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Happy Jack, Wild Man
by
Happy Jack looked guilty, and even more suspicious. Was it possible that they had recognized him?
“The way we come to hear about him,” Weary explained, “we happened across some campers, over in a little coulee to the west uh here. They was all worked up over him. Seems he went into camp last night, and like to scared the ladies into fits. He ain’t got enough clothes on to flag an antelope, according to them, and he’s about seven feet high, and looks more like a missing link than a plain, ordinary man. The one that didn’t faint away got the best look at him, and she’s ready to take oath he ain’t more’n half human. They kept fires burning all night to scare him out uh the coulee, and they’re going to break camp to-day and hike for home. They say he give a screech that’d put a crimp in the devil himself, and went galloping off, jumping about twenty feet at a lick. And–“
“Aw, gwan!” protested Happy Jack, feebly.
“So help me Josephine, it’s the truth,” abetted Pink, round-eyed and unmistakably in earnest. “We wouldn’t uh taken much stock in it, either, only we saw him ourselves, not more than two hundred yards off. He was just over the hill from the coulee where they were camped, so it’s bound to be the same animal. It’s a fact, he didn’t have much covering–just something hung over his shoulders. And he was sure wild, for soon as he seen us he humped himself and got into the brush. We could hear him go crashing away like a whole bunch of elephants. It’s a damn’ shame he got away on us,” Pink sighed regretfully. “We was going to rope him and put him in a cage; we could sure uh made money on him, at two bits a look.”
Happy Jack continued to eye the three distrustfully. Too often had he been the victim of their humor for him now to believe implicitly in their ignorance. It was too good to be real, it seemed to him. Still, if by any good luck it were real, he hated to think what would happen if they ever found out the truth. He eased the clothing cautiously away from his smarting back, and stared hard into a coulee.
“It was likely some sheepherder gone clean nutty,” mused Irish.
“Well, the most uh them wouldn’t have far to go,” ventured Happy Jack, thinking of the Swede.
“What we ought to do,” said Pink, keen for the chase, “is for the whole bunch of us to come down here and round him up. Wonder if we couldn’t talk Chip into laying off for a day or so; there’s no herd to hold. I sure would like to get a good look at him.”
“Somebody ought to take him in,” observed Irish longingly. “He ain’t safe, running around loose like that. There’s no telling what he might do. The way them campers read his brand, he’s plumb dangerous to meet up with alone. It’s lucky you didn’t run onto him, Happy.”
“Well, I didn’t,” growled Happy Jack. “And what’s more, I betche there ain’t any such person.”
“Don’t call us liars to our faces, Happy,” Weary reproved. “We told yuh, a dozen times, that we saw him ourselves. Yuh might be polite enough to take our word for it.”
“Aw, gwan!” Happy Jack grunted, still not quite sure of how much–or how little–they knew. While they discussed further the wild man, he watched furtively for the surreptitious lowering of lids that would betray their insincerity. When they appealed to him for an opinion of some phase of the subject, he answered with caution. He tried to turn the talk to his experiences on the Shonkin range, and found the wild man cropping up with disheartening persistency. He shifted often in the saddle, because of the deep sunburns which smarted continually and maddeningly. He wondered if the boys had used all of that big box of carbolic salve which used to be kept in a corner of the mess-box; and was carbolic salve good for sun-blisters? He told himself gloomily that if there was any of it left, and if it were good for his ailment, there wouldn’t be half enough of it, anyway. He estimated unhappily that he would need about two quarts.