One thing Jerry learned early on the Ariel, namely, that nigger-chasing was not permitted.  Eager to please and serve his new gods, he took advantage of the first opportunity to worry a canoe-load of blacks who came visiting on board.  The quick chiding¹ of Villa² and the command of Harley made him pause in amazement³.  Fully⁴ believing he had been mistaken, he resumed his ragging of the particular black he had picked upon.  This time Harley’s voice was peremptory⁵, and Jerry came to him, his wagging tail and wriggling⁶ body all eagerness of apology, as was his rose-strip of tongue that kissed the hand of forgiveness with which Harley patted him.  
Next, Villa called him to her.  Holding him close to her with her hands on his jowls, eye to eye and nose to nose, she talked to him earnestly about the sin of nigger-chasing.  She told him that he was no common bush-dog, but a blooded Irish gentleman, and that no dog that was a gentleman ever did such things as chase unoffending black men.  To all of which he listened with unblinking serious eyes, understanding little of what she said, yet comprehending all.  “Naughty” was a word in the Ariel language he had already learned, and she used it several times.  “Naughty,” to him, meant “must not,” and was by way of expressing a taboo⁷.
 
Since it was their way and their will, who was he, he might well have asked himself, to disobey their rule or question it?  If niggers were not to be chased, then chase them he would not, despite the fact that Skipper had encouraged him to chase them.  Not in such set terms did Jerry consider the matter; but in his own way he accepted the conclusions.
 
Love of a god, with him, implied service.  It pleased him to please with service.  And the foundation-stone of service, in his case, was obedience⁸.  Yet it strained him sore for a time to refrain from snarl⁹ and snap when the legs of strange and presumptuous¹⁰ blacks passed near him along the Ariel’s white deck.
 
But there were times and times, as he was to learn, and the time came when Villa Kennan wanted a bath, a real bath in fresh, rain-descended, running water, and when Johnny, the black pilot from Tulagi, made a mistake.  The chart showed a mile of the Suli river where it emptied into the sea.  Why it showed only a mile was because no white man had ever explored it farther.  When Villa proposed the bath, her husband advised with Johnny.  Johnny shook his head.
 
“No fella boy stop ’m along that place,” he said.  “No make ’m trouble along you.  Bush fella boy stop ’m long way too much.”
 
So it was that the launch went ashore¹¹, and, while its crew lolled in the shade of the beach coconuts¹², Villa, Harley, and Jerry followed the river inland a quarter of a mile to the first likely pool.
 
“One can never be too sure,” Harley said, taking his automatic pistol from its holster and placing it on top his heap of clothes.  “A stray bunch of blacks might just happen to surprise us.”
 
Villa stepped into the water to her knees, looked up at the dark jungle roof high overhead through which only occasional shafts¹³ of sunlight penetrated¹⁵, and shuddered¹⁶.
 
“An appropriate setting for a dark deed,” she smiled, then scooped¹⁷ a handful of chill water against her husband, who plunged¹⁸ in in pursuit.
 
For a time Jerry sat by their clothes and watched the frolic.  Then the drifting shadow of a huge butterfly attracted his attention, and soon he was nosing through the jungle on the trail of a wood-rat.  It was not a very fresh trail.  He knew that well enough; but in the deeps of him were all his instincts of ancient training—instincts to hunt, to prowl, to pursue living things, in short, to play the game of getting his own meat though for ages man had got the meat for him and his kind.
 
So it was, exercising faculties²⁰ that were no longer necessary, but that were still alive in him and clamorous²¹ for exercise, he followed the long-since passed wood-rat with all the soft-footed crouching²³ craft of the meat-pursuer and with utmost fineness of reading the scent²⁴.  The trail crossed a fresh trail, a trail very fresh, very immediately fresh.  As if a rope had been attached to it, his head was jerked abruptly²⁵ to right angles with his body.  The unmistakable smell of a black was in his nostrils²⁶.  Further, it was a strange black, for he did not identify it with the many he possessed²⁷ filed away in the pigeon-holes of his brain.
 
Forgotten was the stale wood-rat as he followed the new trail.  Curiosity and play impelled²⁸ him.  He had no thought of apprehension²⁹ for Villa and Harley—not even when he reached the spot where the black, evidently startled by bearing their voices, had stood and debated, and so left a very strong scent.  From this point the trail swerved³⁰ off toward the pool.  Nervously³¹ alert, strung to extreme tension, but without alarm, still playing at the game of tracking, Jerry followed.
 
From the pool came occasional cries and laughter, and each time they reached his ears Jerry experienced glad little thrills.  Had he been asked, and had he been able to express the sensations of emotion in terms of thought, he would have said that the sweetest sound in the world was any sound of Villa Kennan’s voice, and that, next sweetest, was any sound of Harley Kennan’s voice.  Their voices thrilled him, always, reminding him of his love for them and that he was beloved of them.
 
With the first sight of the strange black, which occurred close to the pool, Jerry’s suspicions were aroused.  He was not conducting himself as an ordinary black, not on evil intent, should conduct himself.  Instead, he betrayed all the actions of one who lurked³² in the perpetration of harm.  He crouched³³ on the jungle floor, peering around a great root of a board tree.  Jerry bristled³⁴ and himself crouched as he watched.
 
Once, the black raised his rifle half-way to his shoulder; but, with an outburst of splashing and laughter, his unconscious victims evidently removed themselves from his field of vision.  His rifle was no old-fashioned Snider, but a modern, repeating Winchester; and he showed habituation to firing it from his shoulder rather than from the hip³⁵ after the manner of most Malaitans.
 
Not satisfied with his position by the board tree, he lowered his gun to his side and crept closer to the pool.  Jerry crouched low and followed.  So low did he crouch²² that his head, extended horizontally forward, was much lower than his shoulders which were humped up queerly and composed the highest part of him.  When the black paused, Jerry paused, as if instantly frozen.  When the black moved, he moved, but more swiftly, cutting down the distance between them.  And all the while the hair of his neck and shoulders bristled in recurrent waves of ferocity and wrath³⁶.  No golden dog this, ears flattened³⁷ and tongue laughing in the arms of the lady-god, no Sing Song Silly chanting ancient memories in the cloud-entanglement of her hair; but a four-legged creature of battle, a fanged³⁹ killer⁴⁰ ripe to rend⁴¹ and destroy.
 
Jerry intended to attack as soon as he had crept sufficiently⁴² near.  He was unaware⁴³ of the Ariel taboo against nigger-chasing.  At that moment it had no place in his consciousness.  All he knew was that harm threatened the man and woman and that this nigger intended this harm.
 
So much had Jerry gained on his quarry⁴⁴, that when again the black squatted⁴⁵ for his shot, Jerry deemed he was near enough to rush.  The rifle was coming to shoulder when he sprang forward.  Swiftly as he sprang, he made no sound, and his victim’s first warning was when Jerry’s body, launched like a projectile⁴⁶, smote⁴⁷ the black squarely between the shoulders.  At the same moment his teeth entered the back of the............