



                They were two very ordinary strawmen on
            adjacent farms. Nice playmates for a couple of
            imaginative kids. Then Jimmy gave a knife to--

                        The Dangerous Scarecrow

                            By Carl Jacobi

           [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from
              Imagination Stories of Science and Fantasy
                              August 1954
         Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that
         the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.] Both Mr. Maudsley and Mr. Trask were resplendent that October evening. Mr. Maudsley stood deep in the cornfield, overall trousers ballooning
in the wind, one hand nailed to a pie-tin that caught the moonlight
and reflected it like a mirror. While across the road the hat of Mr.
Trask was bright with the strip of foil Jimmy had fastened to it that
morning. From the rear seat of the car Jimmy looked down upon the two figures as
the road wound between the shocked fields. Next to him his sister, Stella, said, "Mr. Trask looks fine tonight. I
think he likes the silver ribbon you gave him." Jimmy nodded. "Mr. Maudsley looks good too. See the way his hand
shines?" In the driver's seat as he twisted the wheel to avoid a rut in the
road, grey-haired Mr. Tapping coughed and glanced at his wife. "What are those kids whispering about?" The whispers died abruptly, and the car rattled over Goose Creek bridge
and began the long climb to the Tapping farm. They stopped at the roadside mailbox, but there was no mail; then they
were rolling up the cedar-lined lane, past the silo, past the barn,
into the farmyard. Stella went into the house with her mother, but Jimmy remained with his
father to open the garage doors. He snapped the big padlock shut after
the car was put away, made a vain attempt to catch Higgins, the cat,
and followed Mr. Tapping up the porch steps into the house. Upstairs
in his room half an hour later, he undressed reluctantly and climbed
into bed, wide awake. He lay there listening to the old house creak and
groan in the night wind. From the distance came the mournful wail of a train whistle. Presently Jimmy got out of bed, crossed to the window and stood looking
out into the moonlight. Below him he could see his ball bat leaning
against a tree, looking strangely white against the shadows. Beyond
was the outline of a mounted horseman, the pump, and beyond that the
grey circular walls of the silo pointed upward like a castle tower. Something caught Jimmy's eye, made him look to the east. He looked
again, then moved to the table and rummaged through the drawer until he
found the silver spyglass his father had given him last Christmas. He
carried the glass back to the window, pushed the window open and peered
out. In the bright moonlight he could see Mr. Maudsley clearly. And a little
farther on he could see Mr. Trask. Two silent figures alone in the
cornfields. The boy lowered the glass, wiped the lens on his sleeve, and carefully
focused again. A puzzled frown furrowed his face. Save for the flapping
of his trousers in the wind, Mr. Maudsley stood motionless, as of
course he should. But Mr. Trask.... A passing cloud slid over the
moon, darkening the landscape. In the few seconds before it brought
complete blackness Jimmy thought he saw Mr. Trask kick up his heels,
leap high in the air and begin to dance a rigadoon over the shocked
corn. *       *       *       *       *

At breakfast next morning Jimmy waited impatiently for his sister to
come downstairs. He hoped she would get to the table before his father
because with Papa present he couldn't talk, and he wanted to talk. When
at last Stella took her chair, he stretched his foot under the table
and kicked her slightly. "I've got a secret," he whispered. "Tell it to me," said Stella. "It's a big secret." "If you won't tell, I won't give you any of my Flinch candy." Jimmy was silent a moment as he gave this thought. Then he leaned
forward and whispered,

"Mr. Trask moved last night." "He always moves," replied Stella, unimpressed. "I mean really moved. Toward Mr. Maudsley." Stella choked on her porridge and the spoon all but slipped from her
hand. She stared with wide open eyes. "He didn't." Their whispers broke off as Mr. Tapping strode across the kitchen and
took his place at the head of the table. A heavy-set unimaginative man
who seldom entered into conversation with the children, he eyed them
speculatively. But he said nothing and began to eat his eggs and thick
strips of bacon. He ate slowly and methodically, keeping his eyes to
the table. When he had finished his coffee, he settled back to light
his pipe. He passed the match back and forth across the bowl with quiet
deliberation. "Who's Mr. Maudsley and who's Mr. Trask?" His wife smiled. "Those are just the names the children have given the
scarecrows." "What scarecrows?" "The one in our field and the one on Edmund's land." Mr. Tapping considered this while strong curls of strong tobacco smoke
rose about him. "Why those names? Why not Brown and Smith?" "Because those are their names," explained Stella patiently. Mr. Tapping cogitated on the mysteries of the juvenile mind. Abruptly
he remembered the section of pasture fence that needed repairing and
got to his feet. But it was nearly noon before he got around to fence fixing, and then
he had but one wire stapled when he heard a "halloo" and, turning, saw
old Jason Southby hobbling across the field toward him. Jimmy, who was holding the wire for his father, let go the pliers and
joined Stella who was trying to capture a bumble bee in a fruit jar. "Howdy," said old Jason, reaching the fence. "Got a couple of helpers,
I see." Mr. Tapping smiled and nodded his greeting. "I came over to ask if you're goin' to post your property for
no-huntin' this year." "Don't think so," replied Mr. Tapping. "Aren't many grouse, and I don't
expect there'll be many hunters." "No," agreed old Jason, "the birds are dyin' out. It ain't like the old
days." Mr. Tapping nodded. "Remember when Maudsley was here. Things was different then." "Who did you say?" said Mr. Tapping. "Maudsley," repeated old Jason. "He owned your farm twenty ... thirty
years ago." Mr. Tapping shook his head. Maudsley, eh? Jimmy and Stella must have
heard the name from one of the neighbors' children. "Yep," continued old Jason. "Maudsley had this place, and Trask rented
the strip across the road." "So?" "Quite a story about them two." *       *       *       *       *

Mr. Tapping said nothing. There would be no hurrying old Jason; and
no stopping him either. The man obviously had a tale to tell, and he
was enjoying every moment of this prelude. He bit off a piece of plug
tobacco, chewed a moment and spat. "It was corn that started it," he said. "Maudsley was a great one to
fool around with hybrids, and he worked out an early variety he called
Maudsley Number two.