officer struck out in hot pursuit of the murderer. He was 
followed to the woods a few miles from White Cloud, in Doniphan County, 
there overtaken and conducted to the county seat, tried, convicted of 
murder in the first degree, sentenced to be hung, sent to the penitentiary 
to await the final execution, which, in our State, never comes. He 
remained in there about twenty months when he became insane, and was sent 
to the asylum; was there about three and a half years, when he was 
pronounced cured and returned to the penitentiary. He is now insane a 
second time. You have all in your younger-days read the story of the 
maniac that paced his cell, repeating "once one is two," and now comes the 
queerest part of this narrative. Hurst seems anxious to talk to every one 
that calls, and especially anxious to shake hands; but if you say anything 
to him, or ask any question, his only answer is "skilled labor," and keeps 
on repeating these words as he walks up and down his place of confinement. 

Who knows but the infinite God has destroyed reason to prevent the power 
of darkness over this poor, unfortunate being. Or who knows but the 
demands of justice are met in the terrible conscience blows which have 
staggered and shattered that which originally was in the image of God. 

LIFE INSURANCE AND MURDER 

McNutt and Winner.--These are two of the most noted criminals in the 
penitentiary, rendered so because of the dastardly crime committed by 
them, and the high social relations of the latter. They came from Wichita, 
and have been in prison almost fifteen years. McNutt is a fine artist and 
painter. He had his paint shop in Wichita, and was doing a very successful 
business. Winner was his associate, and the two plotted and carried into 
execution the following horrible crime: McNutt got his life insured for $5,
000, his wife being his beneficiary. It was a dark, stormy night when 
McNutt and Winner enticed into this paint shop an unsuspecting mutual 
friend. Here they murdered him in cold blood. They then set fire to the 
paint shop and took to flight. After the fire was put out, the charred 
remains of the murdered man were found, and supposed to be those of 
McNutt, the owner of the building. The wife, cognizant of the awful deed 
which her husband had committed, followed the remains of the murdered man 
to the grave, dressed in her garb of mourning. 

Shortly after this she applied for the insurance money on her husband's 
life. Some doubts were raised as to the identity of the body. Detectives 
were employed to make an investigation of the case. They made use of a 
deception, and thus got the woman to confess. They told her that they had 
found an accomplice who had confessed the crime, and was in jail. They 
promised the wife that if she would tell the truth they would not 
prosecute her. She consented. She narrated the sickening events as they 
had been plotted in her presence and under her roof. Officers were now 
despatched to find the murderers. McNutt was found in Missouri plowing 
corn. Winner was found near Wichita. They were brought to trial, 
convicted, and sent to prison for life. Winner was unmarried at the time 
of his conviction. His father and only brother are very wealthy, and 
living in Kansas City. I have been told they offer $20,000 for Winner's 
pardon. McNutt is a very useful man in the prison. He has charge of the 
painting department. He has done some fine work on the walls of the prison 
chapel, covering them with paintings of the Grecian goddesses. Both of 
these prisoners hope to receive pardons. Whether they will regain their 
liberty is a question which the future alone can answer. 

THE HOG-THIEF 

In the coal mines, as before stated, the convicts are permitted to 
converse with each other. I improved this opportunity of acquiring the 
histories of the five hundred criminals with whom I daily worked, eight 
hundred feet below the surface. I would talk with a fellow prisoner, and 
get the details of his crime as we sat together in the darkness. 
Understanding "short-hand," I would go to my cell in the evening and jot 
down what I had learned during the day. I had no fears of any one reading 
my notes, as I was the only short-hand writer about the institution. Day 
after day I kept this up, until I had material sufficient of this nature 
to fill a book of more than two thousand pages. My readers should also 
know, that a convict will tell a fellow-prisoner the details of his crime, 
when he would not think of saying a word about it to others. As a rule 
they deny their crimes to those who are not, like themselves, criminals, 
pleading innocence. It is not difficult for a prisoner to get the 
confidence of a fellowprisoner. In fact, criminals love to unburden their 
minds to those who possess their confidence. The truth is, convicts have 
related their crimes so often to me that it became tiresome. They say it 
relieves them to communicate their troubles. Pinkerton, of Chicago, the 
prince of detectives stated at one time that a criminal could not keep his 
secret. It is true. I know it to be a fact. It has been demonstrated a 
hundred times in my association with these convicts in the Kansas 
penitentiary. Securing their confidence, these men have not only told me 
of the crimes for which they have been sent to prison, but also of crimes 
that they have committed, and, in the commission of which, they had not 
been detected, which, if I should make them known, would cause a number of 
them to remain in the penitentiary the rest of their lives. I am not in 
the detective business, and will therefore keep what was confided to me. I 
have met but few criminals in the mines that would not admit their guilt. 
I have thought in many cases, convicts received sentences too severe, and 
not at all commensurate with the crime committed. I have met a few men, 
however, who would stubbornly deny their guilt and stoutly affirm their 
innocence. I have worked upon these men day after day, and never got 
anything out of them but that they were innocent. At times, in tears, they 
would talk of their sufferings, and wonder if there was a just God 
silently permitting the innocent to suffer for the guilty. I am satisfied 
these men are innocent, and they have my sympathy. They are exceptions. 
Others, while admitting their guilt on general principles, and assenting 
to the justice of imprisonment, yet maintain that they were innocent of 
the particular crime for which they stand convicted. I trust the reader 
will not get his sympathies wrought too high, as comparatively few angels 
find their way into modern prisons. I will give you a few illustrations. 
These are just samples of scores of histories in my possession. 

A hog-thief worked in the mines with me for a few days. His dose was five 
years at hard labor. He had stolen an old sandy female swine with six 
pigs. I asked him if he was really guilty of carrying on the pork 
business. "Yes," said he, with a low chuckle, "I have stolen pigs all my 
life, and my daddy and mammy before me were in the same business. I got 
caught. They never did." He then related the details of many thefts. He 
made a considerable amount of money in his wicked traffic, which he had 
squandered, and was now penniless. Money secured in a criminal manner 
never does the possessor any good. I asked him if he had enough of the hog 
business, and if it was his intention to quit it, and when he got out of 
the pen to earn an honest living. "No," he replied, "as long as there is a 
hog to steal and I am a free man, I propose to steal him." Imprisonment 
failed to reform this convict. Although a hog-thief he was an excellent 
singer and a prominent member of the prison choir. 

There are many murderers in the mines. In fact, nearly all the life men 
are there. Some of them speak of their crimes with a bravado simply 
astonishing, showing their utter depravity. Others, admitting their guilt, 
say but little of details. The following will give the reader some idea of 
the stories that greeted my ears almost daily, and led me to conclude that 
the coal mines of the penitentiary are not inhabited exclusively by Sunday-
school scholars. This cruel and heartless wretch had murdered an old man 
and his wife. The old people lived on a farm adjoining the one where this 
criminal, who was then a hired man, worked, It was the talk of the 
neighborhood that they had money. This human fiend undertook to secure 
their "loose change," as he called it. He procured a shotgun and an axe, 
and, in the dead hour of night, went to the house of the old people. He 
forced open the kitchen door and went in. He had also brought with him a 
lantern. He quietly stole to the bedside of the innocent and aged 
sleepers. He had no use for his lantern as the moonlight shone through the 
window opposite and fell upon the faces of the unconscious victims. 
Setting his gun down by the side of the bed, so that he could have it 
handy for use, if necessary, he took the axe and struck each of his 
victims a blow upon the head. He said, with a demoniac chuckle, that it 
was more difficult to kill a woman than a man, as it required two blows 
from the axe to kill the woman, while one was sufficient for the man. He 
then ransacked the house, and, between some blankets underneath the straw-
bed upon which the old folks were sleeping, he found a small bag, which 
contained some gold, silver and paper money, amounting to over one 
thousand dollars. In a cold-blooded manner he further stated (and as I pen 
his words my blood nearly freezes in my veins), in order to search the bed 
upon which his victims were lying, it became necessary for him to remove 
the bodies; so he lifted them up one at a time, and placed them upon the 
floor, face downward, for the reason, as he said, that their eyes bulged 
out and seemed to stare at him. 

After securing the money he fled and returned to the farm where he worked. 
He slept in the barn, as is very often the case with farm laborers during 
the summer season. Entering the barn he procured an old bucket, places his 
money in it, covers the top with a piece of board, and buries it in the 
earth east of the barn. He also buried the axe near the bucket. He said 
there were clots of blood and hair on the axe, and he thought best to put 
it out of sight. He then returned to the barn, and, strange to say, soon 
fell asleep and slept sweetly until morning. He went to work the next day 
as usual, and his mind was taken up more by thinking of what a good time 
he would have after a little, spending that money, than in worrying over 
the terrible crime he had committed. He reasoned that the money would do 
the old people no good, but that he could use it to advantage. 

The discovery of the murder was made the next day about noon. The alarm 
was given. The whole country was aroused and excited over the commission 
of such a horrible crime two innocent, helpless and highly-respected old 
people murdered for their money. A couple of tramps had passed through the 
neighborhood the day before, and, of course, everybody thought it must 
have been the tramps that committed the murder. The object now was to find 
them. They were overtaken the next day and brought back to the scene of 
the murder. They both stoutly denied any knowledge of the crime. They were 
separated, and each was told that the other had confessed. This was done 
that a confession might be forced from them. They continued in their 
affirmation of innocence. They were then taken to the woods near by and 
each hung up until life was almost extinct, but they still denied the 
commission of the crime. They were at length taken to the county seat, not 
far distant, and, on a preliminary examination, were bound over to appear 
at the next term of the District Court, and put in the county jail. The 
majority of the people believed that the perpetrators of this crime had 
been arrested and were now in durance vile; the excitement soon passed 
away, and very little was said about it. 

"It was at this time," said my informant, that I made the mistake of my 
life. I had worked hard on the farm for several months, and thought I 
would take a lay off. I felt it was due me. I now made up my mind to have 
a time. I went to town and soon fell in with a harlot. I got to drinking. 
I am very fond of strong drink; it has been my ruin. I became intoxicated, 
and during this time I must have betrayed my secret to this wicked woman. 
A large reward had been offered for the murderer of these old people. This 
woman who kept me company having thus obtained my secret, went to the city 
marshal and made an arrangement that for half of the reward offered she 
would show him the man who had committed the crime. This was agreed to. 
While I was drinking and having a good time with my 'fast woman' three men 
were on the road to the farm where I had been working. They found and dug 
up the old bucket containing what money I had left in it, and the axe. All 
this I learned at the trial. I was arrested and bound over to the District 
Court on a charge of murder in the first degree. The officers had to keep 
me secreted for some time, as there was strong talk of lynching. In due 
time I had my trial and got a life sentence." 

I asked him if he had any hope of pardon. 

"Oh yes," said he, "in the course of eight or ten years I will be able to 
get out once more." 

"What became of the tramps that came so near being compelled to suffer the 
penalty of your crime?" 

"They were released as soon as I was arrested, a snug little sum of money 
was raised for them, a new suit of clothes purchased, and they went on 
their way rejoicing, thinking themselves creatures of luck." 

As we sat together in a secluded place in the mines, with the faint light 
of my miner's lamp falling on his hideous face, the cool, deliberate 
manner in which he related his atrocious doings, the fiendish spirit he 
displayed, led me to regard him as one among the most debased and hardened 
criminals I had met in the mines--a human being utterly devoid of moral 
nature--a very devil in the form of man! 

A NOTED COUNTERFEITER 

One of my companions in the mines, and with whom I worked a couple of 
weeks, lying almost side by side with him as we dug coal in the same room, 
was a noted counterfeiter. He had plied his trade for many years 
successfully. Whisky finally sent him to the penitentiary. If professional 
criminals would only let strong drink alone not half so many of them would 
get caught. They get drunk, and in this condition expose themselves. We 
don't mean to use this as an argument against the prohibitory law! It is, 
perhaps, proper for them to drink. This counterfeiter makes his dies out 
of plaster paris. They are very simple and easy of construction. He 
explained to me the manner in which they were made. I would give his 
method of making these dies were it not for the fact that some smart boy 
getting hold of this book and learning the method would undertake the 
business, and as a result his good old mother would be going to the 
penitentiary to visit him. When this counterfeiter would run short of 
funds he would purchase the necessary material, go into the woods on a 
dark night, and in a very short time would have plenty of bogus money. He 
taught the trade to his brother and to some bosom friends, and it was not 
long until they had a regular organized gang. Getting drunk one day one of 
them displayed too many shining new pieces of money. He was "spotted." A 
detective was put on his track. He was traced to the headquarters of the 
gang, and in a few hours thereafter the entire posse were locked up in 
jail on a charge of counterfeiting and passing "bogus money." They now 
formed plans for their escape from jail. They adopted the plan of seizing 
the jailor, as he brought in supper, thrusting him into a cell, locking 
him in, and then making good their escape. They made the attempt. The 
jailor was locked in the cell according to the programme, but so much 
noise was made in the struggle that the sheriff put in an appearance with 
a loaded revolver. The prisoners made a dash for liberty. A brother of my 
informant was killed; another of the gang was wounded and dragged back 
into his cell in the jail; the others got away. It was in the winter time. 
The succeeding night was extremely cold. Wandering about all night in the 
snow, their feet were frozen, and they were easily recaptured the next 
day. They had their trial, and all were sent to the penitentiary. They got 
eight years apiece, three for counterfeiting and five for breaking jail. 
In this manner was broken up one of the worst counterfeit gangs of the 
West. Whisky has trapped many a criminal. There are but very few that do 
not "indulge." In fact, I cannot now recall a single professional criminal 
but would take a drop if he could get it. They must have whisky to nerve 
them for their iniquitous business. When the crime is committed they drink 
again to soothe their wounded consciences." 

YELLOW BACK LITERATURE 

A boy was brought into the hospital one day while I was there, whose 
history is worth relating, as it shows the fatal effects of bad literature 
upon the human mind, and to what sad results it may lead. This youth had 
become suddenly ill in the mines, and had to be assisted from his place of 
work to the ward for the sick. He was very ill for several days, but began 
to grow convalescent. An opportunity presenting itself, I got into 
conversation with him, and he told me the history of his crime. He was an 
orphan. At the death of both his parents in the East he had come to Kansas 
to make his home with an uncle. This relative was very kind, and after a 
time adopted the boy. He had a pleasant home, and his prospects for the 
future were bright. How often is it the case that the sky of the future 
becomes overcast. This young criminal was a constant reader of the Life of 
Jesse James, and kindred literature, until he made up his mind to go on 
the "war path" and become Jesse James No. 2. With this in view, he 
provided himself with two large revolvers. One night, after all the 
household had retired, he crept stealthily into the bed-room of one of the 
hired men and stole seventy dollars. He goes to the barn and takes one of 
his uncle's horses and starts for the Indian Territory. The uncle was 
awakened an hour later on account of some unusual sound at the barn, and 
going thither discovered that one of his best horses was gone, and also 
that his nephew was away. He got together several of his neighbors and 
started in pursuit, and the next day, about noon, the youthful thief was 
overtaken and surrounded. The uncle rode up to him and began to question 
him as to his strange conduct, when the boy drew one of his revolvers, 
and, pointing at his uncle, shot him dead. He was going to play Jesse 
James to the last. When he saw his uncle fall dead from his horse, now 
realizing what he had done, the bravado spirit forsook him, and he began 
to quake with fear. The neighbors closed in upon him and soon took his 
firearms from him. In due time he had his trial and was sent to the 
penitentiary for life. 

Bad books are our worst companions. I have narrated the history of this 
young murderer, and now urge my boy readers to let yellow back literature 
alone. It wrecked the future of this youth, and what it did for one it may 
do for another. 

A YOUTHFUL MURDERER 

Willie Sells.--In the prison, this convict is called the "baby convict." 
When he came to the penitentiary in 1886, he was but sixteen years of age, 
and in appearance much younger. One of the most sickening murders 
committed in Kansas is charged to the account of this boy. His home is in 
Neosho County. His father, a prosperous farmer, lived happily with his 
wife and three children. Willie was the oldest of the children. Early one 
morning he rushed from his home and made his way to the nearest neighbor, 
about half a mile distant, and with his face and hands covered with blood 
conveyed the startling intelligence that the entire family had been 
murdered, and he only had escaped. Soon an excited crowd of neighbors 
gathered at the home of the murdered victims, and the sight that was 
presented has but few parallels in the fatal and fearful results of crime. 
The victims had been murdered while asleep. In one room lay the father and 
mother of the youthful murderer, on their bed of death. Their heads had 
been split open with an axe that lay nearby, and the blood of one mingled 
with that of the other. In an adjoining bed-room, covered with their own 
life's blood, were found the little brother and sister. They had been 
foully murdered with the same instrument that had caused the death of the 
parents. Who was the monster that had committed this terrible and 
atrocious act? A search of the premises disclosed the fact that robbery 
was not the motive. No property was missing. The survivor was questioned 
again and again. He said that a burly-looking tramp had effected an 
entrance into the house through a window during the night; that he being 
awake at the moment, and becoming alarmed, hid himself, and, unperceived, 
beheld his father and mother, his brother and sister, thus foully 
murdered. A thorough and extensive search was made, but no clue could be 
obtained that would warrant the arrest of any one. 

Finally, the surviving child was taken into custody. It was claimed that 
his statements of the circumstances connected with the crime varied, and 
in several instances were contradictory. The evidence introduced at his 
trial was purely circumstantial. After much deliberation and hesitancy, 
the jury decided on a verdict of guilty of murder in the first degree, and 
this child criminal was sentenced to imprisonment for life. 

He conducts himself well in the prison. On account of his extreme youth he 
is given a great deal of liberty. It is with great reluctance that he 
talks about his crime, and longs for freedom. 

Is this boy guilty? This question has never been satisfactorily answered 
in the affirmative. I am informed there was a grave doubt in the mind of 
the judge who tried the case and imposed the sentence as to the guilt of 
this alleged youthful offender. A chill of horror creeps over us as we 
think of the members of this family weltering in each other's blood. 
Should he be innocent, it would be awful for this boy to remain in the 
Kansas Hell for a lifetime. 

A MOST REMARKABLE CASE 

William Baldwin furnishes the history of one of the most remarkable cases 
in the criminal annals of Kansas. He was charged with the atrocious crime 
of murdering his own sister. William and his sister were the only children 
of a widowed but wealthy mother. It is claimed that the son had received 
his portion of the estate prior to this sad occurrence, and that by taking 
the life of his sister he would become the sole heir of the Baldwin 
estate, which was supposed to be very large. Mary, the beautiful and 
accomplished sister was discovered dead one morning lying upon her bed in 
her chamber with a chloroform bottle at her side. A panel of the outside 
door of the house was found removed. Immediately upon the discovery of the 
murder it was supposed that the house had been burglarized, and that the 
thief had committed the murder. Upon an examination of the premises by the 
proper officials it was found that nothing had been taken from the house. 
In looking for a motive that would prompt a person to commit such a 
fiendish act, and it being known that William Baldwin, the brother, would 
be the sole heir in case of the death of his sister, he was at once 
suspected of having committed the crime. His arrest was prompt and 
immediate. He was bound over on preliminary examination, and in due course 
of time had his trial and was convicted. He was sentenced to the 
penitentiary for one year, at the expiration of which he was to be hung 
until dead. His case was taken on appeal to the Supreme Court of the 
State. Baldwin, in the meantime, was removed to the penitentiary. Here he 
was placed in the tailor shop, where he has remained since. He is a very 
obedient prisoner, and is highly esteemed by the prison officials. The 
judgment in his case upon hearing in the Supreme Court of the State was 
affirmed. From the Supreme Court of Kansas his case was taken by appeal to 
the Supreme Court of the United States; in this highest tribunal, the 
judgments of the lower courts were affirmed, and the fate of William 
Baldwin is forever sealed so far as the judiciary of the country is 
concerned. If he is permitted again to inhale the air of freedom, it must 
be through the clemency of the pardoning board and of the governor of 
Kansas. During one hundred and ten years of American jurisprudence, there 
had been only two similar cases taken to the Supreme Court of the United 
States. But a few days before my release I was talking with Billy Baldwin 
in the penitentiary, and he seemed to be very hopeful that after a time he 
would secure his pardon. 

His wife is one of the most highly respected ladies of Atchison; is true, 
faithful and devoted to her husband. She has enlisted the sympathies of 
the entire community in her behalf, because of her youth and great 
bereavement. His aged mother, who has been called upon to wade through 
deep waters of affliction because of the great calamity that has befallen 
her son and daughter, will also exert great influence in getting signers 
to a petition for his pardon. 

The question has often been asked me, because of my intimate relation with 
Baldwin in the penitentiary, whether I believed that he is guilty. I can 
answer as to my own belief. I have watched him carefully as I have the 
other fifty-five lifetime convicts, and I am free to say that I do not 
believe that William Baldwin ever committed the crime of killing his 
sister for the malicious desire of obtaining filthy lucre, or the estate 
of his sister. He does not conduct himself as scores of other criminals 
who have confessed their guilt. In conversation with him, while I was "in 
stripes," he has time and again told me, with tears rolling down his 
cheeks, that he was innocent of the terrible crime of which he stands 
accused, and that there was no brother had greater love for his sister 
than he, and that he had such faith in an overruling Providence that 
eventually he would be exonerated from the crime; and that the real 
perpetrator would be made known. If he is innocent and it should ever be 
clearly proven, his will be one of the saddest and most mysterious events 
ever recorded. There is beyond doubt an unsolved mystery hanging over this 
remarkable case.