"THE JOKE"

New Zealand Herald, Volume LXXI, Issue 21983, 14 December 1934, Page 5

"THE JOKE"

BY BUCK HCCLINTOCK

Adventure is seldom as consistent as Greek drama; it is a pendulum which oscillates between bathos and high romance, between tragedy and sheer farce. There are farcical situations in most murder cases, though they may never appear in evidence or. trial. Undoubtedly the clearest example of the dose relationship between jocosity and sudden death was when " Silent " Smith walked into Scotty McDougall's trading store in Kandik Valley and deliberately and in cold blood shot Miko Maginty in the neck, thereby affording the meat-eaters of the Upper Yukon the biggest laugh that thoy had enjoyed in years. Of course, they did not laugh at the time; it would be cruel to suggest that they did. The laugh came later. Perspective being as necessary in fiction as it is in real life, it will be as well to hark back to the day when big Bill Morgan burst into the tiny township of Eagle with news of the Kandik " strike " and the north-bound trail was black with hurrying figures. With such a motley medley of inbound stampeders, Mike Maginty drifted into Kandik camp a few hours after the advent of " Silent " Smith. Travel where you will, from Skagway Landing to the frozen Lillimuit, from the fringe of Siberia to Hudson's Bay, in every gold camp of the High North, you will find at least one natural-born liar. Such was Mike Maginty. A little, bright-eyed man, droll of manner, but with that flair for tho dramatic that stamps tho true raconteur, Mike was an exaggerator par excellence. Within a few weeks Mike had become a legend in the Kandik country. " One of Mike Maginty's yarns," men would say on hearing some ultrastartling item of information. One newcomer took no part in revel or quarrel; sought no partner, was in the camp, but not of it; because they did not know his name they called him Smith —that being as good as any other- I —and because none had seen him open his mouth except to eat and yawn, they added tho appellation of " Silent."

Taciturnity was a thing which the garrulous, gregarious, friendly little Mike Maginty could never understand. When the others, in true, hearty frontier fashion, cursed the sour-faced man for his trappist tendencies, Mike put in a word. " Maybe he's shy." was his theory. " Maybe he's waiting for one of us to speak to him first." With the temperature of forty degrees below zero, and tho hint of a blizzard jn the air, the miners were glad to gather round the roaring Yukon stove in Scotty McDougall's store after supper, and it was an indulgent audience that listened to Mike's fantasies.

He started with a wildly fantastic account of how, with two other argonauts, he found the steaming valleys of the Liard River country, the semitropical region in the heart of the North-west. They smiled over that and asked for more. Encouraged, Mike recounted graphically his personal, exclusive, staggering discovery of the White Indians, who live in the lost lands near the North Pole, of how be became their king, of his regal captivity and harem of seventeen beautiful wives.

"Grand, Mike, grand!" chuckled Big Bill Morgan. " But come down to earth a little. Tell us something nearer home. Tell us how they hung you for murder—" .♦ The rest of his remarks were drowned by a roar of laughter. Mike grinned. " Quit your fooling, Bill." Then his face sobered, and he tapped Big Bill impressively on the knee. " Let me give you this straight. I did once see murder done—and not so far from here, either." Big Bill winked at the others. "Is that so? And I suppose the murderer is still running around loose?" " As far as I know, he is," said Mike earnestly. " You remember when some of the boys found a dead man up by Tanana Bluffs —a dead man that nobody could identify?" They did remember. " You mean—you saw that killing?" asked an incredulous voice. Mike nodded. " Why didn't you give evidence at the inquest?"

" I didn't want to be mixed up in ifc," was the swift reply. " And, besides, when the inquest was held I was down at Skagway." To some of his audience this evasion was proof that this was just another of Mike's yarns, but others began to wonder. Murder is the major crime. Mike had made a bold statement; for once he might be telling the truth. Questions came fast. " Could you identify the killer?" " I never saw his face." "Was he too far away?" " No—quite close to me." " Then how was it that you failed to 6ee his face?" " That," said Mike, " is the story. It happened this was—" ho broke off as the door opened and a blast of icecold air swirled into the warm room. The door slammed shut. " Silent " Smith had entered, and Scotty McDougall hurried across to servo him with tobacco. " It happened this way," said Mike again. " I had been up in the Coldfoot Valley trying my luck. Could I find gold r 1 Could I blazes! I scratched that valley from end to end all summer, and when September came, and grub was getting low, I decided that tho best thing about Coldfoot Valley was the trail leading out of it. There was a hint of snow in the air, and I tried to reach Ninety Mile Post before the blizzards." He sighed. .''Blizzards! i hurried as though the devil himself was after me, but the temperature was dropping fast. I made good time on the trail, and reached lanana Bluffs on a day when the sky was the colour of dirty lead and the wind was blowing straight down from the Arctic Circle. I was coming round tho bend in tho trail, close to a big clump of pine trees, when 1 saw two men ahead or me, walking one behind the other, Indian fashion. You know what it is like when you've been live months alone in the wilderness? Human society and the sound of another man's voice are the sweetest things on earth. I opened my mouth to hail them, when I saw something that made me shut it again quick! The man behind was lifting revolver out of his bolt-holster!" 'That's mighty queer behaviour!" I said to myself, and even as I watched, this man pointed the gun and shot the other plum centre through the head!" ' He paused to relight his nearly cold pipe. Wellr What did you do?" asked Big Bill Morgan, impatiently. With maddening slowness, Mike held the wavering match over the bowl of the pipe and made sure that it was lighted to his satisfaction before replying. Then, looking up—- " Nothing!" he said. " Not a thing!

A SHORT STORY

(COPYRIGHT.)

You see, I saw the victim drop dead where lie stood. x I saw the killer thrust his still-smoking gun into his holster. And I started forward with my own rifle ready—when I felt something icy cold sting me on the cheek! The blizzards had come, and before I could do a tiling tho air was so thick with snow that I could not see a yard in front of 1110!" " What did you do then, MikeP" " How did you make out?" " Why," said Mike, " I groped my way to the clump of pines, crawled under a bush, covered myself with my tent and waited until the storm blew itself out. It lasted five hours and I nearly froze to death. t When the blizzard stopped, there was the dead man half covered with snow 011 the trail. Of the other man there was no sign, and the snow had wiped out his tracks. I didn't want to be" suspected of the murder, so I took another route to the Ninety Mile Post and kept my mouth shut." " What did the killer look like —in general appearance?" asked Big Bill Morgan. Mike frowned thoughtfully. " Oh. he was dressed as usual —breeches, boots, fur parka jacket with the hood up. In size he was about your build, Bill. No, he was thinner-—" he glanced round at the men in the room—" More the size of " Silent" Smith'over there." Men turned and looked at Smith. To their surprise he was glaring at Alike Maginty, his face distorted with fury. Without a word ho passed through the door and slammed it shut after him. " Now, what did he want to act like that for?" asked a voice from the shadows. Mike shrugged his shoulders. "Ho seems to have taken a dislike to me since I spoke to him." They were still pondering the strange behaviour of the silent man of the camp when the bark of dogs sounded outside, and the door opened again. Framed in tho entrance was "Silent" Smith, and fires of hate gleamed in his eyes. All eyes were turned to this fur-clad figure, dressed for the trail, ominous in the opening. Smith was looking across their heads at Mike Maginty. He spoke and his voice came softly. " That is one story that you will never tell again,'' he said, and jerking a revolver from inside his jacket, fired! Maginty crashed tp the floor with a torn, scorched hole in his neck and a look of surprise in his eyes. _ Smith swung the door behind him and jammed it with a log of wood. Men cursed in amazement, then in anger as the door failed to open. When they had climbed through a broken window, "Silent" Smith was " tiny speck far down the valley. " For once Mike was right! He told a true story, and by a piece of pure luck named Smith as the killer!" snapped Big Bill Morgan, and led the vanguard of pursuit. . The men of the High North die hard. Mike lost a lot of blood, and the pulse of life was flickering low. All that night they watched by his bedside. At dawn the pursuers returned, emptyhanded. Smith had escaped. And as the pale fingers of morning crept in through the shutters, Mike opened his eves. * " What did he want to do that for?" he demanded querulously. " Take it easy, Mike," said Big Bill, reassuringly. "Smith was the inurdcrer of that man on the Tanana Trail. He admitted as much when he shot y °Mike Maginty's jaw dropped. His eyes goggled at them. When he could speak clearly—- " But I never saw a murder in my life! When I told that story I was onlv fooling you! I made it up as I went along!" He closed his eyes, aggrievedlv. "What's the jok®' can't see anvthing to smile at! • The men of Kandik were too helpless with laughter to reply.