Did you ever try to sleep on a rattlesnake-proof bed on a poison-ivy
island? Well, if that was all there was to it it isn’t likely you’d
drop right off into a doze and have pleasant dreams. But throw in
for good measure that two men like Batten and Bill were out looking
for you; and if you close your eyes a wink, then I’m pretty much
mistaken.
Mark and I tried to sleep. I know I shut my eyes and pretended I was
at home with father and mother in the next room. Somehow that didn’t
do much good—I couldn’t pretend hard enough, I guess. Then I tried
counting sheep jumping over a fence, but the sheep jumped so slow
that I had time in between to figure what Batten would do to us if
he caught us. I counted up to a thousand, and watched an imaginary
wheel go round and round. But in spite of everything I could think
of I was just as wide awake at the end as I was at the beginning.
Mark was perfectly still, and of course I didn’t know whether he was
asleep or awake. Everything except Sammy was still, too still
altogether for comfort. When things are so quiet you just _have_ to
listen. You can’t help it if it was to save your life; and I didn’t
want to listen. Listening for something you don’t hear makes you
shivery. I don’t know but that it was more scary than the night we
sat up by the cave before we knew what Sammy was. I couldn’t help
imagining a rattler was trying to climb the leg of my bed, and every
snap of a twig or rustle of a leaf I turned into a man sneaking
through the underbrush.
Besides, there was Sammy snoring for dear life. Just you get into a
tight place like we were in and have the only person you can depend
on start to snore! I tell you, you feel even lonesomer than if
nobody was there at all. I was mad at Sammy, mad all the way
through. It didn’t seem right that anybody should be comfortable and
happy when I was so miserable. Once I made up my mind to yell at
Sam, but then I thought how hard he’d been working for us, and kept
still.
After a while I couldn’t stand it any longer, though, so I raised my
head and whispered, cautious, “Oh, Mark, are you awake?”
“Awake!” he says, cross-like. “If I was as sound asleep as I’m
w-w-wide awake an earthquake wouldn’t rouse me.”
“Let’s talk,” says I; “it’ll seem more sociable.”
We started in to talk, but there didn’t seem to be anything to talk
about but snakes and Batten and Bill. The more you talk about things
that scare you the more afraid you get, so our conversation wasn’t
what you’d call a success. We both laid back and kept quiet.
I don’t know whether it was two hours or fifteen minutes after that
when I sat up straight and listened. I thought I heard voices out on
the river, and I sat there stiff, holding my breath, with chills
running up and down my spine ten to the minute. For a while I didn’t
hear another thing; then, up the river some place, something
creaked. It isn’t natural to hear something creaking out on the
water, for fish don’t creak, and neither does water. It’s surprising
how few things there are that _do_ creak that aren’t made by men.
Just listen around and see. As soon as I heard that sound I knew it
couldn’t be anything else but an oar-lock, and an oar-lock meant a
rowboat, and a rowboat meant Batten and Bill. Nobody else would be
poking around the river at that time of night.
“Mark,” I says, my voice trembling in spite of all I could do to
keep it steady.
“Yes,” he answered, right off.
“Did you hear it?”
“Yes.”
“It must be Batten and Bill.”
“L-l-l-lookin’ for us!” he sputtered.
“What’ll we do?”
“Sammy—wake Sammy.”
“Go and wake him,” says I, for I didn’t like to put my feet down on
that ground for fear of stepping right in the middle of a rattler.
We didn’t dare call Sammy, for fear of being overheard; and it
wasn’t safe to throw a stick at him, because he might wake up and
holler. There was nothing for it but to take a chance with the
snakes.
“Come on,” says I. But I didn’t trust my feet on the ground till I’d
found my club. I took it and reached all around as far as I could,
thumping the earth so if there were any rattlers hanging around
they’d be scared away, or at least rattle so we’d know where they
were. I didn’t hear anything, so I made up my mind it would be safe
for a little ways at least.
We got down and made for Sammy as quietly as we could go. Sam lay
with one arm over his head and the other across his face, and his
mouth open wide enough to take in an apple. Mark tickled the palm of
his hand, but Sammy only closed his fingers. Then I tapped him on
the cheek. Sam just slapped at me like I was a mosquito. It was
plain Sammy was a sound sleeper.
There wasn’t anything left but to shake him good and hard, so Mark
shook. As soon as he did he slapped his hand over Sammy’s mouth so
he couldn’t holler, but that isn’t what Sam did at all. He just
heaved himself onto his feet all at once and grabbed Mark with his
big hands. He’d have broken him in two if I hadn’t spoken quick.
“Sammy,” says I, as sharp as I could, “it’s us—Mark and me.”
He came to in a minute and grinned at us sheepish-like.
“Sammy most bust fat boy,” he said. “Sammy wake up quick. Scairt. He
grab—no find out who.”
“Hush,” whispers Mark. “There’s a boat a-comin’ down the river.”
“Batten come? Bill come? Eh?”
“I guess so. C-c-couldn’t be anybody else.”
“Sammy go see.” Off went Sammy as quiet as a fish in the water,
leaving us all alone.
“Let’s stamp out what’s left of the fire,” says I.
It had burned almost out, but we trampled the coals, and when they
were black we covered the place with brush so nobody’d know there
had been any fire at all. Now it was as dark as if we were in
somebody’s pocket, and mighty uncomfortable, I can tell you. Both of
us made for our beds and sat on them with our feet pulled up, to
wait for Sammy.
In no time he was back. I didn’t hear him coming, but all at once he
was there. It was just as if he’d popped up out of the ground.
“Who is it?” Mark whispered.
“Batten and Bill,” says Sammy.
“Where are they?”
“In boat. Come along island slow, very slow. Look here, look there.
Goin’ to land, Sammy think.”
It was a nice pickle, wasn’t it? There were two grown men against a
couple of kids and a queer-headed Indian. Of course, Sammy was so
big he was a comfort, but, then, there was no telling what Batten
and Bill would manage to do.
“Can we hide away from them, Sammy?” I wanted to know, and I wanted
to know quick.
“Can’t hide if men hunt good. Try, maybe.”
“And we can’t hide the boat and the turbine,” says Mark. “They’d
rather have the engine than us.”
That was a fact, all right. If the men took to searching the island
they’d find my boat hauled up on the shore of the bayou, and they’d
get back the turbine. All our work and trouble would be for nothing.
“We got to keep them from l-l-landing,” says Mark. He was so excited
and anxious I thought he’d never get through stuttering over
“landing.”
“Sammy throw men in river.” He grinned and shook his head and opened
and shut his great big hands as though it would be quite a joke to
give Batten and Bill a ducking.
But Mark didn’t want that; besides, he didn’t know if Sammy could
manage both the men. What we wanted was to find some scheme that
would keep the men from landing at all. I just sat still and waited,
because Mark is the schemer of the party. I’m no good that way, and
I knew if Mark couldn’t think up something there was no use for me
to try.
“Sammy,” says Mark, “maybe you can do it.” He spoke slow, so as not
to stutter. “There’s a chance of scarin’ ’em off.”
“Sammy do it. Sure. Sammy yell like panther, eh?”
“No, Sammy won’t yell like a panther. Sammy will keep quiet like a
f-f-fish till I get through.”
Sammy showed his white teeth, and I could almost hear him purr. It
tickled him all over every time Mark spoke to him, and it didn’t
make any difference what he said, either.
“You got to pretend you’re a rattlesnake,” says Mark. “Go quiet as
you can to the shore wherever they try to land. Hide so’s they can’t
see you. Then as soon’s one of ’em puts a f-f-foot ashore you
rattle. Understand?”
“Sammy know. To be sure. Sammy go kr-r-r-r-r-r.”
I jumped and looked around before I thought. It was the
rattlesnakiest noise you ever heard.
“That’s it,” says Mark. “Now hurry!”
Mark stayed where he was because he couldn’t move very quiet. No
matter how careful and still he tried to be, he would have sounded
like a cow mired in a swamp. There are good things about being fat,
but there are bad ones, too, and that was one of the bad ones. I
went along with Sammy as far as I dared and then hid behind some
bushes. Sammy crawled along to the very edge of the water and kept
even with the boat, which had come into sight and was rowing along
about twenty feet out. From where I was I could hear Batten and Bill
talking to each other low and cautious.
“I’m not crazy to go ashore,” says Batten. “That island’s alive with
snakes.”
“Bosh!” says Bill. “Who’s afraid of snakes?”
“You come from the city, or you wouldn’t be sticking up your nose at
rattlers. I bet you never saw a rattler.”
“If I did see one I wouldn’t run away from it.”
“Um!” grunts Batten.
“There’s a chance they’re hiding there,” Bill went on, in a minute.
“We went all around it and then down-stream without catching a
glimpse of them. I believe they stopped off here and hid.”
“We’ll soon find out, anyhow,” Batten says, and turned the boat
toward the shore. “You’re not afraid of snakes,” he says, sort of
sneering, “so you step out first. Don’t be afraid.”
I couldn’t see Sammy, but I could see Batten and Bill. A couple of
strokes of the oars brought the boat up against the marshy shore. I
could hear the keel grate against the bottom.
“Out you go,” says Batten, and Bill stood up and stepped ashore.
Then Sammy rattled. “Kr-r-r-r-r-r,” he went. It sounded as if it was
right under Bill’s feet. Well, sir, you should have seen Bill jump.
He didn’t even wait to turn around, but just went up in the air
backward and let out a yell as loud as a locomotive whistle. He
landed one foot in the boat and the other in the water.
“No,” says Batten, and I bet he was grinning mean, “_you_ wouldn’t
run away from a snake, you wouldn’t. Oh no!”
“I most stepped on him,” Bill says, shaky-like. “When he struck he
just missed my leg. I felt him.” Now, that shows you what a fellow’s
imagination will do for him, especially if he’s startled.
“Try again,” Batten says. “He’s probably gone by now.”
“Try yourself if you want to. If you expect me to step on this
confounded island you row to some other spot.”
They argued about it a while and then pushed off. When they started
away Sammy followed after, and I went along, too. I was so
interested I plumb forgot about snakes myself. They rowed about a
hundred feet and then tried it again, but Sammy was there first. As
soon as Bill put his foot on the ground away went that Kr-r-r-r-r-r,
and back he scrambled into the boat.
“Must be alive with them,” he panted. “Hear that one?”
[Illustration: HE LET OUT A YELL AS LOUD AS A LOCOMOTIVE WHISTLE]
“I heard him,” says Batten. “We’ll try another place.”
They tried again three times, but every time Sammy was there to
rattle. At the last place Bill got mad at Batten and says: “This is
a fool thing, prowling around this island. Nobody ever landed on
it—there’s a snake under every blade of grass. If you want to go
ashore, all right; but me, I’ll stay right in the boat, engine or no
engine.”
“They do seem sort of thick,” Batten says; and he didn’t make any
offer to go ashore himself. “We might as well go home. Tomorrow we
can set out to look for them again.” He stopped a minute and says,
“Changed your opinion of rattlesnakes, Bill?”
Bill just grunted, and then they rowed off up the river and out of
our sight.
We were pretty relieved, I tell you. After that we were sure the men
wouldn’t bother us any more that night, so we went to bed again. It
wasn’t long before I fell asleep, and I guess the others did, too.
Anyhow, I didn’t know another thing till Sammy shook me next
morning. It wasn’t light yet, but Mark was up and ready.
“They said they’d be lookin’ for us this m-m-mornin’,” he said, “so
we better be stirrin’. It’s half past three now.”
The first thing to do was to haul out the boat and see how badly
smashed it was, and to do that we had to take the turbine out on
shore. Mark and I got big clubs and stood right by Sammy while Sammy
worked. He killed one rattler with eight rattles on his tail the
first thing, and between us we got three more before Sammy had the
boat up and turned over. One plank was split and sprung out so that
there was a big gap for the water to run through. It wasn’t nearly
as bad as it might have been, and Sammy wasn’t any time fixing it up
with the little ax. It wasn’t as good as new, by any means, but the
water couldn’t leak in very fast. Mark figured he and I could bail
while Sammy rowed, and so keep the thing afloat.
Mark was too anxious to get home with the turbine to bother about
breakfast, so we started off, rowing and bailing, and didn’t have
any trouble to speak of. It was a fine bright morning, with the sun
coming down so clean and shiny and light that it looked as if it was
something being poured all over everything—something you could
touch. I’ve seen lots of spring mornings like that, when the
sunlight didn’t seem like sunlight at all, but as if it were a kind
of dew that made every leaf and stone and the water, and even
animals and folks, sort of glow. Mark was a great fellow for
noticing things like that, even when he had worries on his mind, and
he kept talking about it all the way down the river.
Along toward the last the boat commenced to leak pretty bad again. I
guess it was the weight of the turbine pressing down on the weak
board, so Mark decided to stop at the cave and hide the engine there
while somebody went into town for a wagon to haul it in. It was a
pretty hard pull getting it up on the hill and into the cave, but we
managed it, and Mark and I were able to help with a rope that we had
there. He and I went first with the rope and held the engine from
slipping back when Sammy had to put it down to rest. We were pretty
tired when the turbine was safe inside the cave, so we lay down and
took a little rest.
“Sammy,” says Mark, “you stay here and guard the turbine while
Tallow and I go to town for help. Don’t let anybody git it away from
you.”
“Sammy watch. Nobody get machine.” He got a big club and whirled it
around his head so it whistled. “Nobody take it away from Sammy, eh?
Sammy guess not.”
Mark guessed not, too. He and Sammy and I walked to the road
together, and Mark and I were just for starting off toward town when
we saw a couple of men coming in a buggy. At first I thought it was
Batten and Bill, but it wasn’t, and my heart went back where it
belonged. We turned to Sammy to say good-by, but a more frightened
fellow there never was. His eyes bulged, and his knees sagged, and
he was muttering and shaking his head and pointing.
“After Sammy,” he chattered. “Take him back to poor-farm. Make Sammy
dig in fields. Make him sleep in house.” Then all of a sudden the
idea of running popped into his head, and without so much as an
“Aye,” “Yes,” or “No” to Mark he turned and scooted down the hill
and out of sight.
Sure enough, when we took a good look at the men one of them was Mr.
Grey, superintendent of the poor-farm; but it turned out they
weren’t looking for anybody, but just driving home from the next
town, where Mr. Grey had been on business.
That wasn’t any help to us, though, for it left us without Sammy
just the same, and Sammy seemed to be pretty necessary. We felt we
could leave the engine with him and it would be safe. He could guard
the mouth of the cave sort of like Horatius at the bridge, and
Batten and Bill would find it was close to impossible to chase him
off. Now it looked as if either Mark or I would have to go to town,
and that would leave just one boy on guard.
“It ain’t safe,” says I. “Sammy could have done it, but neither of
us can alone. I wouldn’t even want to try it with both of us here.”
“Neither would I,” Mark answered. “But what are we going to do?”
“We might send word in by Mr. Grey,” I says. “He could send out
help.”
The buggy was almost to us now, and without thinking how he might
frighten the horse Mark stepped into the road and held up his hand.
The horse snorted, jerked back, and then took the bit in his teeth
and tore off as tight as he could go. Mark had to jump quicker than
I ever saw him jump before to get out of the way.
It did seem as if luck was against us. We stood there a minute and
looked after the rig, which was getting farther away every second.
“Let’s get back to the cave and see what there is to do,” I says.
Mark never said a word, but just started off with a discouraged
hunch to his shoulders, and I trailed after. We sat down in front of
the cave, tired, hungry, and pretty sick of the whole business.