II

It was late in January, and the blackest night that the river had ever

known. A furious gale drove down from the west and the very stars were

shut in behind a gloomy sky. Little Jacky Moran trimmed his lantern,

filled it with oil, whistled for Grey, and set forth as the black night

was falling. The oncoming darkness seemed to outdo itself. Before he

was half way up the river, night fell, and he found that he could see

but a very few feet before him, although it was not yet half-past five

o'clock. At six the men would leave the mill over the river, and,

journeying afoot across the ice, would reach home in safety if the

lantern were lighted, and if not, any or all of them might be plunged

into the treacherous "Wild Cat," with no hope of ever reaching shore

alive.

"He called me Jack o' Lantern," the boy said to himself. "It's a

dancing, deceiving light, but he'll find to-night that I'll deceive

nobody." And through the darkness the child plodded on. Behind him

walked the stiff-kneed old horse, solemn-faced and faithful, following

the lantern with stumbling gait, his soft nose, as ever, very near the

boy's shoulder. The way seemed endless, and Jacky, with stooped and

huddled shoulders, bent his head to the wind and forged on. Then, just

as he was within fifty yards of the turn that led up to the danger spot,

an unusually wild gust swept his cap from his head and sent it bounding

off the narrow footpath. Boylike, he reached for it, and failing to

recapture it, started in pursuit. In the darkness he did not see the

little ledge of earth and rock that hung a few feet above a "dip" on the

left side, and in his hurried chase he suddenly plunged forward, and

was hurled abruptly to a level far below the footpath. He fell heavily,

badly. One foot got twisted somehow, and as he landed he heard a faint

sharp "crack" in the region of his shoe. Something seemed to grow numb

right up to his knee. He tried to struggle to his feet, but dropped down

into a wilted little heap. Then he realized with horror that he was

unable to stand. For a moment he was bewildered with pain and the utter

darkness, for in his fall the lantern had rolled with him, then gone

out. The boy struck a match, and with but little difficulty lighted the

lantern. It seemed strange that the gale had ceased so suddenly, until,

in looking about, he saw that he was in a hollow, and the wind was

roaring above his head. He was quite sheltered where he lay, but his

brief gratitude for this gave way to horrified dismay when he discovered

that the light, too, was sheltered--that the ledge of earth and rock

arose between him and the river bank, that he could never reach the

dreaded danger spot with his warning light, and, near to it though he

was, the flame was completely obscured from the sight of anyone crossing

the ice.

For a moment the situation overwhelmed him. He sat and shivered. The

agony of his injured foot was now asserting itself above the first

numbness, and the realization that he was failing to warn the mill

hands, that he was only a Jack o' Lantern after all, seized on his young

heart and brain like a torturing claw. Despair settled down on him,

blacker, more terrible than the coming night. He fancied he could hear

the mill hands crash through the death hole, and he called wildly,

"Help! Oh, somebody help me!" all the time knowing that the shanties

were too far away for anyone there to hear, and that the footpath above

him was too lonely for any chance lumberman to be taking at this hour.

No one ever passed that way but himself, and in the old days Andy and

the grey--oh, he had not thought of the grey--where had the animal gone?

Instantly he whistled, called, whistled again, and over the ledge above

his head looked a long, serious face, with great solemn eyes, and a

soft, warm nose. The very sight gave the boy courage, and at his next

whistle the old horse carefully picked his way down the bank, and

reaching down his long neck, felt Jacky's shoulder with his velvety

muzzle.

"Oh, Grey," cried the boy, "you must help me. You must do something, oh,

something, to help!" Then he made an attempt to stand, to get on the

animal's back, but his poor foot gave out, and he huddled down to the

ground again in pitiful, hopeless pain. The horse's nose touched his

ear, starting him from a fast oncoming stupor. At the same instant the

six o'clock whistle blew at the mill across the frozen river. In a few

moments the men would be coming home, crossing the ice, perhaps to their

death instead of to the warm supper awaiting them at their shanty homes.

The thought of it all gripped Jacky's young heart with fear, but he was

powerless to warn them. He could not take a single step, and he was

rapidly becoming paralyzed with cold and pain. Once more the soft nose

of the old horse touched his ear. With the nearness of the warm,

friendly nose, his quick wit returned.

"Grey!" he almost shouted, "Grey-Boy, do you think _you_ could take the

lantern? Oh, Grey-Boy, help me think! I'm getting so numb and sleepy.

Oh, couldn't _you_ carry it for me?" With an effort the boy struggled

to his knees, and slipping his arms about the neck of his old chum,

he cried, "Oh, Grey, I saved you once from dying at the logging camp.

They'd have killed you there. Save the mill hands now just for me,

Grey, just for Jack o' Lantern, because I'm deceiving them at last."

The warm, soft nose still snuggled against his ear. The horse seemed

actually to understand. In a flash the boy determined to tie the lantern

to the animal's neck. Then, in another flash, he realized that he had

nothing with which to secure it there. The horse had not an inch of

halter or tie line on him. An inspiration came to him like an answer to

prayer, and within two seconds he acted upon it. Ripping off his coat,

he flung it over the horse's neck, the sleeves hanging down beneath the

animal's throat. Slipping one through the ring handle of the lantern, he

knotted them together. The horse lifted his head, and the lantern swung

clear and brilliant almost under the soft, warm nostrils.

"Get up there, old Grey! Get up!" shouted the boy desperately,

"clicking" with his tongue the well-known sound to start a horse on

the go. "Get up! And oh, Grey, go to the danger spot, nowhere else.

The danger spot, quick! Get up!"

The animal turned, and slowly mounted the broken ledge of earth and

rock. Jacky watched with strained, aching eyes until the light

disappeared over the bluff. Then his agonized knees collapsed. His

shoulders, with no warmth except the thin shirt-sleeves to cover them,

began to sting, then ache, then grow numb. Once more he huddled into

a limp little heap, and this time his eyes closed.

* * * * * * * *

"Do you know, father, I'm anxious about Jacky," said Mrs. Moran, as

they sat down to supper without the boy. "He's never come back since

he started with the lantern, and it's such an awful night. I'm afraid

something has happened to him."

"Why, nothing could have happened," answered Mr. Moran. "The lantern was

burning at the 'death-hole' all right as we crossed the ice."

"Then why isn't Jacky home long ago?" asked Mrs. Moran. "He never goes

to Andy's at this hour. He is always on time for supper. I don't like

it, Tom, one bit. The night is too bad for him not to have come directly

home. There, hear that wind." As she spoke the gale swept around the

bend of the river, and the house rocked with the full force of the

storm.

Tom Moran shoved back his chair, leaving his meal half finished. "That's

so," said he, a little anxiously, as he got into his heavy coat. "I'll

go up shore and see. Oh, there's Alick now, and 'Old Mack,'" as a

thundering knock fell on the door. "They said they were coming over

after supper for a talk with me." Then, as the door burst open, and the

big foreman, accompanied by "Old Mack," shouldered their way into the

room, Tom Moran added: "Say, boys, the kid ain't home, and his mother is

getting nervous about him. Will you two fellows take a turn around the

bend with me to hunt him up?"

"What!" yelled the big foreman. "Our little Jack o' Lantern out in this

blizzard? You better believe we'll go with you, Tom. And what's more,

we'll go right now. Hustle up, boys." And Alick Duncan strode out again,

with a frown of anxiety knitting his usually jovial face.

"Lantern's there all right," he shouted, as they neared the bank above

the danger spot. He was a few yards in advance of Jack's father and

"Old Mack." Then suddenly he stood stock still, gave vent to a long,

explosive whistle, and yelled, "Well, I'll be gin-busted! Look a' there,

boys!" And following his astounded gaze, they saw, on the brink of the

river, an old grey horse, with down-hanging head, his back to the gale,

and about his neck a boy's coat, from the knotted sleeves of which was

suspended a lighted lantern.

Tom Moran was at the animal's side instantly. "His mother was right," he

cried. "Something has happened to Jacky." And he began searching about

wildly.

"Now look here, Tom," said the big foreman, "keep your boots on,

and take this thing easy. If that horse knows enough to stand there

a-waiting for the boy, he knows enough to help us find him. We'll just

pretend to lead him home, and see what he'll do." And relieving the

horse of the lantern, he tied the little coat closer about the long

throat, and, using it as a halter, induced the grey to follow him. Down

the bank from the danger spot they went, round the bend to the footpath,

along the trail for fifty yards. Then the horse stopped. "Come on here!

Get up!" urged the big foreman, as he strained at the coat sleeve. But

the horse stood perfectly still, and refused to be coaxed further. "I'll

bet Jack o' Lantern is around here somewhere. Jack o'--oh, Jack o'!" he

shouted, for Tom Moran's throat was choked. He could not call the boy's

name.

"Jack o' Lantern--where are you?" reiterated Alick Duncan. But there was

no reply.

Meanwhile "Old Mack" had been snooping around the hollows at one side of

the trail, and Jacky's father was peering about the ledges opposite.

Presently he stopped, leaned over, and with love-sharpened eyesight, saw

a little, dark heap far below lying in the snow. "There's something

here, boys," he called brokenly.

Alick Duncan sprang to the ledge, looked over, made a strange sound with

his throat, and with an icy fear in his great heart, that never had

known fear before, he laid his big hand on Tom Moran's shoulder and

said, "Stay here, Tom. I'll go. It will be better for _me_ to go." And

slipping over the ledge, he dropped down beside the unconscious boy.

In another minute he was rubbing the cold hands, rousing the dormant

senses. Presently Jacky spoke, and with a shout of delight the big

foreman lifted the boy in his huge arms, and, struggling up the uneven

ledge, he shouted, "He's all O.K., Tom--just kind of laid out, but

still in the fight."

With the familiar voice in his ears, Jacky's senses returned, for,

lifting his head, he cried, "Oh, Mr. Duncan, did Grey-Boy take the

lantern to the danger-spot?"

"Bet your boots he did, son," said Tom Moran, stretching down his arms

to help the big foreman lift his burden. "We found him standing still

and firm as a flag pole, with that light hoisted under his chin."

"Thank goodness!" sighed the boy. "Oh, I was _so_ afraid he'd go home

with it, instead of to the river." Then, with a little gasp, "Mr.

Duncan, I told you once Grey had as much sense as a man. He saved you."

"No, Jack o' Lantern," said the big foreman gently, as he wrapped his

great coat around the half-frozen boy, "no, siree, it was you, and your

quick wits, that did it. Old Grey got the lantern habit, but it would

have done no good had you not had sense enough to sling the light around

his neck; and you leaving yourself to freeze here without a coat--bless

you, youngster! The mill hands and this big Scotchman won't forget

_that_ in a hurry."

And it was on faithful old Grey's back that the injured boy rode

home--home to warm blankets, warm supper, and the warm love of his

mother, but also to the knowledge that one of the smaller bones in his

ankle had broken when he heard that snapping sound. But it did not take

so long to mend, after all, and one day in the early spring the big

foreman appeared, his shrewd eyes twinkling with fun, although he made

the grave statement that Andy had at last consented to sell old Grey.

"It isn't true! It can't be true!" gasped Jacky. "Sell Grey-Boy after

what he did to save the mill hands? Oh! I _can't_ believe Andy would do

such a thing." And his thin little face went white, and his poor foot

dragged as he stood erect, as if to fight for the horse's rights.

"But Andy has sold him, nevertheless," grinned Alick Duncan, "sold him

to me and the other mill hands, and we're going to give him away."

"Away?" cried the boy, with startled, agonized eyes.

"Yes, lad," answered the big foreman seriously; and placing his strong

hand on Jacky's head, he added, "Give him away to the bravest little

chap in the world--a chap we all call Jack o' Lantern."

For a moment the boy stood speechless, then held out his arms--for the

old grey horse had come slowly up to the shanty, and with downbent head

was laying his soft, warm muzzle against Jacky's ear.