relentlessly, poisoning his life, filling it with mysterious terrors,
loading it with weariness and misery, making him wish for death, and that
he had a suicide’s courage; you will make of him another Wandering Jew;
he shall know no rest any more, no peace of mind, no placid sleep; you
shall shadow him, cling to him, persecute him, till you break his heart,
as he broke my father’s and mine.”
“I will obey, mother.”
“I believe it, my child. The preparations are all made; everything is
ready. Here is a letter of credit; spend freely, there is no lack of
money. At times you may need disguises. I have provided them; also some
other conveniences.” She took from the drawer of the typewriter-table
several squares of paper. They all bore these typewritten words:
$10,000 REWARD
It is believed that a certain man who is wanted in an Eastern state
is sojourning here. In 1880, in the night, he tied his young wife
to a tree by the public road, cut her across the face with a
cowhide, and made his dogs tear her clothes from her, leaving her
naked. He left her there, and fled the country. A blood-relative
of hers has searched for him for seventeen years. Address . . .
. . . . . . , . . . . . . . . . . , Post-office.
The above reward will be paid in cash to the person who will furnish
the seeker, in a personal interview, the criminal’s address.
“When you have found him and acquainted yourself with his scent, you will
go in the night and placard one of these upon the building he occupies,
and another one upon the post-office or in some other prominent place.
It will be the talk of the region. At first you must give him several
days in which to force a sale of his belongings at something approaching
their value. We will ruin him by and by, but gradually; we must not
impoverish him at once, for that could bring him to despair and injure
his health, possibly kill him.”
She took three or four more typewritten forms from the drawer–
duplicates–and read one:
. . . . . . . . . . , . . . . . . . . . . , 18.
. . .
To Jacob Fuller:
You have . . . . . . days in which to settle your affairs.
You will not be disturbed during that limit, which will expire at .
. . . . . M., on the . . . . . . of . . . . . . .
You must then MOVE ON. If you are still in the place after the
named hour, I will placard you on all the dead walls, detailing your
crime once more, and adding the date, also the scene of it, with all
names concerned, including your own. Have no fear of bodily injury
–it will in no circumstances ever be inflicted upon you. You
brought misery upon an old man, and ruined his life and broke his
heart. What he suffered, you are to suffer.
“You will add no signature. He must receive this before he learns of the
reward placard–before he rises in the morning–lest he lose his head and
fly the place penniless.”
“I shall not forget.”
“You will need to use these forms only in the beginning–once may he
enough. Afterward, when you are ready for him to vanish out of a place,
see that he gets a copy of this form, which merely says:
MOVE ON. You have . . . . . . days.
“He will obey. That is sure.”
III
Extracts from letters to the mother:
DENVER, April 3, 1897
I have now been living several days in the same hotel with Jacob Fuller.
I have his scent; I could track him through ten divisions of infantry and
find him. I have often been near him and heard him talk. He owns a good
mine, and has a fair income from it; but he is not rich. He learned
mining in a good way–by working at it for wages. He is a cheerful