of the idea; he was just standing
there, looking at his bride, with other
thoughts in his mind.
The happy couple had no sooner
settled down on a ranch outside
Hardin, Montana, when Lyda had
something to take up with him. “Billy,’’
Lyda said one night, “do you know
something? A man ought to have
insurance on himself in case something
happened to him.’’
“I don’t believe in insurance,’’ Billy
said.
“But you’ll have to learn to believe in
it.’’
“Why?’’ Billy asked. “Nothin’ is
goin’ to happen to me.’’
“Never mind now about the
ain’t.’’
“Well,’’ said Billy, “it’s like this; I just
took out a lot of insurance and it’s goin’
to keep me broke payin’ the damned
premiums.’’
Lewis just stood there, measuring
Billy. “You know somethin’?’’ he asked.
“If I was married to a pretty little
woman like this’’ – he jerked his thumb
towards Lyda – “I wouldn’t mind
bein’ broke payin’ for insurance – I
wouldn’t mind at all.’’
Lyda just stood there, looking at the
stranger. Now it was her turn to flash a
smile. That insurance remark of the
stranger’s, sincere as it was and
innocent as it sounded, was to have far-
reaching consequences. It was to paveworry about a thing,’’ Lyda said. “I’ll
get the doctor in town and you’ll be all
right.’’
This has to be said for Lyda: she
did drive into town and consult a
physician. The doctor, running
about night and day ministering to
flu victims, was practically out on his
feet. “I can’t come to your place, Mrs.
McHaffie,’’ he told Lyda. “But give
your husband plenty of whisky and
orange juice – and see that he’s covered
up and kept out of draughts.’’
The next afternoon Billy fell into a
delirium and began to moan and thrash
around on his bed. In no time at all
Lyda had him lying there, the top of
his pyjamas unbuttoned, the covers offinsurance,’’ said Lyda, stretching out
her arms. “Come here. Come to Lyda.’’
The next day McHaffie, who had
undergone a change of mind about
insurance during the night, drove into
Hardin and sought out an estate agent
who also dabbled in insurance policies.
“How much?’’ asked the agent.
“My wife says five thousand dollars’
wor t h.’’
One bleak afternoon, when a bitter
mid-winter wind was howling in from
the north, Lyda and Billy, who had
gone to bed early, heard a car outside.
Jumping into enough clothes to make
themselves respectable, they hurried
downstairs and answered the door.
There stood a grinning stranger, every
tooth in his head capped with gold.
“Allow me,’’ he said, “to present
myself.’’
He turned out to be Harlan Lewis, a
farm implement salesman. “I’ve been
looking over your land, he said, “and
notice you ain’t got many implements.’’
“We just moved here from Idaho,’’
said Billy. “But we don’t want any
equipment right now.’’
Lyda put a hand on Billy’s arm. “Just
a minute,’’ she said to the salesman,
giving him a good look-over.
“Tell us a little more about your
implements.’’
Finally, after Billy had made another
negative remark and Lyda had given
him another shushing, Lewis, flashing
those gold choppers, asked, “What’s
going on? One of you seems to be
interested in equipment, the other
the way for two more murders...
Meanwhile, Billy signed up for some
farm equipment. “The stuff’ll be
delivered soon as I send the order in to
Omaha,’’ said Lewis. “I’ll stop by and
see how everythin’s goin’ when I come
by this way again in the spring.’’
Lyda told her husband to throw some
more logs on the fire while she went out
and said goodbye to Lewis. “What you
said about stoppin’ by in the spring,’’
she said to him as he got into his car.
“You’ll be sure to keep your promise,
won’t you?’’
Lewis looked at Lyda and read
something in her eyes. “You bet I
will!’’ he almost yelled. “You just bet I
will!’’
One night three months after
McHaffie had taken out that insurance,
he came in off the machinery that
Harlan Lewis had sold him and told
Lyda that he didn’t feel too good. “Oh,
dear,’’ said Lyda, “I hope you ain’t
catchin’ the flu.’’
The country was in the midst of the
great influenza epidemic and people
were dropping like flies.
“Are you supposed to have a belly-
ache and a funny feeling on the soles of
your feet with the flu?’’ asked Billy.
“I don’t know,’’ replied Lyda. “By the
way, did you pay your second premium
on that insurance?’’
“Yeah,’’ said McHaffie. “Posted it
two weeks ago.’’
A couple of afternoons later Billy
came in from the fields, burning up
with fever, and took to his bed. “Don’thim – and a mid-winter wind whipping
through the now open window.
The next day, when Lyda drove back
into town and told the physician that
her husband had passed away, the
doctor just nodded and signed a
certificate ascribing death to the flu.
Not wishing to rush things and
possibly raise more eyebrows, Lyda
decided not to be in too much of
a hurry cashing in her husband’s
insurance policy. But McHaffie, tucked
away in a cheap pine coffin, had no
sooner settled down for the long deep
sleep when, as Lyda was clearing
out his things, she came across a
notice from the insurance company
saying that their policy had lapsed for
nonpayment of premiums!
Outwitted at her own game, she was
biting her lip and looking into space
when there was a knock at the door.
Answering it, she found herself
standing face to face with Harlan
Lewis.
“Well, well, Missus McHaffie!’’ he
said, flashing those expensive teeth.
“I said I’d be back – and it ain’t even
spring yet!’’
“Don’t,’’ said Lyda, “call me Mrs.
McHaffie. The son of a bitch is dead
and gone – and I never want to hear his
name again.’’
“What happened?’’
“Nothing,’’ replied Lyda. “Nothing I
ever care to talk about.’’O
ne biting cold day in December
1920 – five years after the DooleyThe Idaho jury – mostly farmers themselves – were shocked by the testimony
while Lyda (right) sat seemingly unconcerned by it all