He heard a sound. Listening for a moment, he decided that someone was moving in the house, and that he had better not try to secure the rabbit-foot that night. His close-clipped hair stood up on his head like pig bristles as he began to retreat, and he lost no time in beating his way back to the hall below. He started to open the front door and escape that way, but on the second thought he decided it would be safer to go out through the kitchen. As he passed into the back hall he heard some one coming down the steps of the back stairs. He crouched in a corner, waiting for the person to descend. Whoever it was, passed within a few feet of him, crossed the kitchen, and went out of the door. Skeeter noiselessly followed. Once safely outside the house a senseless panic struck him, and he shot around the corner toward the front at full speed. On the walk in front of the house he collided with a terrible force with something, the impact jarring every bone in his body, and for a moment knocking him breathless, senseless. The second party in the collision, with a whistling expiration of breath sank limply against Skeeter Butts. He thrust out his arms and embraced a woman! Skeeter was fond of the lady folks, and was usually chivalrous. But on this occasion he “dropped” the lady right there; cut her dead, so to speak. And started across the lawn at a speed never before attained by his pedal extremities. Skeeter traveled crawfish fashion; he went forward, but he looked back. He turned to see where he was going, and there suddenly loomed before him a big, black object which looked to him as large as a house. It was Jinx, lying on the ground. Skeeter hit the front end of Jinx first and fell sprawlingly forward, and his arms and legs, outspread, were spraddled across Jinx’s bony back. The startled mule, aroused from his slumber, bellowed like a cow and began to get up, rising in bony sections, like a folding ladder. 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.