The Dixie Widow

by Gilbert, Morris

  “Escape?” LeCompt whispered, and looked at the door. “You’re crazy!”

  Thad stared at him, saying, “I may be, Doctor, but I’m the richest crazy man you’ve seen lately. How many chances do you have to make all that money for one day’s work?”

  LeCompt jumped to his feet and started for the door. “I’ll have to ask you to wait here, Novak. The warden would like to talk with you, I’m sure.”

  He reached the door, expecting Thad to stop him, but when he heard no protest, LeCompt turned back to see the officer grinning.

  “Go get him, LeCompt,” Thad challenged.

  The man hesitated, then said angrily, “What kind of a fool do you take me for? You’re obviously here to trap me!”

  “You really believe they’re thinking a lot about that?” Thad asked. “How many bribes have been taken here at Libby? Just petty stuff, I’d guess. You’re not important enough to tempt.”

  “In that, you’re right,” he replied bitterly.

  Thad took advantage of the man’s admission and said quickly, “I’ll lay it all out for you, LeCompt. I’ve been talking to a couple of Winslow’s friends—Hale and Lee—and they tell me you want to get out of this place to become a real doctor.”

  “I never said that!”

  Thad ignored his statement, and indicated the money. “There’s your chance. You can shake off the stench of this place, go north and become a doctor.”

  “Impossible!”

  “Don’t you know about Winslow’s family? He’s the last son, and his father’s a rich man—a congressman. His grand-father’s well off—a retired naval hero. They can get you into any medical school in the country with a single word!”

  “That may be—but there’s no way it can be done. Nobody can steal a prisoner from here.”

  Thad noticed that the argument had shifted, that LeCompt was not arguing about the way but the means. He leaned forward. “If I show you a way to do it—will you do it?”

  “I tell you, it’s impossible!”

  “Guess you don’t want to get out of here and be a doctor as bad as Hale thought.” Thad reached down and scooped up the money.

  “Wait!” LeCompt put his hand out, and licked his lips. “I’d do anything to get out of here—but there’s just no way to get a prisoner out.”

  Thad lowered his voice to a whisper. “No way to get a living prisoner out, maybe—but dead ones go out all the time, don’t they?”

  LeCompt’s eyes bulged in surprise. “Yes, they do,” he admitted.

  “That’s the way Winslow goes out—in a coffin.”

  Again LeCompt looked at the money and shook his head. “I see what you’re getting at—but I can’t risk it.”

  Thad played his last card. He pulled the remaining sheaf of bills from the leather case. “My last offer, LeCompt—five hundred more. All I’ve got. Take it or leave it.”

  He added the money to the cash on the table and watched LeCompt’s face. He’s too much of a coward to do it, he thought.

  LeCompt sat there weighing the odds—the dangers versus the opportunity of leaving Libby, studying in clean classrooms, being called “Doctor.”

  Time seemed to crawl. Finally LeCompt spoke. “It’ll have to be soon. He might die any time.” He was a brilliant man in his own way and had already formulated a plan. “This is what you must tell Hale and Lee to do . . .”

  Thad left the office twenty minutes later. Half the bribe money was in LeCompt’s pocket, the rest to be handed over at the last minute of escape. Thad stalked down the hall, going immediately to the cell where the three were kept.

  Scanning the cell as he entered, he saw the other prisoners were in the outer room.

  “He’s better today, Novak,” Hale told Thad as he approached. Then he turned and said, “Davis, the lieutenant is here.”

  Novak squatted down so he could see the sick man’s face. The eyes were clear. “Good to see you feeling better,” Thad said.

  Davis focused his eyes on him a moment, then asked in a thin voice, “My grandfather sent you?”

  “That’s right. I’m the one your brother saved from a firing squad.”

  “I—remember.” Davis licked his lips. “If you see my grandfather, tell him I appreciate what he did.”

  Thad smiled faintly, lowering his voice. “You can tell him yourself, Winslow.”

  Davis shook his head. “I won’t make it. Too far gone.”

  “You’re leaving tomorrow.” When Winslow stared at him without comprehension, Thad said, “It’s all set up.”

  “You got him transferred?” Hale frowned. “I told you another prison wouldn’t be any good.”

  Thad turned to face the pair, studied them carefully, then murmured softly, “You two are leaving with him. That’s the only way we can pull it off.”

  “That’s crazy!” Lee said, trying to keep his voice down.

  “Just what LeCompt said,” Thad grinned. “Now, listen to me, because we get only one shot.”

  For over an hour, they rehearsed their part of the escape plan, and by the time the Confederate lieutenant rose to go there was hope in their eyes. Leaning close to Davis’s ear Thad whispered, “Next time I see you, you’ll be a free man!” He rose and quickly left the cell.

  Stunned silence enveloped the three. Finally Davis murmured, “It doesn’t matter so much about me—but I thank God that you fellows are getting out.”

  Hale shook his head. He was Presbyterian, and there was a stubborn look on his face as he gazed at the other two. “This is no accident,” he announced firmly. “God is in it.”

  “Amen!” Ezra added fervently.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  A NEW PATIENT

  A single candle flickered in the cell, emitting a pale light that did little to break the darkness. Some of the prisoners had gone to the larger outer hall to play cards, where a few lamps burned—lamps that were always turned off by the guards at ten.

  Hale forced himself to wait until he heard the guards come down the hall, enter and peer about with the aid of a lantern, then leave. That meant it was about midnight; the next cell check would not come for two hours. He steeled himself to lie still for another thirty minutes, listening to the groans of the men and going over the plan in his mind.

  “Perry—you reckon it’s about time?” Lee whispered, sitting up.

  Hale’s shadow was outlined against the wall where he hunched. “I think so. See if Davis is awake.”

  “I’m awake,” Davis acknowledged.

  Perry rose up cautiously, and Lee did likewise. “All right, let’s do it,” Hale said. “Davis, keep your eyes shut, and try to hold your breath when the guards challenge us.”

  “All right.”

  “Here we go.” The two men moved toward Davis, picked him up, and moved away from their beds. There was so little room that it was impossible to keep from brushing against the limbs of other prisoners, and more than once one of them grunted. Lee bumped one man’s arm so hard, the man sat up, growling, “What’s going on?”

  “Davis—he’s real bad,” Lee whispered. “We’re takin’ him to the infirmary.”

  The man sighed, lay down, and they made it to the door. In the hall outside, a guard was sitting beside a table. He was reading a book by the light of a lantern, and as they moved down the hall, he jerked his head toward them. Snatching up his rifle, he demanded, “Who’s there?”

  “Hale and Lee,” Perry answered. “We’ve got Winslow with us. He’s dying, I reckon.”

  “Come closer,” the guard commanded.

  When they were even with the light, the man bent forward, staring at Winslow’s face. Davis was completely limp, his head bobbing as they moved, his mouth open. “Well—take him on then.”

  They continued down the hall as the guard went back to his book. The men reached the stairs and began to climb. They rested on the second floor, then moved to the third. Another guard challenged them as they moved toward the infirmary. “Who is it?”

  �
��Hale and Lee. We got a man bad off.”

  “LeCompt won’t be on duty till eight. You know that.”

  “He looked at this one yesterday,” Hale told him. “Said to bring him in if he looked like he was going.” Then he paused and added, “I think he’s scared it’s cholera.”

  The guard took a step backward, for the very threat of the dread disease brought a surge of fear. “All right. Stay here. I’ll see if he’ll look at him.”

  He walked down the hall and entered the room used for a hospital. LeCompt had a small room wedged in between that and the infirmary. The guard knocked on the door, paused, then knocked again. Finally LeCompt opened it a crack, his hair wild and his eyes half shut.

  “What do you want? I just got to sleep.”

  “Couple of prisoners, LeCompt. They’ve got the man who may have cholera.”

  LeCompt seemed to come awake. “Have them bring him into the infirmary.”

  The guard returned to where Hale and Lee stood waiting with Davis in their arms. “Take him into the infirmary,” he said, keeping well back as they passed. He didn’t even offer to open the door as they entered. “It better not be cholera!” he muttered angrily, taking up his station at the door.

  LeCompt came into the infirmary immediately and said hastily, “Bring him over here—on the table.” He unlocked a cabinet, pulled out a bottle and poured a glass half full of fluid. He brought it over and handed it to Davis, saying, “Drink this—all of it.”

  “What is it?” Hale asked.

  “Laudanum!” LeCompt snapped. “Just do what I tell you.” When Davis hesitated, he urged, “Drink it! It’ll put you out. You’re supposed to be dead, so I don’t want you making any noise inside that coffin.”

  Davis gulped it down. Almost at once the powerful drug began to work. He grew dizzy and felt a roaring in his ears. “Perry,” he whispered.

  “What is it?”

  “If this doesn’t work, I want you to know—how much—I appreciate you—and you, too—Ezra. It’s—it’s . . .”

  He slumped back, and LeCompt said, “He’ll be out for hours.” He stared at the door. “I hope this works.”

  “Just get us out of this place, and you’re free,” Hale told him. “What’s next?”

  “There’s a stretcher in the supply room—through that door,” he said. “Go get it.” Lee moved to get it, and LeCompt opened a cabinet and pulled out a paper sack. He put his coat on, saying, “Put this sack under him somewhere.”

  When they had arranged Davis’s limp body on the canvas stretcher, LeCompt said crisply, “I’ve got to get a burial permit from the warden. You wait here.”

  He left quickly—and didn’t return for what seemed like an eternity. His face was pale as he held up a paper. “I’ve got it!—let’s go.”

  They moved out of the infirmary, and the guard inquired, “Is it cholera, LeCompt?”

  “Yes, I’m afraid so.”

  The guard avoided them as they passed, and as they walked down the hall, they heard him say loudly, “Well, I ain’t stayin’ here—not me!”

  LeCompt took a deep breath at the stairs. “That was rough. I thought he was going to make us wait until morning, but I told him it’d cause a panic among the guards.”

  “He’ll do that—all by himself,” Hale projected. “What’s next.”

  “The workshop.”

  “Why there?”

  “Because that’s where the coffins are made. I hope to heaven there’s one left!”

  He led them past several guards. The permit worked like a charm. The last guard carried a lantern and preceded them into a large room. “There’s a couple of coffins, all right,” he said, waving his lantern toward the pine boxes.

  “You men get one of them,” LeCompt ordered.

  Lee and Hale put Winslow’s limp body down and moved to the two coffins. The top was nailed on, and Hale said, “Got to have a hammer to get this off.”

  “Tools are over there,” the guard said, indicating a bench. While Hale went to get it, he said, “What’s the hurry, LeCompt? Couldn’t this wait till morning?”

  “Why . . . I just think it’d be better if . . . if he didn’t stay in the prison any longer than necessary.”

  He was being purposely mysterious, and was relieved at the guard’s immediate reaction.

  “What’d he die of?” he demanded, stepping back.

  “I can’t say. Warden’s orders.”

  The guard glowered at him, then walked over to peer down at Winslow. The other men stood with bated breath. Then the guard cursed and fled the room, rasping, “Get him outta here! The wagon’s over there!”

  “Quick—get him inside!” LeCompt snapped, removing the hidden sack containing hospital uniforms. After they had put the “corpse” inside, he said, “Nail the lid on.”

  Lee took a hasty look at Davis’s pale, still face before nailing the coffin shut.

  “All right, get it on the wagon—wait, put these uniforms on it first.”

  The men snatched the white uniforms from LeCompt and tossed them on the low four-wheeled wagon used for this purpose.

  “Now—put the coffin on top.”

  The coffin was heavy, but the men worked swiftly, and LeCompt cried, “Let’s go!”

  Hale and Lee grabbed the long tongue of the wagon and pulled it past the guard, who gave them plenty of room. They rolled down the hall; then as they rounded the corner, LeCompt said, “Quick! Get into those clothes.”

  Hale lifted one end of the coffin while Lee pulled the uniforms out. They pulled off their rags and put on the uniforms, shoving their rags under the coffin.

  “So far, so good,” LeCompt said. “But we’ve got one final post.” His hands trembled as he pointed. “Don’t say a word—either of you.”

  He took a deep breath, limped down the hall ahead of them, and opened a set of double doors. When the other two passed through, they saw they were in an outer office. Two guards sitting on a bench jumped up.

  “I have a special order from Warden Holmes,” LeCompt stated before they could challenge him.

  One of them, a burly man with calico eyes, fixed his eyes on LeCompt, then unfolded the paper and read it.

  “What’s it say, Nick?” the other asked. He was a small man with heavy burnside whiskers.

  “Says to get this feller buried.”

  “What’s the big hurry?” the other demanded.

  “Guess you better answer that, LeCompt.”

  LeCompt shrugged. “You better go wake Holmes up and discuss it with him, Simmons.”

  “Wake up that man?” Simmons snorted. “Not much! Open the door, Shorty.”

  The other slid the bolt, and LeCompt ordered, “This way, and be quick about it!”

  In the thick darkness only a few stars shone in the sky. Both Hale and Lee felt weird, for they had not been outside for over six months. “Sure feels good, don’t it, Perry?” Ezra whispered.

  “Sure does!”

  “We go this way—he’s supposed to meet us,” LeCompt informed them.

  The iron-bound wheels of the wagon sounded like thunder to them as it rumbled over the cobblestones. Expecting to be stopped at any minute, their eyes swept the area.

  “There’s a buggy of some kind over there,” LeCompt whispered.

  They moved closer and a low voice called out, “LeCompt?”

  “Here! Be quick!”

  “You made it!” Thad was ecstatic as he leaped to the ground from the wagon seat.

  “Hurry. Put the coffin on the wagon,” LeCompt ordered.

  “No, take Davis out, and put him on the bed,” Thad said. “He can’t stay in that coffin.” He reached into his pocket, pulled out the pouch, then handed the bills to LeCompt. “Here’s the rest of the money.”

  As LeCompt took the bills, Hale asked, “How’re you going to account for two missing prisoners, LeCompt?”

  LeCompt’s face broke into a smile. “I’ll be far from here by the time the news gets out. I’m leaving now.�
�� With that he turned and limped down the dark street.

  “We’d better get moving ourselves,” Thad urged.

  Hale had thought to bring the hammer, and he quickly removed the lid. They all looked at Davis, and Thad exclaimed, “He looks dead!”

  “Just drugged,” Hale said. “He’ll come out of it.”

  They lifted Davis into the back of the wagon, wrapped him in wool blankets; then all three hopped into the front.

  “Be light pretty soon,” Thad said as the wagon moved down the street. “You fellows’ll have to hide out. I got a couple of rooms in a run-down boardinghouse. We’ll go there first and get you fixed up.”

  By the time he pulled up in front of a dilapidated two-story house, he’d gotten the full story of the escape. “God was with us,” Hale said as he ended the tale.

  “I reckon you got that right,” Ezra added.

  “I’ll go ahead and make sure nobody is up,” Thad said. He leaped out of the wagon and was back in a few minutes. “Let’s go.” They carried Davis inside to a small room lit by a single lantern, and shut the door.

  Thad bent his head close to Davis’s face and listened for a moment. With a smile he raised his eyes. “He’s breathing.” Then he walked over to some packages that lay on the floor and said, “You two are leaving town in a couple hours. I’ve got you some clothes—had to guess at the sizes.” Thad had bought two dark suits, complete with white shirts and ties.

  “Hate to put on clean clothes without washing that prison filth off,” Hale complained.

  “You’ll have to do with hands and face for now,” Thad grinned. “And you’ll have to shave that brush off your faces.”

  While they cleaned up, Thad took Owen Morgan’s uniform and managed to squeeze into it. It was not a good fit, for Morgan had been a smaller man, but it would have to do.

  Soon both men had shaved and stood clothed in their new outfits. “I swear, Captain Hale,” Lee exclaimed in delight, “you look like a preacher!”

  “And you look like a Philadelphia lawyer,” Hale grinned.

  “There’re a couple of suitcases with some other stuff in them,” Thad said. “And a couple of heavy overcoats and hats.” He took out a sheaf of bills, divided them, and handed half to each man. “This ought to get you out of our territory.”