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If you can face a bear-man or a werwolf, even though all the Hy-as Ecutocks of the mountains show fight, I’ll be cornfed if I don’t stand by ye! Barring the Wild Hunter, I don’t know as I ever ran agin a Ecutock yit; that is if he be a Ecutock. Maybe he’s a Econe? Yes, I reckon that’s what he is,” continued Pete reflectively. “Maybe he is a pine cone,” I laughed.

Yet I could see that something had worn the ledge at the point indicated and when I stood a little distance away from the trail I could plainly note a difference in color marking the course of the trail where it led over the flinty rocks to the jumping place. “Wull, Le-loo! What’s your opinion of the Ecutock now? Do he use wings or ride a barleycorn broom?” asked Pete, with a triumphant smile.

We kin look for that boy’s trail on this side, for even if he be an Ecutock, I’ll bet my crooker bone ’gainst a lock of his hair that he can’t jump th’ hole, an’ I’ll wager my left ear that he’s got a trail an’ a bridge somewhar’nless he turns bird and flops over things like this,” he added, with a troubled look. “Pete,” said I, “never mind the bird business.

Turning his great blue eyes full upon me, he suddenly shot this inquiry, “Be he bar, ecutock or werwolf?” “He is the finest adjusted, easiest running, most exquisitely balanced, highest geared bit of human machinery I ever saw,” I answered enthusiastically. “Wall, maybe ye are right, Le-loo, an’ maybe ye hain’t; which is catamount to saying, maybe it is a man and maybe it tain’t.”

What the thunder is a Ecutock, Pete?” I asked. “An Injun devil, I reckon you’d call it; it’s bad medicine,” he answered soberly, and continuing in his former strain, he exclaimed: “Whar critters like goats, sheeps and rock-chucks kin live, you bet your Hy-as muck-a-muck we kin live too!” That night I rolled up into my blanket, filled with strange presentiments.