"The boss never knew he had it, that's sure," he said. "Wonder who slipped it over on him? The hag, of
course. But how?"
"What are you talking about?" I asked.
"Why, the witch's ladder," he pointed again to the cord. "That's what they call it down Mexico way. It's
bad medicine. The witch slips it to you and then she has power over you." He bent over the cord…"Yep,
it's the witch's ladder-the nine knots an' woman's hair…an' in the boss's pocket!"
He stood staring at the cord. I noticed he made no attempt to pick it up.
"Take it up and look at it closer, McCann," I said.
"Not me!" He stepped back. "I'm telling you it's bad medicine, Doc."
I had been steadily growing more and more irritated against the fog of superstition gathering ever heavier