CHAPTER XXVIII.

THE ROBBERY OF JOHN BURNETT.

John Burnett is an old pensioner and owns a little hill-side farm six miles west of Sevierville among the foot hills of the Chilhowee mountains. He was a hard working old man and evidently had struggled hard through life to support his wife and large family of children.

Besides the income from his little farm, he received a pension of twenty-four dollars per month. These two sources of revenue were his only means of support. From the first he received supplies for the table, while the other was usually spent in buying the necessary clothing for the family. Therefore, Burnett and his family hailed with delight the coming of pension day.

One cold November morning in 1896 Mr. Burnett mounted his horse and rode away in the direction of Sevierville. He had not told all the members of the family where he was going. Mrs. Burnett, however, well knew of his mission. The children asked:

Where is papa going this cold morning?

A bright smile lit up their faces when they learned he had started for Sevierville to cash his pension check, for winter was coming on, the mornings were cold and frosty, and they had not yet received their winter shoes.

Mr. Burnett drew his money from the Sevierville bank, and as he stuffed a big roll of greenbacks in his pocket, remarked:

Mattie and the children will be happy tonight. They’ve been teasing the life out of me for their winter clothing.

The children anxiously awaited the return of their father that evening. But the sun had set and the blue mists of twilight were fast gathering over the old homestead when Mr. Burnett rode up to the gate. They met him at the gate and their hearts were overjoyed when they were assured that he had his money - seventy-two dollars.

It was a happy family that sat around the fire-place that night and talked of what each one would receive. Some new shoes, some new hats and cloaks, while the grown boys were to have new suits of store clothes.

But a bird in the hand is worth two in the bush, and speeding hours sometimes bring with them events which play havoc with our brightest hopes.

At that very moment Pleas Wynn, George Thurmer, and Jap. And Joe Jenkins were playing cards for drinks in an upstairs room at Yett & Trotter=s store and planning a raid for ill gotten gains.

Pleas Wynn’s sharp eye had caught a glimpse of that large roll of greenbacks as it passed from the hands of the cashier into those of the owner. Pleas sat whittling on a goods box in front of the bank, and while apparently taking no notice of his surroundings, was watching the transaction on the inside.

When the boys were fairly well tanked up that night on mean liquor Pleas told of what he had seen at the bank and suggested that they take it in.

This was a new field of business to Thurmer, and at first he protested against it, saying:

I have just returned from serving a term in the penitentiary, and we will all get caught up with, and then I will have another job on my hands.

You are the very man we need, George, argued Wynn. You must go; we can’t do without you.

Pshaw, George. They ain’t one bit o danger. They can’t do nothin with a White-cap, chimed in Joe Jenkins.

Well, they might, said Jap. Let’s all take another drink and then we will talk more about it.

The drinks went around and then another big horn was taken, and a bright smile played upon the faces of the four robbers as Pleas Wynn gave out the plans in detail and told them how easy it would be to frighten old man Burnett out of his senses, take his money, and disappear in the darkness.

Jap and Joe Jenkins were conducting a livery stable in the lower end of town, also a blind tiger, so the horses and liquor were at hand, and they started at once for the Burnett home. They rode at a lively gait and were not long in reaching their destination.

Crash went the door, and three men closely masked stepped inside. Mr. Burnett, aroused from his midnight slumbers, stood gazing at the robed figures in utter astonishment.

Hold up your hands, came the first command.

It was no sooner given than obeyed, and Burnett stood on his tiptoes reaching for the ceiling overhead.

They turned to his daughter’s bed and ordered her to get up and light a lamp. As she did not obey at once she was dragged out of bed in her night clothing and forced to make a light.

Two of the robbers took Burnett into an adjoining room while the third stood by Mrs. Burnett’s bed with a drawn club.

Where is your money, Burnett was asked.

I - I - hav – haven’t got any, stammered the old man, as he turned his pockets inside out.

D__n you, I know you have, said the low, heavy-set man. Get it for us, and be d_____d quick about it.

The command was emphasized by two large revolvers which were thrust in his face so close that one touched his cheek. This had the desired effect and Burnett said:

Take me in the other room and my wife will get it for you.

Mrs. Burnett did not know where it was, but the eldest daughter did. Burnett rushed frantically around the room opening a drawer here and there making an honest effort to find the money, but failed to do so.

The robbers thought he was playing a game on them, and one struck him on the head with the butt of his pistol, knocking him down.

Now, d__n you, take that, he said. We’ve come to get your money or your life, one or the other, and we don’t give a d__n which.

Through all this excitement the heroic daughter, who knew where the money was concealed, had remained silent. But when she saw her father fall to the floor, she weakened, and pulling out a drawer gave the money to Pleas Wynn.

This ended the fearful scene. The robbers disappeared as abruptly as they had made their appearance, leaving the erstwhile happy home in sore distress.

Burnett sank down in an old-fashioned rocker by his wife, exclaiming:

Oh, my God! Mattie, we are ruined, now.

The robbers went dashing down the road at a breakneck speed, and when about a mile and a half from the scene of the robbery, they turned into a little scope of woods, dismounted and divided the money. Pleas Wynn drew from his pocket a roll of greenbacks, and not satisfied with having robbed an old pensioner, he now plays a game on his companions in crime.

Thirty-nine dollars was all I got, said Pleas.

The h_ll you say, said Jap. Jenkins. Then we didn’t get it all. They put up a job on us at last.

The thirty-nine dollars was divided into four equal parts, Wynn keeping his share and also the balance of the seventy-two dollars which the young girl had given him.

They remounted their horses and the return trip was made in double quick time. On reaching the outskirts of town they checked their flying steeds and quietly rode into town, two and two.

At the March term of court, 1897, Pleas Wynn, George Thurmer, John Christopher, Jap., Joe and Sam Jenkins were indicted for this crime. John Christopher, Sam and Joe Jenkins were tried at the July term of court, 1897. Joe Jenkins was convicted and sentenced to the penitentiary for five years and is now serving the term. John Christopher and Sam Jenkins were acquitted, and indeed they should have been, as neither was guilty, according to the statements of some who participated in the commission of the crime.

Pleas Wynn, Jap Jenkins and George Thurmer have never been tried for this crime, and, perhaps never will be, as Wynn is sentenced to die upon the gallows for the murder of William and Laura Whaley, and Jap. Jenkins and George Thurmer have turned the light on and rendered the officers valuable assistance in ferreting out other crimes.

Joe Jenkins, the man who said They can’t do nothin with a White-cap, is the only one to suffer the penalty of the law.

On the return trip from Kentucky with George Thurmer, he said to deputy sheriff Tom Davis:

Take these handcuffs off.

No indeed, replied the officer. If you had taken my advice, George, and told what you knew about this matter you would have been a free man to-day.

If I am ever offered that opportunity again, by G_d, I’ll do it, said George.

Open up yourself, then, replied the officer, the opportunity is at hand.

Thereupon George made a clean breast of the whole matter. He has also given out valuable information besides coming to sheriff Maples rescue at a critical moment.

There are few men who have become so destitute of all sense of honor that they have no good qualities left. George was not an exception to the rule.

John Burnett well knew the dangerous character of the robbers, who had threatened his life if he revealed the loss of his money, and immediately moved to Knoxville, where he now resides.

Chapter XXIX