"No--don't think so," he said; and, after a pause, "YOU go and see."It was Dad's turn to feel uneasy. He pretended to straighten the fire, and coughed several times. "Perhaps it's just as well," he said, "to let him be to-night."Of course, Dad was n't afraid; he SAID he was n't, but he drove the pegs in the doors and windows before going to bed that night.
Next morning, Dad said to Dave and Joe, "Come 'long, and we'll see where he's got to."In a gully at the back of the grass-paddock they found him. He was ploughing--sitting astride the highest limb of a fallen tree, and, in a hoarse voice and strange, calling out--"Gee, Captain!--come here, Tidy!--WA-AY!""Blowed if I know," Dad muttered, coming to a standstill. "Wonder if he is clean mad?"Dave was speechless, and Joe began to tremble.
They listened. And as the man's voice rang out in the quiet gully and the echoes rumbled round the ridge and the affrighted birds flew up, the place felt eerie somehow.
"It's no use bein' afraid of him," Dad went on. "We must go and bounce him, that's all." But there was a tremor in Dad's voice which Dave did n't like.
"See if he knows us, anyway."--and Dad shouted, "HEY-Y!"Jack looked up and immediately scrambled from the limb. That was enough for Dave. He turned and made tracks. So did Dad and Joe. They ran.
No one could have run harder. Terror overcame Joe. He squealed and grabbed hold of Dad's shirt, which was ballooning in the wind.
"Let go!" Dad gasped. "DAMN Y', let me GO! "--trying to shake him off.
But Joe had great faith in his parent, and clung to him closely.
When they had covered a hundred yards or so, Dave glanced back, and seeing that Jack was n't pursuing them, stopped and chuckled at the others.
"Eh?" Dad said, completely winded--"Eh?" Then to Dave, when he got some breath:
"Well, you ARE an ass of a fellow. (PUFF!). What th' DEVIL did y' RUN f'?""Wot did I run f'? What did YOU run f'?""Bah!" and Dad boldly led the way back.
"Now look here (turning fiercely upon Joe), don't you come catching hold of me again, or if y' DO I'll knock y'r d--d head off!...Clear home altogether, and get under the bed if y're as frightened as THAT."Joe slunk behind.
But when Dad DID approach Jack, which was n't until he had talked a great deal to him across a big log, the latter did n't show any desire to take life, but allowed himself to be escorted home and locked in the barn quietly enough.
Dad kept Jack confined in the barn several days, and if anyone approached the door or the cracks he would ask:
"Is me father there yet?"
"Your father's dead and buried long ago, man," Dad used to tell him.
"Yes," he would say, "but he's alive again. The missus keeps him in there"--indicating the house.
And sometimes when Dad was not about Joe would put his mouth to a crack and say:
"Here's y'r FATHER, Jack!" Then, like a caged beast, the man would howl and tramp up and down, his eyes starting out of his head, while Joe would bolt inside and tell Mother that "Jack's getting out,", and nearly send her to her grave.
But one day Jack DID get out, and, while Mother and Sal were ironing came to the door with the axe on his shoulder.
They dropped the irons and shrank into a corner and cowered piteously--too scared even to cry out.
He took no notice of them, but, moving stealthily on tip-toes, approached the bedroom door and peeped in. He paused just a moment to grip the axe with both hands. Then with a howl and a bound he entered the room and shattered the looking-glass into fragments.
He bent down and looked closely at the pieces.
"He's dead now," he said calmly, and walked out. Then he went to work at the post-holes again, just as though nothing had happened.
Fifteen years have passed since then, and the man is still at Shingle Hut.
He was the best horse Dad ever had. He slaved from daylight till dark;keeps no Sunday; knows no companion; lives chiefly on meat and machine oil; domiciles in the barn; and has never asked for a rise in his wages.
His name we never knew. We call him "Jack." The neighbours called him "CRANKY Jack."
