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Updated: June 21, 2025
"Now, in my country, two gentlemen sit late at the wine, and maybe there's a little difference of opinion, the cartes, or politics, or a lady or maybe just a differ for the sake of a differ. And wan gives t'other a skelp on the side of the head, and if the man's skull's sound, where's the harm? 'Tis done every day in Donegal and nobody a bit the worse!
'Come, now, you're a grave-digger, my fine fellow, he continued, accosting the sexton cynically; 'how long do you suppose that skull's been under ground? 'Long enough; but not so long, my fine fellow, as yours has been above ground.
"Not he," said Diggs, getting leisurely off the table; "it's all sham; he's only afraid to fight it out." East was as frightened as Tom. Diggs lifted Flashman's head, and he groaned. "What's the matter?" shouted Diggs. "My skull's fractured," sobbed Flashman. "Oh, let me run for the housekeeper!" cried Tom. "What shall we do?" "Fiddlesticks!
There were no complete walls any more, just jagged points of masonry, broken teeth set in a skull's jawbone. Open sky, dark clouds spattering rain. "Gordon? Karara?" Ross's voice was a thin whisper. He licked his lips and tried again: "Gordon!" Had there been an answering whimper? Ross crawled into a hollow between two fallen blocks. A pool of water?
"My skull's cracked in three or four places sure as a gun." "And the others. Oh! the others. Are they killed?" "I dunno, sir. I ain't not quite. Sims to me that they'd got bats, and they hit us with 'em like they do the pigs in the north country, or the cod-fish aboard the fishing smacks. My poor head feels as if it's opening and shutting like a fish's gills every time I moves my mouth."
Jim kept Pen's cold little hand warm within his own whenever the trail permitted on the way back. But he scarcely spoke again. The next day Iron Skull's funeral was held in the little adobe chapel which was filled to overflowing. A great crowd of workmen, Americans, Mexicans and Indians, gathered outside.
Seeing him now determinately coming, with pitchfork valiantly presented, Israel, as a last means of practising on the fellow's fears of the supernatural, suddenly doubled up both fists, presenting them savagely towards him at a distance of about twenty paces, at the same time showing his teeth like a skull's, and demoniacally rolling his eyes.
He was considerably older than Jim, who introduced the stranger as Mr. Jack Henderson. "Henderson will take Iron Skull's place," explained Jim. "You must remember how I wrote home of him and how he helped me save my reputation as a road-builder on the Makon. He's been down on the diversion dam." Penelope held out her hand.
The rising night wind began its task of sifting sand across Iron Skull's grave. Coyotes howled far on the mountain tops. And the night shift began to repair the cofferdam for old Jezebel had dropped suddenly back into her old trail. A day or so after the funeral Sara said to Penelope, "When are you going down to see Mrs. Ames?" "What makes you so friendly to the Ames family?"
But before the Makon was finished Jim, in the long evening pipes he smoked under the stars with Suma-theek, learned the truth of Iron Skull's statements as to the Indian's wisdom. The evening of the day the Indians arrived, a short, heavy man came to Jim's tent. He was a foreman and a good one. Jim liked his voice, which had a peculiar, tender quality, astonishing in so rough a man.
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