“Mr. Balzac would care about his footpads,” Cecily said, with some temper. “It’s why you’re only a dime novelist, Ben. You’ve no ability to look closely at anything.”

“I thought you said I had an uncommon understanding of the female heart?” I said, rather stung.

“Pooh, that was only to irritate the old brute,” she said. Then she thrust one of the little creature’s feet practically into my eye.

“His footpads resemble an elephant’s,” she said. “There’s an elephant’s foot standing in the great hall—do observe it the next time you pass by. In fact, Van Leeuwenhoek’s closest relative is the elephant. I find that fact entrancing, don’t you?”

She crawled back into her bed, cuddling the little furry creature against her bosom as if it had been her child. It hid its odd little face amid her tresses.

“Cecily, can’t I stay the night?” I asked. “I’m a bit wrought up. I had it in my mind that you were being scalped.”

“Oh, I don’t know, Ben,” she said. “My hyrax would be terribly jealous if you stayed the night. We’ve a sort of tendresse, you see, and you might spoil it.”

“But it’s just an animal!” I said, growing rather vexed.

“Yes, an animal,” Cecily said. “And what are you, if not an animal? Mr. Darwin said the only animal most humans ever really notice is the one they see in the mirror, and it’s a damning truth.”

Before I could answer, the hyrax let out another of its terrible screams. It hopped around on the bed, screaming, and then clutched Cecily’s neck as if it were her baby.

“The nigger’s close,” she said. “Van Leeuwenhoek always screams when the nigger’s close.”

I decided there was no point in arguing and started to leave the room, but before I could, Cecily turned back the covers a bit and patted the sheets with one hand.

“I don’t like the nigger,” she said. “I suppose I might be cordial, since this could be your last night. I expect the old brute will have him kill you in the morning.”

The hyrax darted back into the closet, and I climbed wearily into her bed.

9.

“Why, it’s that aloof cowboy,” Cecily Snow said the next morning.

I had been sleeping soundly despite the fact that she had predicted that this would be the day of my death. I was still a bit groggy with sleep when I stumbled out on the balcony to see what she was talking about. Joe Lovelady and Mesty-Woolah stood in front of the bunkhouse, in conversation with Isinglass.

“That’s Joe Lovelady,” I said. “I didn’t know you knew him.”

Lady Snow looked at me with a touch of hauteur.