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"Reba say she kin smell it herself."
He heard the old woman groan in the corner. "They ain't gonna do no good out huntin' it," she whined. "It here. It right around here. Ef it jump in this room it gonna git me fust, then at gonna git that boy, then it gonna git...."
"Hush yo' mouth, Reba," he heard his mother say. "I look after my boy."
He could look after hissef. He warn't afraid. He could smell it--him an' Reba could. It'd jump on them fust; fust Reba an' then him. It was the shape of a reg'lar cat only bigger, his mother said. An' where you felt the sharp points on a house cat's foot, you felt big knife-claws in a wildcat's, an' knife teeth, too; an' it breathed heat an' spit wet lime. Gabriel could feel its claws in his shoulders and its teeth in his throat. But he wouldn't let 'em stay there. He'd lock his arms 'round its body an' feel up for its neck an' jerk its head back an' go down wit it on the floor until its claws dropped away from his shoulders. Beat, Beat, beat its head, beat, beat beat...
"Who wit ol' Hezuh?" one of the women asked.
"Jus' Nancy."
"Oughter be somebody else down there," his mother said softly.
