Cummings was no ordinary robber. Endowed by nature with cool nerves, an
active brain and athletic frame, he had all the requirements necessary
to make a successful and daring criminal. That he was so the preceding
pages have testified. Now that he was threatened with discovery, he did
not rush blindly into danger by attempting to flee from it, but he did
the exact opposite.

He knew that every train would be watched, that telegrams would stretch
out in all directions, and the detectives, now on a hot scent, would
crowd him night and day. All these thoughts passed through his mind, as
he leaned back in a comfortable chair and puffed his Havana. And he
decided it would be best to remain closely to his room until the hue and
cry had subsided, and play invalid.

For a week he stirred not from the house. And then thinking the first
heat had passed, he commenced strolling out after dark.

One evening, having lighted a cigar, he was walking leisurely up the
avenue, all fears of discovery set at rest by his fancied security, when
his dream was rudely disturbed by a hand placed lightly on his shoulder.
Quick as a panther, he sprang to one side, placing himself on the
defensive, and his hand upon his pistol ready for any emergency. His
startled gaze met a pitiful sight. Ragged and tattered, his hands,
trembling and face blanched with the first touch of delirium tremens,
stood Oscar Cook. Tottering up to Cummings, he whispered in tremulous
tones:

"Jim, they're after me. They most nabbed me. Save me, Jim, save me!"