A ONE AND TWENTY MILE STINT

From: Murder Incorporated - In a Keg

by Harold J. Treherne

t was cold one early morning in the middle of April 1925 with an occasional snow flurry sifting down. I was hired by Jack for the summer and this was my second year working out in Saskatchewan. As a new comer from the Old Country (England) I was a green man (still am) and didn't the old timers relish any story centered around a green un. They should have paid us amusement tax. This day I would be harrowing (dragging) one mile south on a rented quarter. The understanding was that Teddy the chore pony would be left in the barn so that I could ride him home at supper time. In the morning then, around 6:30 a.m. with a lunch package under my arm and following six horses I set off down the road on foot. This was my idea entirely as walking was a real hobby of mine. By supper time however unexpected happenings dampened my ardour to a new low and if coming events cast their shadows before them, I wasn't aware of it at the time.

Three quarters of a mile south I stopped to talk to Tom for a few minutes. A real character he was and that sure won't give away any secrets. Setting my lunch down on a flat stone close by (I don't know why I did) we talked about the usual topics, weather, work and crop prospects. With the usual well worn and highly enlightening remarks such as "Don't work too hard — be seein' yer," Tom turned on his heel and headed for home and I stepped up the horses. I had only gone about twenty yards when suddenly I thought about my lonesome lunch. Too late, it was no longer lonely. A horde of Tom's rabbit chasing skin and bone hounds had already made short work of it paper an' all, just like that. There were heads and tails in every direction and I couldn't swear by the book (I could have sworn better without it) whether I was seeing sixteen or six the way they flashed and snarled around there. The trees must have been their camping ground and they sure broke camp in a hurry. Tom heard them yapping but didn't turn back and peeved as I was I couldn't do anything about

I followed the trail to the field and hooked up the horses. There was no harrow-cart so two most tempting choices were offered me both gilt-edged. I could ride the pony all saddled up in place of the missing vista-vision trailer car usually provided or, concisely and in three potent little words - I could walk. Giving this weighty problem my undivided attention while idly gazing at a vast expanse of rump scenery I made my decision: I would walk. Hereby hangs a tale - no comment. I was positive I would sooner suffer with sore feet than a sore seat, or aching feet than an aching seat depending on the extent. Shanks' pony then it was and I expectorated over my right shoulder and almost capsized in the attempt. Try it sometime when nobody's looking. In plain English this simple ceremony is known as a 'decision clincher'. I needed solid backing and this was almost as binding as signing a note. There was one notable difference. Nothing short of death would relieve me of that little but pungent 'I promise'.

You really want to know what a note is? Well, anything closer than a passing acquaintance is far too close. If you are really a sporting little fellow it's O.K., but don't say I didn't warn you, Just call on your local jailor, pardon me banker I mean. He'll show you whole stacks of 'em, so neat and tidy a though one (you can't get 'em any fewer) is sufficient introduction to its tentacle like formation. In bold and non-prevaricating words it starts off without any preamble whatsoever: "I promise to pay" and that means YOU. The marriage ceremony is slightly different but the suspense could last just as long. It's a compelling little document indeed. Truly soul shaking events often have small beginnings. All you do is sign your John Henry on the dotted line near the bottom and you fervently hope it isn't a portend. I remember the first one I signed, such an awe inspiring moment.

With a flourish I wound up my signature, solemnly handed the pen to the exalted occupant of the swivel chair, gazed at him speechless, withdrew obsequiously in reverse till I made contact with the door of the bank's inner sanctum, spun round, flung it open and vanished. In the course of time I framed it as a memento. Since then the tangled skein of the years has unthreaded in smooth and orderly days as is their habit and now I have acquired enough "I promise's" to paper the whole darn kitchen! A noteworthy achievement-and please excuse my unwarranted and inexcusable diversion.

Now where was I? Oh yes, ready to start walking, so up and down up and down the field we went. The sun came out between scattered clouds, a cool and perfect morning. The ground broke up into small lumps and the footing was good. To get the most out of this genial and happy experience I whistled, warbled and at times hollered at the horses. Sometimes I shut up completely and this solely for their peace of mind. I would give them a piece of mine later. Two hours of this at a little better than 3 m.p.h. was what you call jolly. The acres were really rolling up. It is said a man can outwalk a horse and I had uneasy feelings a test was coming up. By 12 noon after nine miles and many short rests I had had enough. My feet weren't killing me but they were complaining. The horses were looked after and then I had to face it: I had no lunch. Don't tell me I wasn't hungry and it was all in the mind.

Again I had the choice of walking or riding horseback the mile and a quarter north and if I had had more experience of the country I would have slipped across the road to Tom's place and put it up to him straight: "Tom your thieving hounds have wolfed my lunch and you know they did (not that it did them any good) and I think the least you should do is to give me another." He had two good looking daughters not forgetting a younger one and that fact in itself should have been an overwhelming inducement. O slothful youth where's your head, such an opportunity and you passed it up, why, you could even have thrown your lunch away on purpose, (all this to myself.) Walking won again so, like Charley's Aunt, I kept on walking. By the time that extra mile and a quarter was behind me I was feeling as thin and gaunt as Tom's hounds and just as hungry. A sympathetic understanding was going out to those half starved jack chasers, in fact they were entirely welcome to my lunch. Now maybe I was in line for a whopper. Its an ill wind etc.

My friends let me confide in you and yet not prolong this Universal topic of eating or give it undue prominence here. But the dinner I put away under my belt in lieu of the lunch intended was, Biblically speaking the seven bountiful years as compared to the seven lean ones. At 1:30 p.m., Teddy all saddled up, broke my walking spell for awhile. He was a temperamental cuss, had lived too long for his own good and was wise to the point of exasperation. Too many had ridden and handled him saddle and bare-back and he had become allergic to work. He opened gates, liked to be on the wrong side of a fence or on the right side if it surrounded a stack-yard. Letting him into the barn hoping he would go into the right stall with the back door open was really asking too much. He had long travelled the fascinating road of nosey parkerdom.

Whatever mood he was in this day he didn't show it and he greeted the work outfit with a whinney of welcome when we arrived. Judging by the response he wasn't too popular. What did he know about hard work? All he did to earn his keep was flitting to town and back with a can of cream or eggs or both. One horse good natured like returned his whinney another swished his tail, uncordial reception I thought and another just looked round, pure idle curiosity this and as for the rest of 'em-to 'ell with 'im. In spite of their biased opinions I shoo'd Teddy in and he nipped into his stall with speed born of self-preservation. After tying him up and loosening the cinch I slapped him on the rump, a slight start was his only reaction. Leaning against a stall post I was thinking (quiet please) I could ride old Teddy this afternoon behind the harrows and still drive the six. Still once again real stubborn like I decided to walk. Almost with affection I patted him on the back (my mind lately a tease was now at ease). "Teddy old son, old pal so long to you, I'll see you in the sweet by and by and that means around the rosy hour of six." Here was my transportation back to civilisation and supper (reverse that) and the prospect was a pleasant one. Time and labour verily do gild the lily.

Once again we were doing the rounds. Old Sol took advantage of every loophole in the clouds, blazing away with firey intensity for brief moments, obviously all-fired mad at having his face blotted out so often. After one round off came my coat and after two more, my boots and socks followed suit and I set them on the head-land by a stone. Alter two more miles my boots and socks went back on again. I wasn't born a clod-hopper to be and this primitive back-to-Nature wholly kid stuff didn't enthuse me one iota. A change is as good as a rest! O.K. you change places with me and I'll take a long rest. Six o'clock and three more rounds to go was the target. Lapping the inside harrow nicely over the outside edge of the previous round was becoming tedious. Just didn't seem important any more. At the south end of the round I eased myself down on a convenient stone on the grassy head-land. It was about 4:30 and the sun was bearing over to the west still dodging the occasional cloud.

The horses took advantage of the rest. A tail flicked, a rump or two settled lop-sided, one backed up half a foot and rubbed a bridle on the next one's neck, another shook his head amid a tinkle of rings and snaps and one outside horse would probably straddle a trace when I started up: My perch on the stone was no sinecure and ye gods I had a cramp in my seat when I got up. Oh, to be a Lady's lap dog! The end horse swung his rear over and the traces all lifted into position like clockwork although they were a little tardy starting up. Don't blame 'em. Another round came and went and a short rest. I required a good fifty yard take off for the next round to limber up and my boots had an uncanny tendency to take matters into their own hands, so to speak. A few more minutes and I would embark on the last mile.

Visions of long semi-dark corridors, ghostly echoes and the Silhouette of a gruesome figure of a man stooped, at the far end cross my mind. I can see him plainly even so far away and he's beckoning with a gnarled misshapen skeleton of a hand, impatient, imperative: "Hurry" he commands, his deep voice echoing and bouncing off empty closed in spaces "Time is running out" and the second 'time is running out' distorts the first and the final 'out' in the clear, booms, chants and stretches into nothingness. I can feel that overpowering stillness like invisible fingers plucking and clutching and the voice and its bone chilling overtone again stab the silence: "I am the Keeper here and mind you keep this date to the very last second. It's all here name and everything writ on this slate of Destiny. Hurry so's I can snuff out the record and I'll vanish the second you take over." I emerged in a few seconds from my brown study into the sunlight of day. What devilish monstrosities take root and thrive in the soil of a fertile imagination.

On the last turn I stood still and waited till the horses came round and now going north another half mile would bring me to the end, prophetic but not 'pathetic'. I made no more attempts while moving to release the odd stone by flipping a harrow. Using the lines as life preservers and slightly weaving, it wasn't unlike a forced march. This is truth unadulterated and thirty-one years hasn't added any glamour to it. Humour does add a glossy finish and is easy to apply after all these years but I just ask of you one thing: Don't lose sight of basic facts. Unhooking the outfit I mused on the way to the barn, "Good old Teddy." Then I conjectured all in the space of a few seconds, suppose Houdini like he had vanished. Knowing his accomplishments I wouldn't put it past him. Stopping the horses and with a slight wondering I poked my nose around the barn door and it's a fact, believe it or not there wasn't a darned living thing in there. The place was plum full of nothing and I could hardly believe it. There was no sign of him anywhere outside, he had gone and that was that. Well maybe I couldn't have mounted the old boy without a hoist. I did the chores up for the night and hit the trail road north again reasoning to myself meanwhile and to bolster my flagging spirits, what difference would another mile and a quarter make. I had already tallied up 19½ so the extra was neither here nor there although it would eventually get me there. The nice warm evening I didn't appreciate; the scenery left me cold; I was just an automatum mechanically putting one foot in front of the other. Had I but stubbed my toe against a solid stone I would have flopped, after that a stone-boat would have looked pretty good. One trip over that and I would be aboard. But all's well that ends well. What happened to our Teddy? He pleaded not guilty. Jack came for him in the afternoon. Mrs. J. needed him to go to town so our Teddy, between the buggy shafts legged it into town and back and did a six mile stint. I will say one thing I did justice to an extra good supper and I forget the number of cups of tea that went with it but an Englishman, even a green one must have his tea.

The end of this day should be the end of the story but I would like to add a little more and will call it-

AFTERMATH.

I had my bed in a granary and the next morning good and early there came the usual knock, knock. I was jolted half awake and tried to move but was as stiff as decrepit leather. Now I was sure rigor mortis was setting in and this must be the undertaker coming for the body. They do work fast in this country. Well I sure hope he has a nice bouquet of flowers with him and I'll settle for a good looking box with all the trimmings. Nothing like going out in style and I would prefer to leave feet first in keeping with the story-and then a familiar voice sounded off realistically, "Time to roll out." A truer statement was never uttered. It was about the only way I was going to leave the bed - roll out, either that or teeter out!

He walked all day but he could a ridden

They walked all night, his feet unbidden;

To save his seat he murdered his feet - no kiddin'.

Sure, there's a lesson in here somewhere hidden.