Jagger

by Alexander Key

  But I don’t know where I am! Jagger shot back miserably. I never saw this place before. I don’t even know how I got here.

  “Honest?”

  He could feel the shock in her. All I know, he added quickly, is that there was a storm of some kind, and I believe I was struck by lightning. When I woke up everything was different. Everything—the trees, the air, the people, the language …

  “But—but you’re still in America, because—”

  I never heard of America before.

  “But—but you must have! This is Alabama, and you can’t be far away, because you’re coming in so strong, and anyhow we’re both speaking English.”

  Jagger sighed. Just because we understand each other doesn’t mean we speak the same language. We don’t. Yours is strange to me, and I’m sure you don’t know mine.

  “B-but—”

  It’s thought we are communicating with, not language. When I send you a thought, you hear it in your mind in whatever language you happen to know. If you don’t know a language, then your mind receives feelings. That’s why you can talk to owls and crows and things.

  “Oh! Oh, my goodness! I—I didn’t realize …”

  And that’s not all, Jagger hastened to add. I hate to tell you this, but I know I’m not from this country, wherever it is. I’m from a different place entirely, and I’m beginning to believe it’s on another planet.

  It was a fact he hadn’t wanted to admit before, even to himself. But it was out at last, and he had to face it. He could never hope to see home again. It was gone forever. And the Elder was gone, and Anda and Lillet and Ereen and all the others he loved.

  There was a long shocked silence from the unknown girl who had been talking to him. Suddenly she stammered, “F-from another planet? Well, I’ll be a speckled-blue monkey! Wait’ll I tell Peter about you!”

  Jagger waited, shivering in the cold rain, and tried to keep his mind on the girl. Puzzling over her made it easier to forget himself and his growing misery. She’d forgotten to give her name, although that hardly mattered, for he’d already guessed a lot just by listening to her. A remarkable little person who wasn’t really as happy as she sounded. He’d caught shadows of thoughts that told him there was trouble in her life. A great deal of it.

  “Jagger,” she broke in suddenly, worriedly. “I woke Peter and told him all about you. But—but he doesn’t believe me!”

  Does he know you talk to owls and crows? he replied.

  “He’s seen me do it, for I always talk aloud when I send thoughts out—like I’m doing to you now—only he says anybody can talk to a crow. Maybe he’s just putting me on—I can’t read his mind like I can other people’s. But he says I’m really making it up when I tell him about you—that there’s no such thing as a telepathic dog from outer space! Jagger, what can I do?”

  We’ll think of something. But first, haven’t you a name?

  “Oh, didn’t I tell you? It’s Nan. Nan Thornberry. We’re at Thornberry Farm. It’s more of a ranch, really—a sort of small one, that is—but now that Pop’s gone …”

  He was aware of a sudden deep sadness in her, then she went on brightly, “Jagger, what about those men that shot you? Maybe Peter knows them. Can you tell me what they were like?”

  He described them carefully, then added, Curly was the little man’s name. He called the tall one Big Joe.

  There was a short silence. He was trying to see her clearer in his mind when she said, “Oh, I’ve met them. And Peter knows all about them. The little one’s Curly Brice, and his son, Billy, is in Peter’s class at school. Peter says that this morning he heard Billy say that his father and another man were hunting yesterday up on Long Creek Ridge when they heard something awful howling in the mist. Mr. Brice thought it was a wolf at first, but the other man—he’s Mr. Joe Tanner—said there were no wolves around, and, to sound so terrible, it couldn’t be anything but a banshee.”

  I did howl, Jagger admitted, and I heard them say that, but I’m not acquainted with the creature. Just what is a banshee?

  “Oh, it’s supposed to be a perfectly ghastly sort of ghost found in Ireland, but people like Mr. Tanner believe they’re found here, too. Anyway, Billy Brice says his father told him they’d hardly decided it really was a banshee when they saw it coming at them through the mist. It was white and big as an elephant and absolutely horrible. Jagger, please don’t tell me you’re horrible and big as an elephant!”

  I don’t know how big an elephant is, but I do seem to be larger than the dogs you have here.

  “You—you’ve met some dogs?”

  Jagger told her about the pack he had been forced to fight. I didn’t know my kind could be so bloodthirsty. I hate to kill, but I had to do it to save the doe.

  Nan was silent a moment. Abruptly she said, “I told Peter what you did, and he says he’s heard about the three dogs being killed, and that people are already saying it was done by the banshee. Most of them don’t think it’s a real banshee, that it’s just a dangerous animal which ought to be tracked down and shot. So Peter thinks we’d better start looking for you right away.”

  No! he told her quickly. I’ve already warned you about going out in the woods on a night like this. Anything can happen, and I’m too weak to protect you. If you’ll wait till daylight—

  “Aw, don’t be an old silly!” she retorted. “Peter and I know what we’re doing. Anyhow, if we wait till morning, it may be too late. The hunters are bound to find you!”

  There was a short pause, then her voice came again. “We’ll be on our way in a minute. Peter’s getting his first-aid kit and the flashlights, and I’m down at the refrigerator packing a lunch. I hope you like raw hamburger, because it’s the only meat we have except some canned stuff.”

  No! said Jagger, revolted. Then, in sudden awful comprehension, he added, The humans here—they are flesh eaters?

  “Of course! What’s wrong with that?” Without waiting for a reply she hastened on, “Stars alive! I never heard of a dog that didn’t like meat! But what in the world can I bring you? Macaroni and cheese? That’ll have to be it, ’cause it’s all we have, and I’ll put in a big can of beans to splice out. Here comes Peter with the raincoats, so we’re leaving now …”

  How do you expect to find me? he asked presently, when he learned that his searchers had gained the woods.

  “Oh, that won’t be hard,” Nan told him, with far more confidence than he knew she felt. “We know you’re somewhere on this side of Long Creek Ridge, and that’s right back of our farm. All we have to do is follow the old logging road up to the clearing, then take one of the trails. Peter wants to know if you remember crossing a road or a trail after you fought the dog pack?”

  In spite of his weakness and all that had happened, Jagger’s more-than-ordinary memory was still in good working order. He could recall every yard of the route he had taken since being wounded. Given the chance, he knew he could probably even retrace his way back to the unknown spot where he had begun his wanderings after the lightning flash, nor would the passage of time make any difference.

  I did not cross a road, he said. After leaving the doe, I followed a path made by deer for a while. Then I angled down the slope, crossed a small open place with a puddle of muddy water in it, and went straight on through the woods to the thicket where I am now.

  Jagger paused, trying to think. With the cold and his weakness, it was becoming increasingly hard to keep his thoughts together. He could only guess at directions, for he had not seen the sun since leaving home.

  Does the ridge run north and south? he asked finally.

  “Yes, and the creek follows it on the east. But not all the way,” she added. “About halfway along it sort of turns aside and goes winding away into the low country. Peter wants to know if it sounds very loud where you are?”

  No. It seems to be a long way from here.

  “Then Peter thinks you must be ’way south on the ridge, and it shouldn’t take us any time to find you.”


  Jagger had his doubts that Peter would be able to locate him without trouble, but he managed to wait patiently, listening. He had acquired a great store of patience from living with Elder Norfo, and considerable philosophy as well, but he could not help worrying about his searchers. They were much too young to be stumbling around in such wild country on a night like this.

  Occasionally, at Nan’s suggestion, he gave a series of short barks which she answered with a shout. They were able presently to hear each other, but the rain and the thick forest muffled sound and played tricks with it, so that even Jagger found it hard to guess the direction of it. But gradually the rain lessened, and in slow time he saw the wavering gleams of his searchers’ flashlights as the children came stumbling through the dripping woods.

  Nan glimpsed him first. She rushed into the thicket and crouched beside him.

  “Oh, Jagger!” she breathed, as her small plump arms went around his great shaggy neck. “I thought we’d never find you!”

  Jagger instantly forgot his ills. His heart melted and despite his weakness he began thumping his tail happily on the ground for the first time since leaving home. She was a small sturdy girl with a round grave face made owlish by a large pair of glasses. The glasses were hornrimmed and so big they almost hid the smattering of freckles across her cheeks. She was bundled in a bright slicker and rain hat, as was the tall thin form of Peter behind her.

  Peter, standing at the edge of the thicket, had been playing his flashlight inside. Now he gave a low whistle of amazement. “Why, you—you’re about the biggest dog anywhere!” he exclaimed. “You’re bigger than a St. Bernard or an Irish wolfhound. Nan, ask him what breed he is.”

  “This is no time for questions,” she told him. “Can’t you see he needs help? Why don’t you look after his leg while I feed him?”

  Peter unslung a knapsack from his shoulder, thrust it into the thicket, and crawled in after it. Nan opened it and took out some plastic containers filled with food, and presently Jagger was having his first taste of macaroni and cheese. This and the beans that followed were not unlike some of the Elder’s dishes at home, and in his famished condition they seemed more wonderful than anything he’d ever had in his life.

  While he ate, Peter went expertly to work on the wounded leg. Nan asked, “How’s it look, Peter?”

  “It could be worse,” her brother mumbled, his thin face drawn in concentration. “Anyway, the bones seem to be okay, which is something. And there’s no infection. Reckon all that bleeding cleaned it out. Lordy, he must have lost gallons of blood. If we hadn’t found him tonight …”

  Jagger, watching the boy’s swift fingers stanch the flow with gauze pads and cotton and then bind the leg, said to Nan, He certainly seems to know what he’s doing.

  “He should,” Nan replied. “He learned it from the best doctor in the world, and that’s Pop. When he comes back—”

  “Pop’s not coming back,” Peter interrupted shortly. “You ought to know that by now.”

  “But he’s alive! I’m sure of it!”

  Peter shook his head. “I wish you were right. Only, they found the plane—what was left of it—and there’s not a chance anyone could have escaped. It’s pretty hard to take, but we’ve got to learn to face facts.” He paused, then said, “Jagger, do you think you can walk?”

  Jagger struggled slowly to his feet. He stood swaying, surprised at his own weakness, and suddenly wondered if he had the strength to move far from the thicket. If he could rest here till daylight, he knew the food he had eaten would give him the strength to travel, but he was very much aware that it would be dangerous to remain. The thought of danger was strong in Nan’s mind, and though Peter’s thoughts were curiously hidden, he could feel the boy’s worry. It was long past midnight, and both children were tired. Yet they had to get him to a safe hiding place before the banshee hunters began searching the woods at dawn.

  I’m very weak, he told Nan, but tell Peter I’ll do my best. Let’s go!

  But even as he followed Peter from the thicket, his wobbly legs almost folded beneath him. He knew he would never make it to Thornberry Farm.

  THREE He Is Hunted

  Jagger did his best. He even tried to put his mind into it, as Elder Norfo had taught him—for everybody knew that the Elder could do really incredible things by mind power alone. But it was no use. The thicket was barely a hundred yards behind them when his feet, instead of plodding steadily forward as he told them to, all at once stopped working. He crumpled slowly to the ground, exhausted.

  Nan called to Peter, then crouched anxiously beside him. “Are—are you all right, Jagger?”

  I—I’m all used up, he admitted, feeling ashamed of his helplessness. It was awful to feel so weak when he had always been so strong. You and Peter had better go on without me.

  “We’ll do no such thing! We’ll get you home somehow. Oh, if we just had Palamedes with us!”

  “That wouldn’t help us,” Peter said. “We’d never get him up on Palamedes’ back, and we haven’t a cart. There must be another way.”

  Nan asked, “Have you any idea where we are?”

  Peter moved a few paces forward, swinging his flashlight about as he tried to see through the blackness ahead. Presently he returned and said, “Looks as though we’re near the end of that same old timber road we crossed coming up here.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Well, we crossed it farther over, and it has to be the same one. There’s a high bank just in front of us, and we’ll have to drop down to it.”

  “If you followed it,” Nan persisted, “wouldn’t you come out at Mr. Rush’s place?”

  “Yeah. Why?”

  But before Nan could tell him, he exclaimed, “Of course! He’s got a truck, and I don’t think he’d mind if I woke him up and asked him to help us. You stay right here. It won’t take me an hour to go and get him.”

  Peter turned and hurried away into the night. The beam of his flashlight winked out a moment as he slid down the bank to the road, then it reappeared briefly. Jagger could hear his swift footsteps on the gravel until they faded in the distance.

  I’m sorry, he told Nan. I hate to put you to so much trouble.

  “Aw, we don’t mind. It—it’s sort of fun to be out at night like this.”

  You’re not afraid?

  “Of what?”

  The big creatures that must run wild here. Surely there are some.

  “Oh, there’re all sorts of animals—’coons, ’possums, wildcats, and even beavers and otters. But they’re not very big, and anyhow they wouldn’t hurt a person. The only real big things are the bears, and they stay ’way back in the mountains where it’s wilder. We’re just on the edge of the mountains here.”

  She paused a moment, then said, “Of course, there are panthers.”

  Panthers? Jagger questioned, and from her mind he visualized a great tawny cat like the ones that preyed on the goats at home.

  “Yes,” she said. “Most people don’t believe there are any left around here, but I know better. Mr. Rush has seen them, and he’s showed me the trees where they sharpen their claws. He says they live mainly in the swamps ’way to the south, but there are always a few that wander up here to hunt. I—I’d sure like to meet one. I just love cats.”

  Jagger had a private opinion about cats which he chose not to express. After all, he thought, they may have qualities that only a human can see. Especially a very unusual human like Nan.

  This Mr. Rush, he began. Tell me about him.

  “Well, he’s real tall and straight and old, but in spite of being old, he’s amazingly strong. He’s about the strongest man around here. And he sure hasn’t got much use for white people.”

  Jagger was surprised. Do humans come in different colors here?

  “Of course! There are blacks and whites and reds and lots of browns and yellows. Isn’t it that way in your world?”

  Not at all. People are mainly a pale brown—some are just darker th
an others. Are you a pale brown?

  Nan giggled. “I’m one of the whites, but I’m tanned from being in the sun a lot.”

  What color is Mr. Rush?

  “Oh, he’s red,” Nan said quickly. “He’s a full-blooded Creek Indian. Years ago the Creeks used to own all the land in this part of the country. Then the whites came and fought them and drove them away and took their land. But later Mr. Rush’s family were able to buy some of it back. Now he’s the only one left here.”

  Jagger was more than a little shocked. What a strange and terrible story! Nor do I quite understand it. Why would people of one color drive people of another color away? Does one color find another color offensive?

  Nan giggled again. “Oh, it’s not that. It’s the land itself. It’s worth so much. Don’t people fight over it where you came from?”

  Certainly not! There is enough for everyone, and it is owned by all. Nor would anyone ever think of taking what belongs to another. He paused a moment, puzzled, then asked, How did Mr. Rush’s people buy the land back? I do not quite understand the term. Was something used in exchange?

  “Of course!” Nan exclaimed, surprised. “They used money. Did-didn’t you ever hear of money?”

  Oh! You mean a valuable medium of exchange, like bits of a rare metal. Naturally I’ve heard of the idea. We discussed it once in one of Elder Norfo’s classes. The children didn’t think much of it.

  “My goodness alive! What’s wrong with money? Except not having it, I mean.”

  That was just one of the things the class found wrong with it, Jagger reported. Not having it if you needed it. To acquire food with it, for one thing. Must people here use it for food?

  “Why—why, yes. Of course.”

  Then it follows that this cannot be the most pleasant of worlds, Jagger went on. For many here must be hungry, and nearly all must be slaves of a sort. At least, that is how the Elder’s class figured it out. Not that I know anything about money, as you call it. It is not used where I came from.

  “Not used!” Nan exclaimed. “Well, I’ll be triple jigged! How can people buy what they want without it? Unless they’re awfully primitive, and use the barter system.” She stopped suddenly, then said wonderingly, “Mr. Rush said that in the old days his people never used money either, that it was the white man’s curse. I sure wouldn’t call him primitive. I mean, he lives simply, but there isn’t anything he doesn’t know. Before he retired to raise bees he used to teach over at the junior college. Say, I’ll bet you two would get along just fine.”