“Never throw an Indian off the scent. It is against the coin-mutilation law.
“Try to use other people’s experience and profit by bad example. Pattern after the Indians, who never moccasin.
“Let the Snakes alone; fur boas do not grow wild.
“When you drop your Rabbit’s foot, look out for falling hair.”
The instruction was interrupted by a strange animal flopping wildly about in front of the den, as though attached to a chain. It was smaller than Hoop-La and of a different colour. It had bright red on its head and body, and, even at that distance, I could see a tail long enough to make a three-volume novel. Then my heart gave a violent lunge into my ribs. Unquestionably, it was Jocko!
I put the glass down, my hands trembling. Why had Hoop-La monkeyed with Uncle Antonio’s pet? And what would Uncle Antonio do if he should hit upon the truth? Would he not shoot Hoop-La and all her children and make a Winter coat for Jocko out of their complexions? Echo answered me—he would.
My quick, active mind was partially paralysed. The cogs were rusty and the chains of thought creaked over them without producing any power. What should I do?
Should I remain silent, while my blood-relation ate his heart out and all the provisions I could buy? Should I listen, night after night, to the heartrending strains of Bedelia, syncopated by a strong man’s sobs? Every night, when playing that painful melody, Uncle was overcome at the line: “I’ve made up my mind to steal you.” “That is it,” he would shriek, “my Jocko haf been stole!” By a wonderful modulation, too swift for the ordinary ear to perceive, Uncle Antonio always changed off to Could Ye Come Back to Me, Douglas, and played it twice before he ceased.
Obviously, it was up to me. In my hands were the tangled threads of Fate, which I and I alone could unkink.
I did not sleep for three nights. On the fourth day, I walked out a little way from the cabin—perhaps eight or ten miles. In the woods I met Hoop-La under strange circumstances.