The Tale of Rabbit Jack

A monologue, told by a wizened, grizzly old timer from the Southwest US, as he would speak. Imagine yourself in the desert; you see a slighty dirty, disheveled old man bent with age but spry.

The stage is bare. If the director likes, it may be dressed with typical Southwestern United States desert plants and rocks (cactus, sagebrush, tumbleweeds, etc.) As the lights come up, Horace is a downstage center. He is lit by spotlights that lend an air to the desert atmosphere, and they follow him as he moves about the stage as the monologue -- and his "spirit" -- moves him. At times, he may choose to speak directly to a single member of the audience. He speaks directly to the audience, in a rough, slow Southwestern drawl. 

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My name is Horace Greely, an' I guess I knowed ol' Rabbit Jack Turner more'n forty years afore he died. He was the durndest strange an' won'erful man I ever did know -- an' he changed the whole southwest desert jist by hisse'f.

Back when he an' I was both barely growed enough to sprout whiskers, Rabbit Jack came aridin' in here jist aclawin' 'n' aclingin' to the back of the mangiest, dirtiest lookin' mule I ever laid eyes on. I don' know how either one of 'em managed to stay alive long enough to git through the four hunert miles o' dessert that stretches 'tween Tucson an' here. Word is that Lucifer took that piece o' land right out o' the depths o' hell an' put it here 'cause it was too dadblamed hot fer him! There's not a horney toad ner scorpion ner any other critter could last more'n five minutes out there when the sun's really serious without pure bustin' into flames! But ol' Rabbit Jack did it, an' he's the first an' last to ever make it. An' there's plenty o' bleached bones out there to testify lots o' other durned fools tried it, too.

I 'member the day he an' that dyin' mule rode in here as clear as Moses must've remembered the burnin' bush. I hadn't seen a soul since my daddy died eight years afore, an' I was powerful afeared ol' Jack was gonna croak on me, too, afore I could git some water an' hardtack an' beans in him. He was dried up an' agaspin' somethin' terrible -- all acovered with blisters, an' his hide abustin' open here 'n' there! I tell ya, if I'd been fifty more paces south, he'd o' been a goner fer sure!

 He plumb fell offa that mule right in my arms, an' I nursed him fer three straight days an' nights 'fore he even opent his eyes.

Uh ...mule didn' make it, o' course -- shoot, I couldn' look out fer it, too, I only got two hands! But I guess that was best, 'cause mule steak may be dry an' stringy ('specially that dried up ol' varmint!), but it had more o' that what you call "pro-teen" in it than beans, an' Jack needed as much o' it as I could git down him. But if he'd knowed what he was a swallerin' at the time, he wouldn' o' et it atall. First dang thin' he said when he cracked his eyes was, "How's my mule?"

Wal, I grinned at him kinda sheepish like an' tol' him it was "purty good, considerin.'" Hee!

It was another three days afore Jack was strong enough to walk, and he staggered over to the barn where I'd tole him I was akeepin' Patsy (his mule). I was off to the crick at the time or I'd o' stopped him -- 'cause Patsy was in there all tight, but she was ahangin' up in the back cut up in lots o' little pieces. Ol' Jack let out a whoop so loud an' fearful that it turned the feathers on the heads o' eagles flyin' by as white as snow, an' they look like that to this very day! If he'd been strong enough then, he'd akilt me fer butcherin' his ol' mule, but he wasn't so he didn't, an' after a spell he got over it. But he wouldn' eat no more of it, an' wouldn' let me, neither, an' I finally had to bury what was left o' Patsy down by the crick. Ol' Jack stood there over her grave an' spoke full on fer a hour 'bout that durned mule! You'd athought she was his sister the way he carried on! (They did kinda favor one another.) Huh! Maybe that's why Jack headed out west. There wasn't a chancet in hades o' him wooin' any o' them fancy ladies back east with his ugly looks. There used to be a mess o' beavers in that crick, but they got so jealous o' Jack's set o' choppers that they all packed up an' headed north, an' not a one has been back sincet! If you don't believe me, wal, you jist come on out to the desert, an' I guarantee you won't see one danged beaver!

'course, this story ain't about mules or eagles or beavers, as intrestin' as they might be, so I guess I better git on with it. It's about how ol' Jack came to be knowed as "Rabbit Jack" -- an' I should know, 'cause I'm the one who give him that name. So you jist put yer boots up on the table, grab yerse'f a chaw or a beer, an' I'll tell you a story that'll knock yer ears sideways!

Ol' Jack had a habit o' goin' out on the desert late at night. He never ast me to go with him so I never ast him if I could, but I was powerful curious as to what he done out there. He was allus gone a mighty long time, an' ever time he come back, he had like some secret kinda little smile stretched around them ugly yaller teeth o' his. Then too, the desert's real quiet at night, an' sound carries a long long way with no buildin's or hills to knock it down -- an' ever' time he went out there, 'bout an hour ater he left, the durndest, weirdest, godawful sounds you ever heered would come apilin' in my winder! It was like you might hear if a rattlesnake was to rassel a prairie dog! There was grunts an' squeals an' barks an' hissin' all mixed up together -- an' the first time I heered 'em, I like to peed in my britches, I was so skeered! I jerked up in my cot an' my hair was all astandin' up all over, an' my skin was lumped up liked a plucked chicken! I half started to go out lookin' fer Jack to see if he ws bein' et by somethin' I never seed afore, but I jist couldn' force myse'f to go out that door, even with my ol' Winchester! Instid, I walked 'round an' 'round inside the cabin -- like to wore a hole in the floor, I did! -- 'til Jack finally waltzed in, with that silly secret smile o' his, jist as calm an' happy as you please!

Wal, I ast him if he'd heered all that commotion and he said, "Ayuh." So I said, "Do you know what it was?" An' he said, "Ayuh" agin.

Wal, I blinkered my eyes at him an' waited fer him to spell it out, but he didn' so finally I said, "Wal, what was it?"

Ol' Jack jist smiled a little more, hunkered down by the coals o' the fire, poked 'em with a stick, an' said, "Friends."

Well, now, I got my pride, an' I wasn' 'bout to press him when it was clear as crick water he didn' want to tell me what it really was, so I jist crawled in my bedroll an' showed him my back!

But ol' Jack went out there on the desert dang near ever' night -- an' ever' time, them godawful noises would astart. After a while, he'd come mosyin' back, asmirkin' like he'd found some lady friend out there in the cactus.

Now don' git me wrong. I think ever' man's entitled to his privacy -- an' I give Jack his 'til I jist couldn' stand it no more! He'd been doin' this for nigh on a year then, an' a man can only take so much curiosity 'fore it kills him! By then, I was awalkin' 'round wildeyed an' all bedraggled all the time, an' I even started talkin' to myse'f i was so et up with it! So one night I decided I'd foller ol' Jack an' see oncet an' fer all what all the gruntin' an groanin' an' hissin' an' stuff was all about.

Wal, Jack strolled out into the desert an' never oncet looked behind him or to the side. He knowed right where he was agoin' an' wasn't intrested in nothin' else. I let him git real far ahead 'cause you can see a long ways out on the desert when there's a full moon an' a passel o' stars out like there was that night, an' after 'bout forty minutes or so I saw him disappear down into a gulch.

Wal, I watched a bit more, but he didn' come up t'other side, an' I couldn' figger what he could be doin'down there -- 'cause there's nothin' in that gulch but rocks an' dirt an' scrubweed an' cactus.

Then I heered them noises astart -- an' I tell you, when yer up close to 'em like I was then, it'll plumb pull the water right out o' yer skin 'til yer swimmin' in yer own sweat! I sat there ashakin' an' asweatin' for a while, then I skootched over to the edge o' that gulch on my belly an', real slow like, raised up my head an' peeked down.

If I'd abeen astandin', I'd o' fallen down right there! All the breath went outa me -- I couldn' breathe atall for a while, an' I guess my eyes got bigger 'n horse apples! Down there at the botom o' that gulch was Jack. An' all around him was rabbits! There must have been a thousand of 'em -- an' you never seen anythin' stranger than what they was all adoin'!

They was adancin'! That's right! You heered me good. Them rabbits was adancin'! All in a big circle, they was, with Jack at the center, an' them rabbits was a hippity-hoppin' all around him -- an' they was makin' the weirdest danged noises you ever heered, noises you never thought a rabbit could make!

Wal, I swear, I couldn'a moved if my britches had caught fire! My mouth was all ahangin' open an' my hair was apointin' at the moon, an' I hada slap myse'f to make sure I wasn' dreamin'!

Now, if that wasn't strange enough, all of a suddent, one o' them rabbits hopped over to Jack an' jumped right up so's both his big, furry feet was asittin' on Jack's boots! Then Jack retched down, an' with both hands he grabbed that little furball's ear -- an' they started adancin' together! It was jist like a little girl might do with her daddy -- an' jist as purty to watch. Moonlight fell down on them an' lit up that gulch, an' all the other rbbits started in ahoppin' up an' down an' agruntin' an' a hissin' in a weird kind o' rhythm, with some o' the biggest one's astompin' out a beat a little off to the side -- oh! I tell you, it wassomethin'!

Wal, sir, after a few minutes, another rabbit hopped over an' took the place o' the first one -- an' the whole danged thing started over!

I tell you, I laid up there behind a clump o' cactus an' watxched 'til the last rabbit had his dance. An' I cried when it was over.

Ol' Rabbit Jack Turner kept that up for the forty years I knowed him. By then, I guess he must have danced with a good four or five hunert thousand o' them critters. When he finally died, the desert was filled with wailin' an' acryin' rabbits ever night fer a month.

Wal, now that's how ol' Rabbit Jack got his name. Oh, an' in case yer wonderin,' that's how themrabbits got their name, too. "Jack's Rabbits," I called 'em -- an' the name has stuck. You kin tell 'em at a glance, 'cause their ears is all stretched out from forty years o' dancin'!

                                                                    BLACKOUT

Author's Note

While categorized as a children's piece, I have found that this goes over equally as well with adults; however, readers from foreign lands -- like New York or New Jersey -- may find it difficult to follow Horace's dialect (unless they have watched many an old U.S. western -- especially one with the great Gabby Hayes, a favorite childhood actor of mine I had in mind when I crafted his character).

Artwork is by MommaSama, my wife.