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Puts it in his quiver and throws it in the stream. Gives me his blowpipe for his little son. Says to me good-bye for his wife and the village. Then he lies down. His tongue talks no longer. No sight in his eyes. He folds his arms. He rolls over slowly. His mouth moves without sound. I feel his heart. It goes fast and then slow. It stops. Quacca has shot his last woorali dart."
I'll show you, Davis!" "Well, show! We ain't a mite scared." For some moments the throng in the town hall had shown waning interest in this discussion. There seemed to be matters outside that distracted the attention of those near the windows. "There's a fire up Jo Quacca way!" called some one. The windows of town hall were high and uncurtained. All could see.
We'll get down to business now." "I know where my business is just this minute!" shouted the man who was leading the first volunteers. "And it ain't in politics." The chairman tried to put a motion to adjourn, but at that moment the meeting-house bell began to clang its alarm. "Save your property, you Jo Quacca fellows!" some one cried, and the crowd stampeded.
"I'll see to it," stated Thornton, grimly. "Well, then, bein' sure of that time, I'll Mr. Thornton, would you object if I was to start in this afternoon on the contract of clearing up that slash where you operated on Jo Quacca last winter? Of course, this ain't just the best kind of weather for bonfires, but the fire will certainly burn!"
"Fighting" MacCracken, of the Jo Quacca neighborhood, smarting ever since that day in the yard of "The Barracks," jealous of his prestige as a man of might, offered obscene and brutal insult to the name of Thelismer Thornton in the hearing of his grandson.
"I tell you, boys," he shouted, "that's a racin' fire, and it's in that Jo Quacca slash! I, for one, have got a stand of buildin's in front of that fire." He jumped down and started for the door. Several men followed him. The chairman of the town committee began to shake a paper above his head. "It's no time to be leaving a caucus," he pleaded. "We've fixed up a new call.
I had only three hours to-day. You needn't worry about the election, Luke." With his eyes still on the seething smoke vomiting up from the Jo Quacca hills he lighted a fresh cigar. "There's something up there that's worrying me more. Cobb has got fire enough to break up a State convention." Certain columns of smoke shot up, bearing knobs like hideous mushrooms.
"I've got a message for you, yourself, then, and you stay here and take it. He stole our caucus for you to-day, your grandfather did " "You don't mean to say I was nominated!" "That's too polite a word, Mr. Harlan Thornton. I gave you the right one the first time. He stampeded our caucus by having that fire set on the Jo Quacca hills.
The Duke walked to the end of the porch and gazed up at the Jo Quacca hills, where the dim, red glow still shone against the sky. "So it took down three stands of buildings, did it, Harlan?" he called. "Did you tell the boys we'd settle promptly, and for them to keep away from the lawyers?" "I arranged it the best I could and got their promise.
They were armed with blowpipes and quivers full of poisoned darts made of thin charred pieces of bamboo tipped with this stuff. One of them aimed a dart. It missed the object overhead, glanced off the tree, and fell down on the hunter himself. This is how the other native reported the result: "'Quacca takes the dart out of his shoulder. Never a word.
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