"Jock, Jock!" cried her father excitedly.
The baboon chattered.
"Kit, it's Jock I used to tell you about. He is tame and follows me about like a dog. Jock, poor Jock!"
"Father, have you a pencil?"
"A pencil?" blankly.
"Yes, yes! I can write a note and attach it to Jock. It's a chance."
"Good lord! and you're cool enough to think like that." The colonel went through his pockets feverishly. "Thank God, here's an old stub! But paper?"
Kathlyn tore off a broad blade of grass from her dress and wrote carefully upon it. If it fell into the hands of the natives they would not understand, If the baboon returned to camp … It made her weak to realize how slender the chance was. She took the tabouret and placed it beneath the window and stood upon it.
"Jock, here, Jock!"
The baboon gave her his paws. Deftly she tied the blade of grass round his neck. Then she struck her hands together violently. The baboon vanished, frightened at this unexpected treatment.