Chapter III
THE FIFTY COONS OF THE CANOPER
Near noon of the next day, Jimmy opened his eyes and stretched
himself on Dannie's bed. It did not occur to him that he was sprawled
across it in such a fashion that if Dannie had any sleep that
night, he had taken it on chairs before the fireplace. At first
Jimmy decided that he had a head on him, and would turn over and
go back where he came from. Then he thought of the coon hunt,
and sitting on the edge of the bed he laughed, as he looked about
for his boots.
"I am glad ye are feeling so fine," said Dannie at the
door, in a relieved voice. "I had a notion that ye wad be
crosser than a badger when ye came to."
Jimmy laughed on.
"What's the fun?" inquired Dannie.
Jimmy thought hard a minute. Here was one instance where the truth
would serve better than any invention, so he virtuously told Dannie
all about it. Dannie thought of the lonely little woman next door,
and rebelled.
"But, Jimmy!" he cried, "ye canna be gone all nicht
again. It's too lonely fra Mary, and there's always a chance I
might sleep sound and wadna hear if she should be sick or need
ye."
"Then she can just yell louder, or come after you, or get
well, for I am going, see? He was a thrid peddler in a dinky little
pleated coat, Dannie. He laid up against the counter with his
feet crossed at a dancing-girl angle. But I will say for him that
he was running at the mouth with the finest flow of language I
iver heard. I learned a lot of it, and Cap knows the stuff, and
I'm goin' to have him get you the book. But, Dannie, he wouldn't
drink with us, but he stayed to iducate us up a little. That little
spool man, Dannie, iducatin' Jones of the gravel gang, and Bingham
of the Standard, and York of the 'lectric railway, and Haines
of the timber gang, not to mintion the champeen rat-catcher of
the Wabash."
Jimmy hugged himself, and rocked on the edge of the bed.
"Oh, I can just see it, Dannie," he cried. "I can
just see it now! I was pretty drunk, but I wasn't too drunk to
think of it, and it came to me sudden like."
Dannie stared at Jimmy wide-eyed, while he explained the details,
and then he too began to laugh, and the longer he laughed the
funnier it grew.
"I've got to start," said Jimmy. "I've an awful
afternoon's work. I must find him some rubber boots. He's to have
the inestimable privilege of carryin' me gun, Dannie, and have
the first shot at the coons, fifty, I'm thinkin' I said. And if
I don't put some frills on his cute little coat! Oh, Dannie, it
will break the heart of me if he don't wear that pleated coat!"
Dannie wiped his eyes.
"Come on to the kitchen," he said, "I've something
ready fra ye to eat. Wash, while I dish it."
"I wish to Heaven you were a woman, Dannie," said Jimmy.
"A fellow could fall in love with you, and marry you with
some satisfaction. Crimminy, but I'm hungry!"
Jimmy ate greedily, and Dannie stepped about setting the cabin
to rights. It lacked many feminine touches that distinguished
Jimmy's as the abode of a woman; but it was neat and clean, and
there seemed to be a place where everything belonged.
"Now, I'm off," said Jimmy, rising. "I'll take
your gun, because I ain't goin' to see Mary till I get back."
"Oh, Jimmy, dinna do that!" pleaded Dannie. "I
want my gun. Go and get your own, and tell her where ye are going
and what ye are going to do. She'd feel less lonely."
"I know how she would feel better than you do," retorted
Jimmy. "I am not going. If you won't give me your gun, I'll
borrow one; or have all my fun spoiled."
Dannie took down the shining gun and passed it over. Jimmy instantly
relented. He smiled an old boyish smile, that always caught Dannie
in his softest spot.
"You are the bist frind I have on earth, Dannie," he
said winsomely. "You are a man worth tying to. By gum, there's
NOTHING I wouldn't do for you! Now go on, like the good fellow
you are, and fix it up with Mary."
So Dannie started for the wood pile. In summer he could stand
outside and speak through the screen. In winter he had to enter
the cabin for errands like this, and as Jimmy's wood box was as
heavily weighted on his mind as his own, there was nothing unnatural
in his stamping snow on Jimmy's back stoop, and calling "Open!"
to Mary at any hour of the day he happened to be passing the wood
pile.
He stood at a distance, and patiently waited until a gray and
black nut-hatch that foraged on the wood covered all the new territory
discovered by the last disturbance of the pile. From loosened
bark Dannie watched the bird take several good-sized white worms
and a few dormant ants. As it flew away he gathered an armload
of wood. He was very careful to clean his feet on the stoop, place
the wood without tearing the neat covering of wall paper, and
brush from his coat the snow and moss so that it fell in the box.
He had heard Mary tell the careless Jimmy to do all these things,
and Dannie knew that they saved her work. There was a whiteness
on her face that morning that startled him, and long after the
last particle of moss was cleaned from his sleeve he bent over
the box trying to get something said. The cleaning took such a
length of time that the glint of a smile crept into the grave
eyes of the woman, and the grim line of her lips softened.
"Don't be feeling so badly about it, Dannie," she said.
"I could have told you when you went after him last night
that he would go back as soon as he wakened to-day. I know he
is gone. I watched him lave."
Dannie brushed the other sleeve, on which there had been nothing
at the start, and answered: "Noo, dinna ye misjudge him,
Mary. He's goin' to a coon hunt to-nicht. Dinna ye see him take
my gun?"
This evidence so bolstered Dannie that he faced Mary with confidence.
"There's a traveling man frae Boston in town, Mary, and he
was edifying the boys a little, and Jimmy dinna like it. He's
going to show him a little country sport to-nicht to edify him."
Dannie outlined the plan of Jimmy's campaign. Despite disapproval,
and a sore heart, Mary Malone had to smile--perhaps as much over
Dannie's eagerness in telling what was contemplated as anything.
"Why don't you take Jimmy's gun and go yoursilf?" she
asked. "You haven't had a day off since fishing was over."
"But I have the work to do," replied Dannie, "and
I couldna leave--" He broke off abruptly, but the woman supplied
the word.
"Why can't you lave me, if Jimmy can? I'm not afraid. The
snow and the cold will furnish me protiction to-night. There'll
be no one to fear. Why should you do Jimmy's work, and miss the
sport, to guard the thing he holds so lightly?"
The red flushed Dannie's cheeks. Mary never before had spoken
like that. He had to say something for Jimmy quickly, and quickness
was not his forte. His lips opened, but nothing came; for as Jimmy
had boasted, Dannie never lied, except for him, and at those times
he had careful preparation before he faced Mary. Now, he was overtaken
unawares. He looked so boyish in his confusion, the mother in
Mary's heart was touched.
"I'll till you what we'll do, Dannie," she said. "You
tind the stock, and get in wood enough so that things won't be
frazin' here; and then you hitch up and I'll go with you to town,
and stay all night with Mrs. Dolan. You can put the horse in my
sister's stable, and whin you and Jimmy get back, you'll be tired
enough that you'll be glad to ride home. A visit with Katie will
be good for me; I have been blue the last few days, and I can
see you are just aching to go with the boys. Isn't that a fine
plan?"
"I should say that IS a guid plan," answered the delighted
Dannie. Anything to save Mary another night alone was good, and
then--that coon hunt did sound alluring.
And that was how it happened that at nine o'clock that night,
just as arrangements were being completed at Casey's, Dannie Macnoun
stepped into the group and said to the astonished Jimmy: "Mary
wanted to come to her sister's over nicht, so I fixed everything,
and I'm going to the coon hunt, too, if you boys want me."
The crowd closed around Dannie, patted his back and cheered him,
and he was introduced to Mister O'Khayam, of Boston, who tried
to drown the clamor enough to tell what his name really was, "in
case of accident"; but he couldn't be heard for Jimmy yelling
that a good old Irish name like O'Khayam couldn't be beat in case
of anything. And Dannie took a hasty glance at the Thread Man,
to see if he wore that hated pleated coat, which lay at the bottom
of Jimmy's anger.
Then they started. Casey's wife was to be left in charge of the
saloon, and the Thread Man half angered Casey by a whispered conversation
with her in a corner. Jimmy cut his crowd as low as he possibly
could, but it numbered fifteen men, and no one counted the dogs.
Jimmy led the way, the Thread Man beside him, and the crowd followed.
The walking would be best to follow the railroad to the Canoper,
and also they could cross the railroad bridge over the river and
save quite a distance.
Jimmy helped the Thread Man into a borrowed overcoat and mittens,
and loaded him with a twelve-pound gun, and they started. Jimmy
carried a torch, and as torch bearer he was a rank failure, for
he had a careless way of turning it and flashing it into people's
faces that compelled them to jump to save themselves. Where the
track lay clear and straight ahead the torch seemed to light it
like day; but in dark places it was suddenly lowered or wavering
somewhere else. It was through this carelessness of Jimmy's that
at the first cattle-guard north of the village the torch flickered
backward, ostensibly to locate Dannie, and the Thread Man went
crashing down between the iron bars, and across the gun. Instantly
Jimmy sprawled on top of him, and the next two men followed suit.
The torch plowed into the snow and went out, and the yells of
Jimmy alarmed the adjoining village.
He was hurt the worst of all, and the busiest getting in marching
order again. "Howly smoke!" he panted. "I was havin'
the time of me life, and plum forgot that cow-kitcher. Thought
it was a quarter of a mile away yet. And liked to killed meself
with me carelessness. But that's always the way in true sport.
You got to take the knocks with the fun." No one asked the
Thread Man if he was hurt, and he did not like to seem unmanly
by mentioning a skinned shin, when Jimmy Malone seemed to have
bursted most of his inside; so he shouldered his gun and limped
along, now slightly in the rear of Jimmy. The river bridge was
a serious matter with its icy coat, and danger of specials, and
the torches suddenly flashed out from all sides; and the Thread
Man gave thanks for Dannie Macnoun, who reached him a steady hand
across the ties. The walk was three miles, and the railroad lay
at from twenty to thirty feet elevation along the river and through
the bottom land. The Boston man would have been thankful for the
light, but as the last man stepped from the ties of the bridge
all the torches went out save one. Jimmy explained they simply
had to save them so that they could see where the coon fell when
they began to shake the coon tree.
Just beside the water tank, and where the embankment was twenty
feet sheer, Jimmy was cautioning the Boston man to look out, when
the hunter next behind him gave a wild yell and plunged into his
back. Jimmy's grab for him seemed more a push than a pull, and
the three rolled to the bottom, and half way across the flooded
ditch. The ditch was frozen over, but they were shaken, and smothered
in snow. The whole howling party came streaming down the embankment.
Dannie held aloft his torch and discovered Jimmy lying face down
in a drift, making no effort to rise, and the Thread Man feebly
tugging at him and imploring some one to come and help get Malone
out. Then Dannie slunk behind the others and yelled until he was
tired.
By and by Jimmy allowed himself to be dragged out.
"Who the thunder was that come buttin' into us?" he
blustered. "I don't allow no man to butt into me when I'm
on an imbankmint. Send the fool back here till I kill him."
The Thread Man was pulling at Jimmy's arm. "Don't mind, Jimmy,"
he gasped. "It was an accident! The man slipped. This is
an awful place. I will be glad when we reach the woods. I'll feel
safer with ground that's holding up trees under my feet. Come
on, now! Are we not almost there? Should we not keep quiet from
now on? Will we not alarm the coons?"
"Sure," said Jimmy. "Boys, don't hollo so much.
Every blamed coon will be scared out of its hollow!"
"Amazing!" said the Thread Man. "How clever! Came
on the spur of the moment. I must remember that to tell the Club.
Do not hollo. Scare the coon out of its hollow!"
"Oh, I do miles of things like that," said Jimmy dryly,
"and mostly I have to do thim before the spur of the moment;
because our moments go so domn fast out here mighty few of thim
have time to grow their spurs before they are gone. Here's where
we turn. Now, boys, they've been trying to get this biler across
the tracks here, and they've broke the ice. The water in this
ditch is three feet deep and freezing cold. They've stuck getting
the biler over, but I wonder if we can't cross on it, and hit
the wood beyond. Maybe we can walk it."
Jimmy set a foot on the ice-covered boiler, howled, and fell back
on the men behind him. "Jimminy crickets, we niver can do
that!" he yelled. "It's a glare of ice and roundin'.
Let's crawl through it! The rist of you can get through if I can.
We'd better take off our overcoats, to make us smaller. We can
roll thim into a bundle, and the last man can pull it through
behind him."
Jimmy threw off his coat and entered the wrecked oil engine. He
knew how to hobble through on his toes, but the pleated coat of
the Boston man, who tried to pass through by stooping, got almost
all Jimmy had in store for it. Jimmy came out all right with a
shout. The Thread Man did not step half so far, and landed knee
deep in the icy oil-covered slush of the ditch. That threw him
off his balance, and Jimmy let him sink one arm in the pool, and
then grabbed him, and scooped oil on his back with the other hand
as he pulled. During the excitement and struggles of Jimmy and
the Thread Man, the rest of the party jumped the ditch and gathered
about, rubbing soot and oil on the Boston man, and he did not
see how they crossed.
Jimmy continued to rub oil and soot into the hated coat industriously.
The dogs leaped the ditch, and the instant they struck the woods
broke away baying over fresh tracks. The men yelled like mad.
Jimmy struggled into his overcoat, and helped the almost insane
Boston man into his and then they hurried after the dogs.
The scent was so new and clear the dogs simply raged. The Thread
Man was wild, Jimmy was wilder, and the thirteen contributed all
they could for laughing. Dannie forgot to be ashamed of himself
and followed the example of the crowd. Deeper and deeper into
the wild, swampy Canoper led the chase. With a man on either side
to guide him into the deepest holes and to shove him into bushy
thickets, the skinned, soot-covered, oil-coated Boston man toiled
and sweated. He had no time to think, the excitement was so intense.
He scrambled out of each pitfall set for him, and plunged into
the next with such uncomplaining bravery that Dannie very shortly
grew ashamed, and crowding up beside him he took the heavy gun
and tried to protect him all he could without falling under the
eye of Jimmy, who was keeping close watch on the Boston man.
Wild yelling told that the dogs had treed, and with shaking fingers
the Thread Man pulled off the big mittens he wore and tried to
lift the gun. Jimmy flashed a torch, and sure enough, in the top
of a medium hickory tree, the light was reflected in streams from
the big shining eyes of a coon. "Treed!" yelled Jimmy
frantically. "Treed! and big as an elephant. Company's first
shot. Here, Mister O'Khayam, here's a good place to stand. Gee,
what luck! Coon in sight first thing, and Mellen's food coon at
that! Shoot, Mister O'Khayam, shoot!"
The Thread Man lifted the wavering gun, but it was no use.
"Tell you what, Ruben," said Jimmy. "You are too
tired to shoot straight. Let's take a rist, and ate our lunch.
Then we'll cut down the tree and let the dogs get cooney. That
way there won't be any shot marks in his skin. What do you say?
Is that a good plan?"
They all said that was the proper course, so they built a fire,
and placed the Thread Man where he could see the gleaming eyes
of the frightened coon, and where all of them could feast on his
soot and oil-covered face. Then they opened the bag and passed
the sandwiches.
"I really am hungry," said the weary Thread Man, biting
into his with great relish. His jaws moved once or twice experimentally,
and then he lifted his handkerchief to his lips.
"I wish 'twas as big as me head," said Jimmy, taking
a great bite, and then he began to curse uproariously.
"What ails the things?" inquired Dannie, ejecting a
mouthful. And then all of them began to spit birdshot, and started
an inquest simultaneously. Jimmy raged. He swore some enemy had
secured the bag and mined the feast; but the boys who knew him
laughed until it seemed the Thread Man must suspect. He indignantly
declared it was a dirty trick. By the light of the fire he knelt
and tried to free one of the sandwiches from its sprinkling of
birdshot, so that it would be fit for poor Jimmy, who had worked
so hard to lead them there and tree the coon. For the first time
Jimmy looked thoughtful.
But the sight of the Thread Man was too much for him, and a second
later he was thrusting an ax into the hands accustomed to handling
a thread case. Then he led the way to the tree, and began chopping
at the green hickory. It was slow work, and soon the perspiration
streamed. Jimmy pulled off his coat and threw it aside. He assisted
the Thread Man out of his and tossed it behind him. The coat alighted
in the fire, and was badly scorched before it was rescued. But
the Thread Man was game. Fifty times that night it had been said
that he was to have the first coon, of course he should work for
it. So with the ax with which Casey chopped ice for his refrigerator,
the Boston man banged against the hickory, and swore to himself
because he could not make the chips fly as Jimmy did.
"Iverybody clear out!" cried Jimmy. "Number one
is coming down. Get the coffee sack ready. Baste cooney over the
head and shove him in before the dogs tear the skin. We want a
dandy big pelt out of this!"
There was a crack, and the tree fell with a crash. All the Boston
man could see was that from a tumbled pile of branches, dogs,
and men, some one at last stepped back, gripping a sack, and cried:
"Got it all right, and it's a buster."
"Now for the other forty-nine!" shouted Jimmy, straining
into his coat.
"Come on, boys, we must secure a coon for every one,"
cried the Thread Man, heartily as any member of the party might
have said it. But the rest of the boys suddenly grew tired. They
did not want any coons, and after some persuasion the party agreed
to go back to Casey's to warm up. The Thread Man got into his
scorched, besooted, oil-smeared coat, and the overcoat which had
been loaned him, and shouldered the gun. Jimmy hesitated. But
Dannie came up to the Boston man and said: "There's a place
in my shoulder that gun juist fits, and it's lonesome without
it. Pass it over." Only the sorely bruised and strained Thread
Man knew how glad he was to let it go.
It was Dannie, too, who whispered to the Thread Man to keep close
behind him; and when the party trudged back to Casey's it was
so surprising how much better he knew the way going back than
Jimmy had known it coming out, that the Thread Man did remark
about it. But Jimmy explained that after one had been out a few
hours their eyes became accustomed to the darkness and they could
see better. That was reasonable, for the Thread Man knew it was
true in his own experience.
So they got back to Casey's, and found a long table set, and a
steaming big oyster supper ready for them; and that explained
the Thread Man's conference with Mrs. Casey. He took the head
of the table, with his back to the wall, and placed Jimmy on his
right and Dannie on his left. Mrs. Casey had furnished soap and
towels, and at least part of the Boston man's face was clean.
The oysters were fine, and well cooked. The Thread Man recited
more of the wonderful poem for Dannie's benefit, and told jokes
and stories. They laughed until they were so weak they could only
pound the table to indicate how funny it was. And at the close,
just as they were making a movement to rise, Casey proposed that
he bring in the coon, and let all of them get a good look at their
night's work. The Thread Man applauded, and Casey brought in the
bag and shook it bottom up over the floor. Therefrom there issued
a poor, frightened, maltreated little pet coon of Mrs. Casey's,
and it dexterously ran up Casey's trouser leg and hid its nose
in his collar, its chain dragging behind. And that was so funny
the boys doubled over the table, and laughed and screamed until
a sudden movement brought them to their senses.
The Thread Man was on his feet, and his eyes were no laughing
matter. He gripped his chair back, and leaned toward Jimmy. "You
walked me into that cattle-guard on purpose!" he cried.
Silence.
"You led me into that boiler, and fixed the oil at the end!"
No answer.
"You mauled me all over the woods, and loaded those sandwiches
yourself, and sored me for a week trying to chop down a tree with
a pet coon chained in it! You----! You----! What had I done to
you?"
"You wouldn't drink with me, and I didn't like the domned,
dinky, little pleated coat you wore," answered Jimmy.
One instant amazement held sway on the Thread Man's face; the
next, "And damned if I like yours!" he cried, and catching
up a bowl half filled with broth he flung it squarely into Jimmy's
face.
Jimmy, with a great oath, sprang at the Boston man. But once in
his life Dannie was quick. For the only time on record he was
ahead of Jimmy, and he caught the uplifted fist in a grip that
Jimmy's use of whiskey and suffering from rheumatism had made
his master.
"Steady--Jimmy, wait a minute," panted Dannie. "This
mon is na even wi' ye yet. When every muscle in your body is strained,
and every inch of it bruised, and ye are daubed wi' soot, and
bedraggled in oil, and he's made ye the laughin' stock fra strangers
by the hour, ye will be juist even, and ready to talk to him.
Every minute of the nicht he's proved himself a mon, and right
now he's showed he's na coward. It's up to ye, Jimmy. Do it royal.
Be as much of a mon as he is. Say ye are sorry!"
One tense instant the two friends faced each other.
Then Jimmy's fist unclenched, and his arms dropped. Dannie stepped
back, trying to breathe lightly, and it was between Jimmy and
the Thread Man.
"I am sorry," said Jimmy. "I carried my objictions
to your wardrobe too far. If you'll let me, I'll clean you up.
If you'll take it, I'll raise you the price of a new coat, but
I'll be domn if I'll hilp put such a man as you are into another
of the fiminine ginder."
The Thread Man laughed, and shook Jimmy's hand; and then Jimmy
proved why every one liked him by turning to Dannie and taking
his hand. "Thank you, Dannie," he said. "You sure
hilped me to mesilf that time. If I'd hit him, I couldn't have
hild up me head in the morning."