He was a large one, with sixteen rattles and a button. He lay coiled in
several perfect rings, with his tail softly vibrating and his head
thrown back, as if he expected his enemy to come nigh enough for him to
bury his curved needle-like fangs in some portion of his body, injecting
his poison, so deadly that nothing could have saved the boy from dying
within a few minutes.
The first natural feeling which comes over one when he sees a crawling
snake is to kill it, and Sam Harper did not wait long before yielding to
his inclination.
Standing less than a rod distant, he brought his gun to his shoulder,
and sighted at the head of the venomous reptile, which was held almost
stationary, while the crimson tongue darted in and out as if it were a
tiny spray of blood.
The aim was true, and the head was shattered as though the cartridge
had exploded within it. The body made a few furious writhings and
struggles, and then became still.
Sam viewed the ruin he had wrought for a minute or so, and then,
appreciating the service his dog had wrought him, he turned and patted
the animal.
"You're a fine dog, Bowser, and I forgive you for being good for
nothing."
CHAPTER XXI.
FACE TO FACE.
Herbert Watrous, when he separated from his companions on that balmy
afternoon in Indian summer, assumed a loftiness of bearing which was far
from genuine.
The fact was, he felt dissatisfied with himself, or rather with the
rifle which his indulgent father had presented to him only a few weeks
before.
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