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Updated: May 2, 2025
All turned and beheld Foxey Jack Quinn standing near at hand, a leer on his wide mouth and in his pale eyes, and his nunney-bag on his shoulder. He looked as if he had slept in his clothes which was, undoubtedly, the case. He glared straight at the skipper with a dancing flame of devilment in his eyes. "What ye bin all a-doin' now for to make extry work for yerselves?" he asked.
He war sorely tried that be sartain. But if he did it, he did it; it makes no difference to me. It doan't matter to me one snap ov the finger whether the lad killed Foxey or whether he didn't that bain't my business or yours. What consarns me is, as the son of the man as saved my child's loife at t' cost of his own be hunted by the constables and be in risk of his loife.
He replaced the window of Father McQueen's room, said nothing of his loss to Cormick and the old woman, and after breakfast went out and fought his way along to Foxey Quinn's cabin. He found the woman in tears. "Where bes Jack?" he asked, drawing the door tight behind him and standing with his hand on the latch. "He bain't here," said the woman.
With such exalted dreams as these did Foxey Jack Quinn occupy his mind as he hurried northward along the edge of the snowy barrens. He had travelled about two miles when he suddenly became aware of the increased force and coldness of the wind. Then, for the first time, he realized that one of those dreaded storms out of the northwest was approaching.
So, mindful, of your precious reputation I don't care a hang about my own I kept in the background. Upon inquiry you'll find that it is generally conceded that I did my best to prevent what has happened. And Jasperson was foxey, too. He hung back, said he was going to join the lodge, and wouldn't indulge in anything stronger than Napa Soda. He had three rounds of that.
He seemed to understand my feelings exactly." That evening when they were at tea Mrs. Sankey mentioned the agreeable visitor who had called in the afternoon. "What! William Mulready!" Ned exclaimed; "Foxey, as his hands call him. I have heard Bill speak of him often. His men hate him. They say he is a regular tyrant. What impudence his coming here!"
He knew that both young Cormick and old Mother Nolan were heavy sleepers; and, earlier in the evening, he had seen something through the window of the guest-chamber that had aroused his curiosity and a passion of avarice. Foxey Jack Quinn was warmly clothed. His rackets and a light pack were on his back and his pockets were stuffed with food and a flask of rum. He was armed with a hatchet.
So the skipper devoted a day to searching for him over the thawing, sodden wilderness behind the harbor. He took Bill Brennen and Nick Leary with him. The other men did not grumble at being left behind, perhaps because they were learning the unwisdom of grumbling against the skipper's orders, more likely because they did not care a dang if Foxey Jack Quinn was ever found or not, dead or alive.
The knife was not worth twopence of sterling money, but it made `Old Foxey' my best friend; and all his `hunter-craft' the gatherings of about sixty winters became mine. "I had not yet been inducted into the mystery of `rat-catching, but the season for that `noble' sport at length arrived, and the Indian hunter invited me to join him in a muskrat hunt.
After a few minutes of fruitless effort he turned away, leaving the window wide open. The sky was black as the throat of a chimney. A breath of wind came from the northwest. Foxey Jack Quinn was not weatherwise, however. He climbed the path to the edge of the barrens and turned to the north. "Diamonds white an' red," he muttered. "I seen 'em, and I knowed what they was.
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