CHAPTER III.
AMERICA.
It seemed to me that I was destined always to arrive at places upon confused and excited occasions. The Colt hanging was the order of the day upon my arrival in New York, and the whole populace was in the streets; but a few moments before the scene was to have come off, his prison was discovered to be on fire, and when it was extinguished, a body was found in Colt's apartment, stuck through with a knife; but there were many doubts as to whether it was the body of Colt or not; all was clothed in mystery then, and probably always will be, about the affair. It is more than likely that Colt, the murderer, now walks the earth, and eats, drinks and enjoys himself in some remote corner of it, like other people; for he had wealthy relatives, and wealth will unloose prison bars and untie the knot even upon the very scaffold which is to launch the foulest wretch to his merited doom.
But I had no wealth, and what was I to do without it in New York? I took passage on a freight boat bound for Albany, where I staid until I had accumulated enough funds to start out again to the West, where I had friends who would take care of me. And so I got on in the world by a little energy and perseverance.
The first person I met in Cincinnati was my beloved
