an' I think, still thinkin' it's a cat or dog, 'I'll put you out of your misery,' an' I run over to it wit' me gun. As
I do so the coupe that's been waitin' shoots off hell-fer-leather too. I get over to what the other car hit,
an' I look at it-"
He slipped the bag off his knees, set it down beside him and untied the top.
"An' this is what it was."
Out of the bag he drew a doll, or what remained of it. The automobile had gone across its middle,
crushing it. One leg was missing; the other hung by a thread. Its clothing was torn and begrimed with the
dirt of the roadway. It was a doll-but uncannily did it give the impression of a mutilated pygmy. Its neck
hung limply over its breast.
McCann stepped over and lifted the doll's head, I stared, and stared…with a prickling of the scalp…with