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But the brightest blaze of internal sunshine the most effulgent and dazzling beams of light were shed forth in the lowly hut of Jacky's particular friend. Old Moggy did not die after all!
It was something to fix her attention on whilst talking. Old Mrs. Abbot always liked to be able to occupy her hands when talking seriously. And Jacky's face told her that this was a moment for serious conversation. "Where's the Doc?" the girl asked without preamble. She knew, of course, but she used the question by way of making a beginning. The old lady imperceptibly straightened her back.
It was "sure medicine" for that foe, and the boys still call the place "Old Jacky's Jump." But there was a Greyhound that could leap better than the Jack, and when he could not follow through a fence, he jumped over it. He tried the Warhorse's mettle more than once, and Jacky only saved himself by his quick dodging, till they got to an Osage hedge, and here the Greyhound had to give it up.
It turned up long afterward in the pocket of Master Jacky Carling's overcoat; so long afterward that John, so far as Mary was concerned, had disappeared altogether. The discovery of Jacky's dereliction explained to her, in part at least, why she had never seen him or heard from him after that last evening at Sixty-ninth Street.
One day Jacky Jacky's ship came into a little bay on the mainland for water, and then my enterprising friend, watching his opportunity, struck inland for home and liberty, accompanied by several other companions in misery. These latter the coast natives promptly speared, but Jacky Jacky escaped, thanks probably to his knowledge of the white man's wiles.
No signs of them returning disconsolate he took Jacky on his crupper and went over the ground with him. Jacky's eyes were playing and sparkling all the time in search of signs. Nothing clear was discovered. Then at Jacky's request they rode off George's feeding-ground altogether and made for a little wood about two miles distant. "Suppose you stop here, I go in the bush," said Jacky.
A drove of shaggy Highland cattle had come suddenly round a turn in the pass while Jacky's eyes had been shut. They now filed slowly and steadily past the transfixed boy, as if they were a regiment and he a reviewing general. Each animal as it came up, stopped, stared for a few seconds, and passed slowly on with its head down, as if saddened by the sight of such a melancholy spectacle.
He swore in a colourless sort of way, and picked the photograph up. It represented a young lady called Jacky, and had been taken at the time when young ladies called Jacky were often photographed with their mouths open. Teeth of dazzling whiteness extended along either of Jacky's jaw's, and positively weighed her head sideways, so large were they and so numerous.
"That's so. I like shootin'. What's that?" The girl had secured her horse, Bill was in the act of securing his. Jacky raised her hand in an attitude of attention and turned her face to windward. Bill stood erect and listened. "Ah! it's the boys. Baptiste said they would come." There was a faint rustling of grass near by. Jacky's keen ears had detected the stealing sound at once.
Browne, at length after a careful examination of this moving form. "On what?" asks Roger, curiously. "His fact," repeats Dicky, unmoved. "What's that?" asks Jacky's mamma, somewhat anxiously if a careless, it must be to her credit said, that Julia is a very kindly mother, and is now rather upset by Mr. Browne's mysterious declaration. "You ought to know; you gave it to him," declares he.
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