Chapter 3

• A silence fell heavy between them-a silence that spoke of wonders and terrors mingled in the fabric of fate. “Then you see,” the old man intoned softly, “what I have meant all along when I said that Jack is different.”
• For a long moment, Ellie hesitated, blinking as though trying to shut away a truth too overwhelming to behold. “I don’t know… I only know that he is gentle, kind, and that he loves you more than you could ever fathom,” she replied haltingly. Her voice then broke, laden with memories both sweet and bitter. “Oh, Dad, how could you forget the time he stayed by your side for five long days and nights when you fell ill in the hills, scarcely managing to shepherd you back to the ranch alive?”
• A flicker of pain and pride danced in Harrington’s eyes as he concealed the depth of his own emotion. “I have never forgotten, Ellie,” he assured her in a low, gravelly voice, “and every decision I have made-no matter how cruel it might seem_ has been for his own benefit. Do you know, my dear, what I have been trying to do all these years?”
• Ellie’s curiosity mingled with apprehension, urging him on. “What, Dad?”
• The old man’s eyes drifted into the past, softening as he began his tale. “I have been hiding him from himself. Do you recall how I found him, Ellie? You were so little then, and I had scarcely revealed the story. But listen: it was in the sweet breath of spring, when the wild geese were on their northward journey, that I first encountered the boy who would come to be known as Trillin’ Jack.”
• He paused as his memories coalesced into words, each detail etched upon his weathered face. “I was riding down a narrow gulley just at sunset, longing for the familiar comforts of home, when a strange, untuned whistling cut through the whispering wind_ a sound so wild and unearthly that it evoked the legends of ancient fae and forgotten realms. Soon enough, amidst the triangular formation of honking geese, I caught sight of a lone figure on the crest of a hill. There he was, a boy with his head tossed back as if communing with the heavens, his hands buried in the depths of his pockets. He was trilling -a tune that did not match any melody known to man, but which resonated with the mysteries of the wild.”
• “‘What in the world are you doing out here?’ I asked, startled by his languid, carefree demeanor. With a casual glance over his shoulder, he replied, almost nonchalantly, ‘I’m just takin’ a stroll and whistlin’. Does it bother you, mister?’ His tone bore no trace of fear or hesitation, only an uncanny sense of belonging to the vast wilderness around him.”
• Harrington’s voice grew softer, each word heavy with reminiscence. “I said to him, that wasn't whistling that was trilling then I asked, ‘Where do you belong, sonny?’ And with a slight, almost imperceptible smirk, he answered, ‘I belong over there,’ as he waved his hand towards the setting sun_ a gesture that spoke of horizons unbound and a destiny unfettered by mortal ties. In that moment, as I looked into those big, soulful brown eyes, a warmth surged within me. I remembered then that I never had a son, and somehow, fate had entrusted me with this wayward, wild spirit.”
• He continued, his tone both proud and rueful, “I took the boy under my wing, offering him shelter in a spare room of our humble abode. That very first night, as I listened to the wild geese echoing their distant hymns against the darkening sky, I marveled at the inexplicable joy of having found someone to call my own-a gift from a capricious and benevolent God. But just as swiftly as he had entered our lives, the next morning, the boy slipped away. I sent my cowpunchers out in search of him. It was then, pondering the way the geese took flight, that I instructed them to ride north.”
• A wistful smile softened the rough edges of his voice. “They found him eventually, and from then on, my heart was divided between relief and foreboding. For in the summer he stayed by my side, I nurtured him as one would tend to a fragile sapling, but with the arrival of fall, as the geese began their southward march, Jack’s restless spirit would compel him to wander once more. Each time he vanished, it was as if the essence of the wild itself had claimed him-and every retrieval filled me with an aching blend of joy and sorrow.”
• Taking a slow, measured breath, Harrington’s eyes, shadowed with regret and resolve, shone with the weight of his secrets. “I tried every means to keep him settled, to tame that unyielding spark. I even resorted to a light thrashing with a quirt-a punishment meant as gentle discipline. But even the sting of that whip did nothing to dull his impetuous smile, though I did catch a fleeting glimpse of a yellow light burning fierce in his eyes, as if warning of battles yet to come. In desperation, I turned away, and from that day forth, no man or beast dared lay a hand on Trillin’ Jack for fear of igniting that long-dormant tempest within him.”
• Ellie’s voice broke into the fragile quiet of confession, “I never heard him speak of that day, Dad.” Her eyes searched his, pleading for a truth that lay hidden like a secret guarded by the wind.
• “That is precisely why I know he has never truly forgiven it,” he murmured, his tone both tender and tragic. “After that, I locked him in his room, hoping to anchor his wandering heart. But he would not promise to stay. Then, in a moment of rather unorthodox inspiration-one that I can only look back on with a sort of rueful amusement_ I placed you in his room. You were just a toddler then, and I sought to tether his restless soul by the warmth of your presence.”
• A quiet smile crossed his face as he recounted the memory. “I unlocked his door in a flash, shoved you inside, and bolted it once more. The cries you let out were as ferocious as any lament, and I feared you might injure yourself with your own vocal might. Yet, amidst the clamor, I heard Jack begin to whistle. And just like that, your cries subsided. From that night on, I dared not lock him in again-I knew he would remain, inextricably bound to you, the solitary light that tamed his fury.”
• Then his tone turned somber and foreboding as he drew the thread of his tale taut with truth. “Now, Ellie, listen well. I have watched Jack_ not merely as an employer, but almost as a father would observe his own kin, with love mingled with a dread that is as old as time. He loves me, I believe, but I have always been haunted by a singular, piercing fear-a fear that blooms like a dark, forbidden flower whenever I recall the twisted smile he once wore when I… when I licked him. It is a memory that has tormented me, the only time in my life I have ever felt such an unaccountable terror-a terror reminiscent of the silent majesty of a panther poised in the night.”
• Harrington leaned forward, his weathered face a mask of conviction and melancholy. “Now, let me count the signs, the unmistakable markers of what makes Jack so different. There is the odd way fate brought him into my life-a child, seemingly lost in the wild expanses, with no home but the endless mountain desert. There is his strength, a strength that defies the common run of men, much like a mule’s might outstrips that of a horse in a way that is both graceful and formidable. There is his uncanny rapport with wild animals-how they yield, almost as if they recognize an ancient command in his gaze. And then there is that yellow light in his eyes when anger stirs within him_ a look that chills the very marrow of one’s bones, as though it heralds a tempest ready to rend the sky asunder.”
• He paused, letting the weight of his words settle, his gaze fixed on the horizon of memory. “I have spoken with him about his marksmanship, too-his uncanny ability to find the unerring line between his gun’s barrel and the target, as though the world itself bowed to the inevitability of his aim. It is as if he possesses not only the skills of man but the primal instincts of his beastly ancestors-a bridge between the primal and the civilized, as though he were destined for something greater than the confines of our humdrum existence.”
• Ellie’s voice, now filled with a blend of wonder and defiance, broke the fragile stillness. “Tell me, Dad_ what do you see in him?”
• With a long, pained sigh, Harrington answered, “I see a man who is not of this world-a man forged in the crucible of ancient times, whose very essence is reminiscent of those primordial warriors described in myth and legend. I believe that Jack carries within him the raw, unbridled powers of the primal past-a time when men were as fierce as the creatures they hunted, when every sense was honed to perfection, and each strike of muscle and bone was infused with the raw power of nature itself.”
• His eyes shone with a fervor tinged by sorrow. “I have guarded him all these years, keeping him apart from those who would seek to dull his wild brilliance. I purchased Grinder’s place to shield him from the marauding influence of the fighting men-men whose temper and cruelty might shatter the delicate balance that holds his nature at bay. I have hidden him from the world, and, truth be told, from himself. For if ever he were truly allowed to embrace the full measure of that wild, fearsome power, I dread that a tempest might rise-a tornado of anger and bloodshed that could lay waste to everything we hold dear.”
• Her eyes blazed with indignation and fierce love as she rose to her feet, voice ringing clear. “I won’t believe that, Dad! I’d trust our Jack more than any man who walks this earth. Every word you say_ I cannot accept it!”
• Harrington’s features softened with the mixed burdens of regret and resolve. “I was always a fool to expect to convince a stubborn woman like you, Ellie,” he murmured, his voice heavy with resignation. “Let it drop for now. Soon, we shall rid ourselves of Grinder’s place, and with it, perhaps, the temptations that conspire to unsettle Jack’s restless soul. For now, remember_ there must be no gunplay at Grinder’s today. If you hear any shooting, remind Grinder to disarm his men.”
• Ellie stood silent for a moment, her gaze drifting far beyond the confines of the room and the ranch, until it rested on a vision too potent to ignore_ the image of Jack, his eyes aglow with that unmistakable yellow light, as though the ancient power of the wild burned within them. It was a look that both frightened and fascinated her_ a look that spoke of destiny, of ancient forces stirring beneath the veneer of ordinary man.