The Churchgoer With a Murder Warrant Waiting

SPRAGUE, Wash., Oct. 16.—Three years ago next month a young Virginian named Wayman Sutton escaped from the jail of Wythe county, Virginia, through the connivance of a mob of men. He was under sentence of death for murder. Governor Fitzhugh Lee offered $1,000 for his capture.

Sheriff Fish, of Lincoln county, went into Mr. Lewis' store in this city a few days since, and laying his hand on the shoulder of a young man named R. J. Howard, said to him: “I want you, and you are my prisoner.” Those standing around could not understand the importance of the arrest, or appreciate the awful meaning of the words as they fell from the faithful officer's lips. Howard showed no particular emotion; but it was plain that a terrible war was raging within his breast. The thoughts that flitted through his brain at that time were the memories of a most hideous crime for which he had already been sentenced to death. He had escaped the gallows by the assistance of a mob who had given him his freedom in 1888, only to wander about from place to place, bearing with him as a principal companion the soul-haunting memories of the past. As he was being conveyed to the jail he told the sheriff that he was the man he wanted and that his name was not Howard. This is the only information he gave concerning himself, or at least all that has been given out.

Howard was a man in whom the people of Sprague had learned to place implicit confidence. Society had been induced by his exemplary life to open its arms and take him in. As it fondly toyed with him and cast admiring glances on his many accomplishments, little did it realize that it was hugging to its bosom a man whose fingers were stained with blood, and whose soul had been polluted by a most hideous crime. Even the doors of the Methodist church had been opened to him, he having joined it on probation.

The editor of the Advertiser of this place says he met Howard or Sutton in Bill White's saloon one day last week, and he was considerably intoxicated and seemed to want to talk about his old home in Virginia. He drew from his pocket several letters which he insisted on McClure reading. He read one which was from his sister, but it contained nothing of greater importance than what might be written by any sister to her brother. His sister begged him to come home and referred to a certain young lady who evidently loved him. Howard's conduct while in Sprague has been anything but that of a criminal. He will be kept here until the officers arrive from Virginia.