Soon after leaving prison I fell in with an old “stir” (prison) acquaintance. He was an older man than I was, wise as to the methods of the underworld, and cunning in crime. He proposed a partnership. I agreed, and the following three years we wandered together over a good portion of the world. We visited the larger cities of Europe, matching our wits against the police, and, as luck would have it, always making a clean getaway. Of course we did no big work. Ours was of a petty nature.

Tiring of the Continent, we drifted back to the States, wandering from one to another. The pickings from promiscuous work became poor, and we decided to systematize our further efforts. Looking about for easy graft, we decided “working the rattlers” looked the most promising. “Working the rattler” is a term applied by the underworld to denote the robbing of freight trains, generally in transit. We organized a gang of four men as active workers. It was no trouble to find men in different cities, eager and anxious to take off our hands what booty we might happen to get. Right here I want to say that it would no doubt create some surprise to some people to know the identity of those very “fences.” Of course it is impossible for me here to mention names, but I will say that among the men to whom we regularly sold our stuff were found some of the solid men of the community, both financially and socially. The nature of the “fence” is essentially selfish. Knowing the origin of the goods to be sold, he offers an absurd sum for them. The crook may at first hesitate, but finally accedes to the bargain. The majority of “fences” I found were crooked, even to the crooks themselves. The men know this, yet still continue to deal with him. One of the paradoxes of the underworld is this pertinent fact: that notwithstanding the known reputation of a “fence” for crookedness, the thief will still continue to deal with him. The “fence,” as a rule, looks to his own welfare first. If the police happen to “get the goods” on him, and offer as an inducement the safety of himself, the “fence” will usually give the information sought by the police. He thinks nothing of turning “State’s evidence,” providing his liberty is assured him.

Another peculiarity of the crooks is their habit of congregating in the city in some rendezvous of the underworld, known to the police as such. Ask any police head if such places exist, and he will tell you that they do. Notwithstanding this surveillance of the police, the crook still continues to make it his resort until he leaves, no more to return for a period of years.

“Working the rattlers” proved a well-paying proposition. Our method of work was systematized to an extent little dreamed of by the mediocre guardians of the road. Night was the time of operation. We would wait at a division point on the railroad for a train loaded with merchandise to pull out. Two of us would enter the car after breaking the seal. The two would then be locked in, the car resealed, and the remaining two would ride on the train itself to our prearranged point of debarkation.

Once inside, the two would search the car for easy marketable products. These would be packed in bags, the bags tied and packed at the door for easy egress. A merchandise train is generally what is called a through train, that is, it seldom stops between divisions, unless it does so for water. Just before our agreed place for debarkation one of the outside men, by the aid of a rope ladder, would slip over the side of the car, break the seal and open the door. The goods would then be thrown out, and a little further down the road, we ourselves would alight. The goods would then be placed in a wagon and driven to a house already rented for the purpose. Here the stuff would be assorted, packed and shipped to different “fences,” according to their needs. I myself generally followed the shipment and collected our due.The plan worked well through a year. The railroads were becoming harassed by our depredations. Police were sent to guard the very trains upon which our efforts were centered, but with no marked avail. The losses still went on. All “good things,” through one cause or another, eventually come to an end. Ours came too.

I remember the day of my arrest like the dawn of yesterday. It was on a Sunday noon, in the early summer. One of my pals and I had arranged to take our girls that afternoon to a nearby resort. We had left our hotel and walked to the corner and stood waiting for a car. The car came and stopped, and just as we were about to get on, two men in the blue uniforms of the police laid their hands on our arms and informed us that the captain would like to see us for a moment. Of course I knew instantly that the end had come, yet I was curious to know through what source of information our arrest had been brought about.