Page:Weird Tales Volume 35 Issue 04 (1940-07).djvu/45

pleaded with him from beyond. “They ain’t real rabbits — they’ll finish you!”

Fighting, clawing at the rain of buffets, Pursuivant found his mind turning from the struggle to consideration of something else. What had the Indian, King Mosh, called the rabbit? Ototemon. Strange word. But with a familiar sound . . . suddenly he saw blue expanse, fringed with green. The sky among the treestops looked into his face, for he had come down upon his back. The rabbits had felled him. They were swarming around and upon him, their feet striking like great raindrops, incessantly and with precision —a rhythm that sapped his strength and his consciousness—again and again, on the same places.

How could he escape these airy blows and kicks? There seemed one way to crawl along—but it would lead to the cave, where Ransome had been. And once caught there, they’d have him. They’d dance upon him forever and forever, until he died, torn and bled to death by uncountable strokes—it would be like the falling of water upon a Chinese victim of the old drop-death—

“Say the words!” beseeched Pitts tearfully, his voice faint as an echo. “Say the words—howdy—”

Ototemon—the term meant something sacred to the Indians. And the minister, Mr. Horton, had gone on record as saying that the honest faith of savages could be respected, must be respected—

Somehow he got upon his feet, and lifted his hands as Pitts had done.

“Howdy,” he mumbled thickly. “Howdy, Mister Rabbit.”

And he stumbled and staggered away. Nothing prevented him. Pitts’s hand caught his arm, supporting him. He was safe, being led downhill.

“Who’ll believe?” he was saying to himself. “Who’ll believe? . . .”

“Don’t worry. Judge,” Pitts replied. “We’re all right now. And this has happened before—all the folks say that the rabbits kill people near that cave. When some stranger drops out of sight, the folks go look for them and bury them —it ain’t thought strange any more—I’ll get a couple of men from town to help me bring back Mr. Ransome—”

Pursuivant was content to leave it at that. Later he would write and make an inquiry of Dr. Trowbridge, de Grandin’s friend and fellow-scholar of the occult.

TROWBRIDGE’S letter came after the judge had returned to New York.

My Dear Pursuivant:

The meaning of the word ototemon should betray itself because of the familiarity of its corruption—totem. It's Algonquin and, as well as I can establish, means a local sacrosanctity, generally embodied in some animal. A tribe or clan or community would claim that such animals were in reality the reincarnated spirits of dead ancestors, and full of supernatural power for good or evil.

I was sorry to hear about Ransome’s death. Why are you so mysterious? De Grandin joins me in inviting you out to Huntingdon, to tell us about it. We have a strange story or two of our own that might intrigue you.

Yours, etc.,

And Trowbridge’s almost indecipherable signature wound it up.

Pursuivant laid down the letter and reasoned himself out of any sense of defeat. He had wanted to respect the custom from the first, had blamed Ransome for defying it. Mr. Horton, the long-dead minister of Crispinville, had felt the same. “We had precedent in that the first Missionaries to Britain did respect and observe certain festivals. . . ." It might be heathen to greet a rabbit, yet it was part of formal and sincere religion. And when you were in Crispinville, you should do what the Crispinvillagers did.

Judge Pursuivant decided not to feel fouled by his experience. Only he would never look at a rabbit again, and keep his heart from thumping nervously.