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Oh, Hannah is my cousin, Uncle Jim’s oldest daughter, and she’s getting on toward thirty somewhere. She has whitey-yellow hair and light blue eyes and is tall and real pretty. She held her head high fer a good many years waitin’ fer David, and I guess she feels she made a mistake now.
J. J. Platt, forbade my attempting to do anything in the premises, but Jim’s body was taken in charge in my behalf by Chief of Police O’Connor, and borne to Lee’s Summit, Mo., our old Jackson county home, where it was laid to rest. The pallbearers were G. W. Wigginton, O. H. Lewis, H. H. McDowell, Sim Whitsett, William Gregg and William Lewis, all old neighbors or comrades during the war.
Some people obtained the idea that it was Jim’s wish that he be cremated, but this idea grew out of a letter he left showing his gloomy condition. It “roasted” Gov. Van Sant and Warden Wolfer and the board of pardons, declared for socialism, and urged Bryan to come out for it. On the outside of the envelope was written: “All relations stay away from me. No crocodile tears wanted.
It was to such newspaper men, I think, that Jim sent his message “Burn me up.” Jim’s tragic death brought the Youngers again into the public eye, and aside from any effort on my part, there was a renewed discussion of the advisability of extending a full pardon to me, the lone survivor of the band who had invaded Northfield.
But she must do it, that his children might evade the stigma of "cattle-thief," that the shadow of the gallows-tree might not fall across their young lives, that the neighbors might give credence to the tale of Jim’s escape from his enemies, that Alida and she might earn the pittance that would give the children the "clean start" that Jim had set his heart on so confidently.
The white spirit in her place, that plotted and planned that Jim’s children and Jim’s wife might not from henceforth walk in the shadow of the gallows, was beyond the prompting of the flesh. And again she spoke to him in the same far-away voice, with the same far-away look in her eyes. "You must know, Peter, that Leander is at heart of the salt of the earth.
I remember that at the time of the fire in 1884, he was in one of these fits of depression, but the excitement of that time buoyed him up, and he was himself again for a considerable period. After our release from prison, Jim’s precarious health and his inability to rejoin his family in Missouri combined to make these fits of depression more frequent. While he was working for Maj.
"You will be a good friend to them, Peter—to Jim’s people? I cannot talk to you of anything else to-night. Your heart is big, Peter, but you cannot feel, perhaps—" "Listen, Judith. Whatever friendship and protection I can give your family you may count upon from now till the end of time. I will be theirs as I am yours. I feel your grief, but I want to soothe it, too.
Jim’s foster-parents were, in truth, glad to part with him. From his earliest babyhood he had been known as a "limb of Satan." He was an Ishmael by every instinct of his being. And Mrs. Warren Rodney, née Tumlin, felt that in dealing with him, in her capacity of step-mother, she daily expiated any offence that she might have done to his mother. Sally grew slatternly with increasing maternity.
But the children were a dangerous topic for overstrained nerves at this particular time, so Alida told Jim that she had put the black hen to set and she thought they’d have some chickens at last. Jim smoked while Alida washed the dishes, and when Jim’s back was turned she examined the lock on the door—a good push would open it.
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