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Kit dejected before the gaming table.
    â€œBut . . . I was sure of it,” Kit said.
    â€œNever be sure of anything here in Ankle Snap, young Kit,” Flynn told him. “A game of chance is the least sure thing of all. Now, that’s all your seeds if you please.”
    â€œI . . . I . . . ,” Kit stammered.
    â€œOr we could extend you a loan,” Flynn suggested. “A line of credit to borrow. You could win and pay us back with your winnings, no harm done.”
    â€œDo it, kiddo,” the stoat in the coat repeated, as if it was a line he’d memorized from a play. “You’ll get ’em this time.”
    Kit noticed a wink pass from Flynn to the tall stoat, like they were working together. The stoat even pressed Kit forward, closer to the betting table.
    The crowd around Kit urged him on, urged him to borrow from the Blacktail brothers, to play again, to double his bet with seeds he didn’t have. He looked over his shoulder for another raccoon face—an uncle he’d never met, a friend of any kind—but all the faces he saw were of other animals from other families. They didn’t care what happened to him, just that they were amused. Why had his mother sent him here? Why did she think he’d be safer in this place than hiding out in the forests under the Big Sky? He couldn’t get out of the crowd of creatures all around. There were too many of them, not enough space, not enough sky. He felt closed in, trapped!
    â€œPay up or play up, young Kit.” Flynn Blacktail smiled. “You’ve got to play to stay. Or pay what you owe and then you can go.”
    â€œI . . . I . . .” Kit reached for the seed bag in his pocket, all the money he had in the world. He had no choice. He had to turn it over. He’d lost. But in his pocket, he felt no seed pouch. All his seeds and nuts . . . all his savings were gone. Even worse, the stone was gone too . . . the Footprint of Azban! “My pouch!” he cried. “It’s . . . it’s . . . gone!”
    Suddenly, Flynn’s smile vanished. His lip raised to show his teeth, and a sharp growl slid like a knife from his snout. The crowd eased back, their senses attuned to danger.
    â€œYou said you had seeds to bet,” Flynn growled. “You wouldn’t be trying to cheat your cousins, now, would you, Kit?”
    As Flynn spoke, Shane moved around the table, front claws up. He stood on his back paws quite a height taller than little Kit.
    â€œWe don’t like moochers here,” said Shane. “A bet’s a bet, from howl to snap, and there’s no outs from a bet made fair.”
    â€œHe’s right, you know,” the stoat agreed.
    â€œA bet’s a bet,” a mole in the crowd muttered. “Howl to snap.”
    â€œHowl to—?” Kit didn’t know what they were saying. He rummaged through his pockets. He couldn’t find his seed pouch anywhere. He’d been robbed; he was sure of it.
    â€œYou shouldn’t play if you don’t have the seeds,” a squirrel in a torn bowler hat added unhelpfully.
    â€œYou owe us,” said Flynn, coming around the other side of the table. “Pay up!”
    â€œBut I don’t have anything to pay you with . . . ,” Kit pleaded, trying to back away from the Blacktail brothers,but finding the crowd had blocked him. “My pouch was stolen, I swear it was. I have to find it!”
    Through a gap in the crowd he saw a flash of white, an albino rat scurrying away down the winding alley, clutching Kit’s seed pouch in her front paw.
    â€œThere,” he shouted, pointing. “That rat! That rat stole my seeds!”
    As all heads turned to see the rat, Kit shoved through, crawling between their legs, hopping between them and knocking them aside, running full speed after the white rat that had robbed