The Crock of Gold (15 page)

"Shawn," the sergeant bawled, "have you got a good grip of that man?"

"I have so," said Shawn.

If he gets away I'll kick the belly out of you; mind that now! Come along with you and no more of your slouching."

They marched down the road in a tingling silence.

"Dogs," said the Philosopher, "are a most intelligent race of people—"

People, my granny!" said the sergeant.

"From the earliest ages their intelligence has been observed and recorded, so that ancient literatures are bulky with references to their sagacity and fidelity—"

"Will you shut your old jaw?" said the sergeant.

"I will not," said the Philosopher. "Elephants also are credited with an extreme intelligence and devotion to their masters, and they will build a wall or nurse a baby with equal skill and
happiness. Horses have received high recommendations in this respect, but crocodiles, hens, beetles, armadillos, and fish do not evince any remarkable partiality for man—"

"I wish," said the sergeant bitterly, "that all them beasts were stuffed down your throttle the way you'd have to hold your prate."

"It doesn't matter," said the Philosopher. "I do not know why these animals should attach themselves to men with gentleness and love and yet be able to preserve intact their initial
bloodthirstiness, so that while they will allow their masters to misuse them in any way they will yet fight most willingly with each other, and are never really happy saving in the conduct of some
private and nonsensical battle of their own. I do not believe that it is fear which tames these creatures into mildness, but that the most savage animal has a capacity for love which has not been
sufficiently noted, and which, if more intelligent attention had been directed upon it, would have raised them to the status of intellectual animals as against intelligent ones, and, perhaps, have
opened to us a correspondence which could not have been other than beneficial."

"Keep your eyes out for that gap in the trees, Shawn," said the sergeant.

"I'm doing that," said Shawn.

The Philosopher continued:

"Why can I not exchange ideas with a cow? I am amazed at the incompleteness of my growth when I and a fellow-creature stand dumbly before each other without one glimmer of comprehension, locked
and barred from all friendship and intercourse—"

"Shawn," cried the sergeant.

"Don't interrupt," said the Philosopher; "you are always talking.—The lower animals, as they are foolishly called, have abilities at which we can only wonder. The mind of an ant is one to
which I would readily go to school. Birds have atmospheric and levitational information which millions of years will not render accessible to us; who that has seen a spider weaving his labyrinth, or
a bee voyaging safely in the trackless air, can refuse to credit that a vivid, trained intelligence animates these small enigmas? and the commonest earthworm is the heir to a culture before which I
bow with the profoundest veneration—"

"Shawn," said the sergeant, "say something for goodness' sake to take the sound of that man's clack out of my ear."

"I wouldn't know what to be talking about," said Shawn, "for I never was much of a hand at conversation, and, barring my prayers, I got no education—I think myself that he was making a
remark about a dog. Did you ever own a dog, sergeant?"

"You are doing very well, Shawn," said the sergeant, "keep it up now."

"I knew a man had a dog would count up to a hundred for you. He won lots of money in bets about it, and he'd have made a fortune, only that I noticed one day he used to be winking at the dog,
and when he'd stop winking the dog would stop counting. We made him turn his back after that, and got the dog to count sixpence, but he barked for more than five shillings, he did so, and he would
have counted up to a pound, maybe, only that his master turned round and hit him a kick. Every person that ever paid him a bet said they wanted their money back, but the man went away to America in
the night, and I expect he's doing well there, for he took the dog with him. It was a wire-haired terrier bitch, and it was the devil for having pups."

"It is astonishing," said the Philosopher, "on what slender compulsion people will go to America—"

"Keep it up, Shawn," said the sergeant, "you are doing me a favour."

"I will so," said Shawn. "I had a cat one time and it used to have kittens every two months."

The Philosopher's voice arose:

"If there was any periodicity about these migrations one could understand them. Birds, for example, migrate from their homes in the late autumn and seek abroad the sustenance and warmth which
the winter would withhold if they remained in their native lands. The salmon also, a dignified fish with a pink skin, emigrates from the Atlantic Ocean, and betakes himself inland to the streams
and lakes, where he recuperates for a season, and is often surprised by net, angle, or spear—"

"Cut in now, Shawn," said the sergeant anxiously.

Shawn began to gabble with amazing speed and in a mighty voice:

"Cats sometimes eat their kittens, and sometimes they don't. A cat that eats its kittens is a heartless brute. I knew a cat used to eat its kittens—it had four legs and a long tail, and it
used to get the head-staggers every time it had eaten its kittens. I killed it myself one day with a hammer, for I couldn't stand the smell it made, so I couldn't—"

"Shawn," said the sergeant, "can't you talk about something else besides cats and dogs?"

"Sure, I don't know what to talk about," said Shawn. "I'm sweating this minute trying to please you, so I am. If you'll tell me what to talk about I'll do my endeavours."

"You're a fool," said the sergeant sorrowfully; "you'll never make a constable. I'm thinking that I would sooner listen to the man himself than to you. Have you got a good hold of him now?"

"I have so," said Shawn.

"Well, step out and maybe we'll reach the barracks this night, unless this is a road that there isn't any end to at all. What was that? Did you hear a noise?"

"I didn't hear a thing," said Shawn.

"I thought," said another man, "that I heard something moving in the hedge at the side of the road."

"That's what I heard," said the sergeant. "Maybe it was a weasel. I wish to the devil that we were out of this place where you can't see as much as your own nose. Now did you hear it,
Shawn?"

"I did so," said Shawn; "there's some one in the hedge, for a weasel would make a different kind of a noise if it made any at all."

"Keep together, men," said the sergeant, "and march on; if there's anybody about they've no business with us."

He had scarcely spoken when there came a sudden pattering of feet, and immediately the four men were surrounded and were being struck at on every side with sticks and hands and feet.

"Draw your batons," the sergeant roared; "keep a good grip of that man, Shawn."

"I will so," said Shawn.

"Stand round him, you other men, and hit anything that comes near you."

There was no sound of voices from the assailants, only a rapid scuffle of feet, the whistle of sticks as they swung through the air or slapped smartly against a body or clashed upon each other,
and the quick breathing of many people; but from the four policemen there came noise and to spare as they struck wildly on every side, cursing the darkness and their opposers with fierce
enthusiasm.

"Let out," cried Shawn suddenly. "Let out or I'll smash your nut for you. There's some one pulling at the prisoner, and I've dropped my baton."

The truncheons of the policemen had been so ferociously exercised that their antagonists departed as swiftly and as mysteriously as they came. It was just two minutes of frantic, aimless
conflict, and then the silent night was round them again, without any sound but the slow creaking of branches, the swish of leaves as they swung and poised, and the quiet croon of the wind along
the road.

"Come on, men," said the sergeant, "we'd better be getting out of this place as quick as we can. Are any of ye hurted?"

"I've got one of the enemy," said Shawn, panting.

"You've got what?" said the sergeant.

"I've got one of them, and he is wriggling like an eel on a pan."

"Hold him tight," said the sergeant excitedly.

"I will so," said Shawn. "It's a little one by the feel of it. If one of ye would hold the prisoner, I'd get a better grip on this one. Aren't they dangerous villains now?"

Another man took hold of the Philosopher's arm, and Shawn got both hands on his captive.

"Keep quiet, I'm telling you," said he, "or I'll throttle you, I will so. Faith, it seems like a little boy by the feel of it!"

"A little boy!" said the sergeant

"Yes, he doesn't reach up to my waist."

"It must be the young brat from the cottage that set the dogs on us, the one that loves beasts. Now then, boy, what do you mean by this kind of thing? You'll find yourself in gaol for this, my
young buck-o. Who was with you, eh? Tell me that now?" and the sergeant bent forward.

"Hold up your head, sonny, and talk to the sergeant," said Shawn. "Oh!" he roared, and suddenly he made a little rush forward. "I've got him," he gasped; "he nearly got away. It isn't a boy at
all, sergeant; there's whiskers on it!"

"What do you say?" said the sergeant.

"I put my hand under its chin and there's whiskers on it. I nearly let him out with the surprise, I did so."

"Try again," said the sergeant in a low voice; "you are making a mistake."

"I don't like touching them," said Shawn. "It's a soft whisker like a billy-goat's. Maybe you'd try yourself, sergeant, for I tell you I'm frightened of it."

"Hold him over here," said the sergeant, "and keep a good grip of him."

"I'll do that," said Shawn, and he hauled some reluctant object towards his superior.

The sergeant put out his hand and touched a head.

"It's only a boy's size, to be sure," said he, then he slid his hand down the face and withdrew it quickly.

"There are whiskers on it," said he soberly. "What the devil can it be? I never met whiskers so near the ground before. Maybe they are false ones, and it's just the boy yonder trying to disguise
himself." He put out his hand again with an effort, felt his way to the chin, and tugged.

Instantly there came a yell, so loud, so sudden, that every man of them jumped in a panic.

"They are real whiskers," said the sergeant with a sigh. "I wish I knew what it is. His voice is big enough for two men, and that's a fact. Have you got another match on you?"

"I have two more in my waistcoat pocket," said one of the men.

"Give me one of them," said the sergeant; "I'll strike it myself."

He groped about until he found the hand with a match.

"Be sure and hold him tight, Shawn, the way we can have a good look at him, for this is like to be a queer miracle of a thing."

"I'm holding him by the two arms," said Shawn, "he can't stir anything but his head, and I've got my chest on that."

The sergeant struck the match, shading it for a moment with his hand, then he turned it on their new prisoner.

They saw a little man dressed in tight green clothes; he had a broad, pale face with staring eyes, and there was a thin fringe of grey whisker under his chin—then the match went out.

"It's a Leprecaun," said the sergeant.

The men were silent for a full couple of minutes—at last Shawn spoke.

"Do you tell me so?" said he in a musing voice; "that's a queer miracle altogether."

"I do," said the sergeant. "Doesn't it stand to reason that it can't be anything else? You saw it yourself."

Shawn plumped down on his knees before his captive.

"Tell me where the money is?" he hissed. "Tell me where the money is or I'll twist your neck off."

The other men also gathered eagerly around, shouting threats and commands at the Leprecaun.

"Hold your whist," said Shawn fiercely to them. "He can't answer the lot of you, can he?" and he turned again to the Leprecaun and shook him until his teeth chattered.

"If you don't tell me where the money is at once I'll kill you, I will so."

"I haven't got any money at all, sir," said the Leprecaun.

"None of your lies," roared Shawn. "Tell the truth now or it'll be worse for you."

"I haven't got any money," said the Leprecaun, "for Meehawl MacMurrachu of the Hill stole our crock a while back, and he buried it under a thorn bush. I can bring you to the place if you don't
believe me."

"Very good," said Shawn. "Come on with me now, and I'll clout you if you as much as wriggle; do you mind me?"

"What would I wriggle for?" said the Leprecaun: "sure I like being with you."

Hereupon the sergeant roared at the top of his voice.

"Attention," said he, and the men leaped to position like automata.

"What is it you are going to do with your prisoner, Shawn?" said he sarcastically. "Don't you think we had enough tramping of these roads for one night, now? Bring up that Leprecaun to the
barracks or it'll be the worse for you—do you hear me talking to you?"

"But the gold, sergeant," said Shawn sulkily.

"If there's any gold it'll be treasure trove, and belong to the Crown. What kind of a constable are you at all, Shawn? Mind what you are about now, my man, and no back answers. Step along there.
Bring that murderer up at once, whichever of you has him."

There came a gasp from the darkness.

"Oh, Oh, Oh!" said a voice of horror.

"What's wrong with you?" said the sergeant: "are you hurted?"

"The prisoner!" he gasped, "he, he's got away!"

"Got away?" and the sergeant's voice was a blare of fury.

"While we were looking at the Leprecaun," said the voice of woe, "I must have forgotten about the other one—I, I haven't got him—"

"You gawm!" gritted the sergeant.

"Is it my prisoner that's gone?" said Shawn in a deep voice. He leaped forward with a curse and smote his negligent comrade so terrible a blow in the face, that the man went flying backwards,
and the thud of his head on the road could have been heard anywhere.