For a moment Skeeter hung on to a few protruding bones, then he emitted a little whimpering sigh, slided off the bony sides of the ever-rising mountain, and lay flat upon the ground. The second collision had knocked him out.
Skeeter did not lose consciousness. He just lost breath. It was a long time before he rallied sufficiently to sit up, and when he did he heard a woman weeping softly.
“Who is dat onwindin’ dat bawl?” Skeeter inquired softly.
“Dis here is me,” the woman answered, which was enough for Skeeter, for he knew that voice.
“Whut wus you doin’ in dat house, Dazzle?” Skeeter asked, when he found her in the dark, sitting on the bottom step of the porch.
“I wus tryin’ to git dat rabbit-foot,” she said simply.
“How come you know about dat foot?”
“Hopey tole me. I wants de money Mustard is put up to git it back.”
“I wants dem dollars, too,” Skeeter laughed. “Less go in togedder an’ ’vide up de money even-Stephen.”
“I takes you on,” Dazzle said, finding comfort in her grief.