Twelve Great Black Cats

Twelve Great Black Cats by Sorche Nic Leodhas

Book: Twelve Great Black Cats by Sorche Nic Leodhas Read Free Book Online
Authors: Sorche Nic Leodhas
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Then he felt around until he had the March wind’s ankles and, taking care not to ease his weight from the March wind’s chest, Murdagh bound the two ankles together with a second pair of hose from the creel.
    â€œThat will hold you for the time,” said Murdagh, “but I can do better than that.”
    He took the last two stockings from the creel and knotted the ends together twisting them into a rope. With a quick twist he turned the March wind over on his face and put the stocking round his neck. Before the March wind knew what was happening to him, Murdagh had drawn his legs and arms together, up behind his back, and fastened them with the ends of the rope of stockings and tied them tight. Murdagh stood over him and laughed. “You’ll blow no more for a while, you rogue!” said Murdagh. “That’s a pickle you’ll not be getting yourself out of soon!”
    The March wind learned at once that the less he stirred about the better off he’d be. If he moved as much as a finger or a toe the cruel rope of stockings tightened about his neck so that he was all but choked to death.
    Murdagh took the napkin from his bonnet and tossed it into his creel. He shook up the bonnet to put it in order, and set it back on his head.
    â€œOch, now,” he said to the March wind. “What will I do about you?”
    â€œWhat are you going to do, Murdagh?” the March wind asked fearfully.
    â€œBalach the dog and me were up by the bens one day, tracking a fox that was nosing about the hen run. We found a hole up there that led into a cave deep down in the ben. I’m thinking it would be a good place to drop you into. A good big boulder set across it to seal up the hole would keep you inside in case you were able to get yourself untied.”
    â€œOch, you would not do so!” the March wind cried in horror.
    â€œWhy should I not?” asked Murdagh. “We cannot have you lying here. The sheep would take fright at you, and maybe run away, losing themselves on the moor or in the glen. I’d be falling over you, not being able to see you. Sure, one or the other of us would come to harm. The best place for you is the hole in the ben, and when I get a bit of rest I’ll carry you up and drop you in.”
    â€œOchone! Ochone!” the March wind wailed. “Le-e-e-e-et me-e-e-e-e go-o-o-o-o!”
    â€œI’ll not do it,” said Murdagh indignantly. “You’ve been naught but a vexation and a trouble to me in the past, and so you would be again if I should set you free.”
    And Murdagh sat down on his stone and taking up his needles and yarn he set to work at knitting the stocking he had begun that morn.
    After a while the March wind said softly, “Murdagh?”
    â€œAye,” said Murdagh.
    â€œMurdagh,” said the March wind. “I know a place over beyond the bens where two great kists full of gold and siller are hidden away. For more than a hundred years they’ve lain there, and the man who brought them there is long dead and turned to dust. Nobody knows the kists are there but me. Let me go free, Murdagh, and I’ll blow both kists to you.”
    â€œWhat good would all that gold and siller be to a shepherd like me?” Murdagh said scornfully. “All a man needs is a good roof over his head, food to fill his belly, working clothes for weekdays and good clothes for Sundays. All these I have already, and my croft and my sheep, forbye. If there’s aught else I fancy I’d like to buy, I’ll have you know I’ll get it for myself. I have a wee kist of my own, and though it is not full to the top, there’s plenty of gold and siller in it to buy me anything I’m likely to want. Och, keep your kists for yourself.”
    Murdagh went on with his knitting, and after a while the March wind said softly, “Murdagh?”
    â€œOch, aye,” said Murdagh. “What would you be wanting

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