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“In de fust an’ fo’mos’ place,” stated Daddy Hannah, “dis yere warn’t no reg’lar graveyard rabbit to start off wid. See dis li’l’ teeny black spot on de und’neath part? Well, dat’s a sho’ sign of a witch rabbit. A witch rabbit he hang round a buryin’ ground, but he don’t go inside of one–naw, suh, not never nur nary. He ain’t dare to. He stay outside an’ frolic wid de ha’nts w’en dey comes fo’th, but da’s all. De onliest thing which dey is to do when you kills a witch rabbit is to cut off de haid f’um de body an’ bury de haid on de north side of a log, an’ den bury de body on de south side so’s dey can’t jine together ag’in an’ resume witchin’. So you havin’ failed to do so, ’tain’t no wonder you been havin’ sech a powerful sorry time.” He started to return the foot to its owner, but snatched it back.

“Hole on yere a minute, boy! Lemme tek’ nuther look at dat thing.” He took it, then burst forth with a volley of derisive chuckling. “Huh, huh, well ef dat ain’t de beatenes’ part of it all!” wheezed Daddy Hannah. “Red Hoss, you sho’ muster been in one big hurry to git away f’um dat spot whar you kilt your rabbit and ketched your charm. Looky yere at dis yere shank j’int! Don’t you see nothin’ curious about de side of de leg whar de hock sticks out? Well den, cullid boy, ef you don’t, all I got to say is you mus’ be total blind ez well ez monst’ous ignunt. Dis ain’t no lef’ hind foot of no rabbit.”

“Whut is it den?”

“It’s de right hind foot, dat’s whut ’tis!” He tossed it away contemptuously.

After a long minute Red Hoss, standing at Daddy Hannah’s doorstep with his hands rammed deep in pockets, which were both empty, spoke in tones of profound bitterness. He addressed his remarks to space, but Daddy Hannah couldn’t help overhearing.

“Fust off, I gits fooled by de right laig of de wrong rabbit. Den a man-eatin’ mule come a-browsin’ on me an’ gnaw a suit of close right offen my back. Den I runs into a elephint in a fog an’ busts one of Mist’ Lee Farrell’s taxiscabs fur him an’ he busts my jaw fur me. Den I gits tuk advantage of by a fool lion dat can’t chamber his licker lak a gen’l’man, in consequence of which I loses me a fancy job an’ a chunk of money. Den Melissa, she up an’–well, suh, I merely wishes to say dat f’um now on, so fur ez I is concerned, natchel history is a utter failure.”