The Jack Tales

by Richard Chase

  Jack got down and stuck his finger in it, tasted of it, “Honey,” he says.

  “No,” I told him.

  “Taste it,” he says.

  So I tasted of it, and sure as I’m a-livin’ it was honey runnin’ down the creek bed in the place of water. Then we noticed considerable buzzin’ up the holler and we went on up that honey creek. Well, sir, ever’ tree in that holler was a bee-tree. The bees were so thick you couldn’t hardly see the trees and bresh. And the honey was a-drippin’ and oozin’ out ever’where. It ran down in little branches into that creek.

  “Now, ain’t that a sight in the world!” says Jack, and he leaned back on a little tree to watch the bees fly and the honey run, and when he jarred that tree something started floppin’ down on the ground around us.

  I picked one up and looked at it, then I smelled of it, and then I tasted of it, then I says to Jack, “Fritter!”

  “Surely not,” says Jack.

  “Pick one up and taste it,” I told him.

  So Jack tried one, and don’t you know there we stood in a little grove of fritter-trees. They were the best fritters you ever tasted. We shook down a mess of’em and dipped ’em in that honey creek and eat fritters and honey till we was nearly foundered.

  And just about that time we heard a racket up above us, and here came a little roast pig runnin’ out the bresh with a knife and fork stuck in its back, a-squealin’ to be eat. But we wasn’t hungry by then, so we ran it on back.

  Well, boys, Jack and me we got back in about dark, and next mornin’ we divided up the squirrels and pheasants and rabbits, and Jack gave me half of his wild turkeys and I went on home.

  About four years after that, Jack came to my house one day and told me, says, “You remember that swag where I shot at all them deer with them peach rock you had?”

  I told him I did.

  “I came through there yesterday,” Jack says, “and I saw a little tree full of ripe peaches so I got to lookin’ at it and a-wonderin’ about peaches a-growin’ out in the woods like that when I looked further up the holler and there was a lot of other little peach trees just like it. So I went on over to the first tree I saw. It was growin’ up on the other side of a log and I got up on that log to pull me off a peach when all at once that tree jumped up from the ground and ran off. Then blamed if that whole peach orchard didn’t rise up and run off through the woods. Them peach rock had took root in ever’ deer we shot. Some of ’em had the trees a-growin’ out their shoulders and some out their backs, and you remember that ’un I hit between the eyes? Well, it had a six-foot peach tree growin’ right up between its horns. Hit sure was a sight in the world.”

  Now, boys, don’t ask me too much about where it was Jack and me went huntin’ that day. It was pretty far back when I was a young feller, and I can’t remember exactly which way we went nor which part of which mountain that swag was in. I’d like to get some of them peaches myself.

  The Heifer Hide

  Well, Jack’s daddy had a tract of land back in the mountains, and he decided he’d give it to the boys to work. He gave Will and Tom a good horse a-piece; didn’t give Jack nothin’ but a little old heifer.

  They went on up to that newground, fixed ’em up a pole shanty, and went to clearin’ land. Jack he’d work about two hours, then he’d go back in. Will and Tom they didn’t like that much. Then one day they went to work and Jack never showed up at all. So they felled a tree on Jack’s heifer and killed it.

  Got back that evenin’, says to Jack, “You been foolin’ around here and let your heifer get out. Hit came up there where we were a-cuttin’ timber; tree fell on it and killed it.”

  “I don’t much care,” says Jack. “I been wantin’ some beef, anyhow.”

  Jack went and skinned it out, left the hide pretty near whole. He salted the meat down, stuffed the hide full of shucks. Then he’d put some of the meat on a stick and roast it on the fire. Jack got fat as a pig eatin’ on that beef and not workin’ none, got so fat after a while you couldn’t see his eyes. That beef lasted him a right smart while.

  Jack was gettin’ along fine, except his clothes kept bustin’—first his shirt, then his pants, and then he didn’t have nothin’ on at all hardly. So Jack sort of pulled that heifer hide over him. Hit was so stiff it stood right up by itself sort of like a calf, but Jack got in it some way or other, and it helped to keep him from gettin’ cold.

  Then one day Jack saw his beef about to give out, and he knowed he’d have to study up somethin’ to do. Will and Tom wouldn’t give him none of their rations on account of Jack not workin’. So, when Jack had finished the last mess of that beef, he took his heifer hide by the tail and sort of got it on him and pulled out for the low ground.

  Hit was about the funniest thing you ever saw; him a-travelin’ down the road with that old heifer hide by the tail and hit a-goin’ fump! fump! fump! ever’ step Jack took.

  Well, Jack went on till it was gettin’ about night, and fin’ly he came to a house, stopped and hollered, “Hello!”

  Woman came to the door.

  Jack says, “Can I stay the night?”

  The woman looked at Jack and com-menced laughin’. “No,” she says. “The man of the house ain’t here.”

  So Jack went on, fump, fump, fump! Came to another house, hollered again. Woman came out and Jack asked her could he stop all night.

  Time she saw Jack, she busted out laughin’, says, “No, the man of the house ain’t come back yet.”

  Jack went on, fump, fump, fump! Hit got plumb thick dark ’fore he got to another place. Jack got in the yard right up close to the house.

  “Hello!”

  The woman came out, looked at Jack, her eyes stuck out and her mouth popped open. She didn’t know what in the world that thing was.

  Jack says, “Can I stay the night here?”

  “Oh, law, no!” she says. “The man of the house . . .”

  “Blame the man of the house!” says Jack. “Hit don’t differ. I got to stop somewhere.”

  And he went a-fumpin’ right on in the house. The woman told him he could go up in the loft. So Jack went on up the stair steps, his old heifer hide fumpety, fumpety, fump! right on in behind him.

  Jack sat down there, and directly he heard somebody come in. Got down on his knees and looked through a knothole in the puncheon floor; saw it was a man there dressed up awful fine, necktie stickin’ out and a pretty little mustache. So he listened to what they were a-sayin’, and Jack fin’ly decided that feller wasn’t the man of the house.

  The old woman got out all kinds of good somethin’ to eat and set it on the table. That little man went to eatin’ and Jack’s mouth just watered. Then she put what was left back in the cupboard and got out a whole lot of good drinks. About that time somebody rode in the yard a-whistlin’.

  The woman says, “Law me! That’s my old man.”

  That little feller jumped up, says, “Where’ll I get? Where’ll I hide?”

  “Jump in that big chest there, quick!”

  So he jumped in the chest and the old lady got them drinks and all the good vittles out of sight just before the man of the house came in.

  He hung up his hat, says, “Get me some supper, old woman. I’m about starved to death.”

  She went and got him out a little cold cornbread and cold potatoes. The man sat down and com-menced eatin’. Jack couldn’t stand it no longer, so he raised up that heifer hide and rammed it against the floor. “What’s that, old lady?”

  “Law me! Hit’s nothin’ but a little old boy wanted to stay the night. He had the awfulest lookin’ thing with him. I made him go up in the loft.”

  Man hollered up to Jack, told him to come on down. Jack came down a-draggin’ his heifer hide.

  “What’s your name, stranger?”

  “My name’s Jack.”

  “Come on and set down, Jack. Eat a cold snack with me. Hit ain’t much, but you’re welcome to it.”

  So Jack sat down at the table, stoo
d his heifer hide up behind him. He eat a few cornbread crusts, didn’t suit him much. So he reached back and took hold on his heifer hide, churned it against the floor, made it rattle real loud, says, “You hush your mouth now. You’re not to com-mence your carryin’ on like that.”

  “What’d it say, Jack?”

  “Ain’t goin’ to tell,” says Jack. “Might make the woman of the house mad.”

  “Blame the woman of the house! You tell me what it said.”

  “Said there was all kinds of good fried ham and roast pig and chicken pie and lightbread in the cupboard yonder.”

  “Is there, old woman?”

  “Well, now,” she says, “hit’s just a little I was a-savin’ for my kinfolks comin’ tomorrow.”

  “Me and Jack’s your kinfolks. Bring it on out here for us.”

  So Jack and him eat a lot of them good rations. Jack was awful hungry, and he knowed she hadn’t brought out her best stuff yet, so he rammed his heifer hide again, says, “You blobber-mouthed thing! I done told you to hush. You keep on tellin’ lies now and I’ll put you out the door.”

  “What’d it say, Jack?”

  “I ain’t goin’ to tell ye nary other thing. Hit’s done made your old woman mad already.”

  “Blame her, Jack! What’d it say that time?”

  “Said there was some fruitcake and pies and honey and peaches in there.”

  “Is there, old woman?”

  “Hit’s just a little somethin’ I was a-savin’ for my kinfolks.”

  “Blame your kinfolks! Me and Jack’s as good as them. Bring it on here.”

  So they eat right on. Then Jack churned his heifer hide again, says, “Confound you, Lizzie! I told you when I brought you down here you’d have to keep your mouth shut. Now I’m a good notion to take you right out of here.”

  “What’d it say, Jack?”

  “Bedad, now! I ain’t goin’ to tell you no more. Your old lady’s gettin’ madder and madder. I’ll not tell.”

  “Hit don’t differ about her, Jack. You tell what it said.”

  “Said there was some good peach brandy and blackberry wine in there.”

  “What about it, old lady?”

  “Just a little I was savin’ for my poor kinfolks.”

  “Poor kinfolks, the nation! Me and Jack’s your poor kinfolks! Fetch it on out here.”

  So she got the likker and put it out. Jack he took him just a common little dram. He knowed what it ’uld do for him. But that man went after it pretty heavy, till it took a right smart effect on him. He got to talkin’ big, says, “Jack, what’ll ye take for that thing? I’ll give ye a hundred guineas.”

  “Law, no!” says Jack. “I can’t trade my heifer hide. I might starve.”

  “You price it, then, Jack. I got to have it, hit don’t differ what it costs.”

  “No,” says Jack, “I can’t sell my heifer hide.”

  “If you won’t sell it to me, Jack, I’ll just kill ye and take it anyhow. I got to have that thing. That’s all there is to it now.”

  “Well,” says Jack, “I’ll take a hundred guineas and that old chest there.”

  “Oh, no,” says the old lady, “not trade my chest by any means. My great-grandfather gave it to my grandfather and my grandfather gave it to my half-sister and my half-sister gave it to my second cousin and my second cousin gave it to my brother-in-law and my brother-in-law gave it to my first cousin and my first cousin gave it to me—and you ain’t to sell it.”

  “Confound you, old woman, you and all your kinfolks! If Jack wants that chest, he can have it.”

  So he paid Jack a hundred guineas and holp him shoulder that chest and Jack pulled out.

  He got down the road a piece and that old chest ’gun to weigh him down a right smart. Came to where there was a big well ’side the road, Jack stopped and let the chest fall, says, “You old heavy thing! I don’t want ye nohow. You’re a-goin’ to go right down in the bottom of this here well.”

  “Oh, pray, Jack! Don’t drop me in no well. Old Man Parsons’s in here. I’ll pay ye another hundred guineas not to do that.”

  “Bedad!” says Jack. “The blame thing’s a-talkin’ to me.—Let’s have it then and maybe I won’t do it.”

  So Old Parsons doubled up the money and poked Jack a hundred guineas out the crack. Jack picked up the money and pulled on down the road. That feller was so scared he forgot to trade with Jack about lettin’ him out.

  II

  Jack got back to the newground, and when Will and Tom saw all that money they asked Jack where in the world he got it at.

  “Made it off my heifer hide,” says Jack.

  Will and Tom says, “We’ll just have to make us some money like that too.”

  So they went out and shot their horses and stuffed their hides with shucks.

  Jack says, “You better wait till the hides cure. You may have no luck if ye don’t.”

  “No, we’ll not wait. We’re a-goin’ to make more money’n you did. If you can do it, we can too.”

  So Will and Tom pulled off all their clothes and got them horse hides around ’em and started down the road.

  Well, the sun was shinin’ pretty hot and directly the green flies got to blowin’ around, but Will and Tom never paid no attention to that. They came to a house and hollered, “Hello!”

  A woman came out and they says, “Can we stay the night?”

  “No!” says the woman. “You all get on away from here! Whee-ee-ew!”

  So they came to another house and hollered. A woman came out a-holdin’ her nose, says, “Shee-ee-ew! Take them stinkin’ horse hides away from here!”

  So fin’ly Will and Tom throwed them hides in the bresh and went on back home.

  “Jack, you lied!”

  “No, I didn’t neither.”

  “You did, too. We never made a cent of money. And now we’re a-goin’ to kill you and take your money for cheatin’ us like that. You make up your mind right now, what way ye’d rather die.”

  So Jack says, “Well, I don’t want ye to drown me.”

  They said to him, says, “Then that’s the very way we’ll kill ye.”

  So Will and Tom got Jack down in a hemp sack and took him on down to the river. When they got down the public road a piece, they saw they didn’t have no rope to tie him.

  Will says to Tom, says, “You go back to the house and get us the rope.”

  “No,” says Tom. “You go back and get it. I’ll watch Jack.”

  They got into such a argu-ment that fin’ly they laid Jack down in the sack and set two big logs across him, and both of’em went back after the rope.

  Jack wiggled around till he got his head out, and directly an old man came down the road drivin’ a big herd of sheep.

  Jack hollered at him, “Hello, uncle!”

  The old man looked all around till he saw Jack, says, “Hello, stranger. What in the world are you a-doin’ wrapped up in such a way as that?”

  “I’m fixin’ to go to heaven,” says Jack. “The angels are comin’ to get me just any minute now.”

  “Law me!” says the old man. “You look like an awful young feller. How old are ye?”

  “I’m twenty-three.”

  “Why, you’re a heap too young. I’m ninety-three. You ought to wait awhile longer. How about lettin’ me get in there and go in the place of you?”

  “I don’t know about that,” says Jack. “I may not get another chance.”

  “How about me tradin’ you this hundred head of sheep? You let me get in there and you can have all these here sheep.”

  “Well, lift these logs off me, then. Hurry up. Them angels might come ’fore I can get ye fixed for ’em.”

  So the old man got the logs off Jack and Jack got him down in the sack head first and put the logs back like they were.

  “Now, don’t you say a word if the angels try to talk to ye. They’d find out it wasn’t me, and they might pitch ye in the wrong place.”

  So Jack took that d
rove of sheep out of sight around a bend in the road, and sat down to wait.

  Will and Tom came on back and tied the old man up, took him down to a deep hole in the river, says, “Ye got anything to say ’fore we pitch ye in?”

  The old man thought they meant pitch him into heaven: never said a word. So they threw him in the river, and went on home.

  They were a-countin’ out Jack’s money, heard somebody a-drivin’ sheep up toward the yard.

  “Hello! Open the gate so I can drive my sheep through.”

  “Who’s that?” says Will.

  “Sounds like Jack.”

  “Why, hit couldn’t be Jack. We done drowned him.”

  So they looked out the door.

  “Law me! Yes, it is Jack, too. Where in the world did he get all them sheep?”

  They opened the gate and let the sheep in.

  “Jack, how’d you get back here so soon, and where’d ye get all them sheep?”

  “Well, boys,” says Jack, “where’d you leave me at?”

  “Why, we just now pitched you in the river.”

  “Yes,” says Jack, “and if you’d pitched me ten foot further I’d ’a got another hundred head of sheep.”

  “You got them sheep out’n the river?” says Tom.

  “Look here, Jack,” says Will. “You done caused us to lose our horses, and now you got to help us get some sheep. We goin’ to make you throw us in so we can have a drove of sheep too.”

  “Well, now,” says Jack, “if nothin’ else’ll do ye, I’ll see can I help ye get ’em. But you got to get you a couple of big sacks yourselves.”

  Will and Tom ran and got ’em a hemp sack a-piece and they went on down to the river.

  Jack tied Will in his sack and throwed him in.

  Tom saw Will a-kickin’ around, says, “What’s he a-kickin’ for?”

  “He’s a-gatherin’ sheep,” says Jack.

  “Hurry! Hurry now, Jack. Pitch me in there ’fore he gets ’em all. Throw me further’n ye did him.”