The months passed, and Jerry got his firm, massive second teeth and increased in weight and size.  He came as near to being spoiled as is possible for a dog.  Himself taboo, he quickly learned to lord it over the Somo folk and to have his way and will in all matters.  No one dared to dispute with him with stick or stone.  Agno hated him—­he knew that; but also he gleaned the knowledge that Agno feared him and would not dare to hurt him.  But Agno was a chill-blooded philosopher and bided his time, being different from Jerry in that he possessed human prevision and could adjust his actions to remote ends.

From the edge of the lagoon, into the waters of which, remembering the crocodile taboo he had learned on Meringe, he never ventured, Jerry ranged to the outlying bush villages of Bashti’s domain.  All made way for him.  All fed him when he desired food.  For the taboo was upon him, and he might unchidden invade their sleeping-mats or food calabashes.  He might bully as he pleased, and be arrogant beyond decency, and there was no one to say him nay.  Even had Bashti’s word gone forth that if Jerry were attacked by the full-grown bush dogs, it was the duty of the Somo folk to take his part and kick and stone and beat the bush dogs.  And thus his own four-legged cousins came painfully to know that he was taboo.

And Jerry prospered.  Fat to stupidity he might well have become, had it not been for his high-strung nerves and his insatiable, eager curiosity.  With the freedom of all Somo his, he was ever a-foot over it, learning its metes and bounds and the ways of the wild creatures that inhabited its swamps and forests and that did not acknowledge his taboo.

Many were his adventures.  He fought two battles with the wood-rats that were almost of his size, and that, being mature and wild and cornered, fought him as he had never been fought before.  The first he had killed, unaware that it was an old and feeble rat.  The second, in prime of vigour, had so punished him that he crawled back, weak and sick to the devil devil doctor’s house, where, for a week, under the dried emblems of death, he licked his wounds and slowly came back to life and health.

He stole upon the dugong and joyed to stampede that silly timid creature by sudden ferocious onslaughts which he knew himself to be all sound and fury, but which tickled him and made him laugh with the consciousness of playing a successful joke.  He chased the unmigratory tropi-ducks from their shrewd-hidden nests, walked circumspectly among the crocodiles hauled out of water for slumber, and crept under the jungle-roof and spied upon the snow-white saucy cockatoos, the fierce ospreys, the heavy-flighted buzzards, the lories and kingfishers, and the absurdly garrulous little pygmy parrots.