"Ho! dat indeed! sure 'nuff--it are da bite ob de rattlesnake. Doctor
no good for dat. Tobacc'-juice no good. Gabr'l best doctor for de
rattlesnake. Come 'long, young mass'!"
"What! you are going to guide me, then?"
"I'se a gwine to _cure_ you, mass'."
"You?"
"Ye, mass'! tell you doctor no good--know nuffin' 't all 'bout it--he
kill you--truss Ole Gabe--he cure you. Come 'long, mass', no time t' be
loss."
I had for the moment forgotten the peculiar reputation which the black
enjoyed--that of a snake-charmer and snake-doctor as well, although I
had so late been thinking of it. The remembrance of this fact now
returned, accompanied by a very different train of reflections.
"No doubt," thought I, "he possesses the requisite knowledge--knows the
antidote, and how to apply it. No doubt he is the very man. The
doctor, as he says, may not understand how to treat me."
I had no very great confidence that the doctor could cure me. I was
only running to him as a sort of _dernier ressort_.
"This Gabriel--this snake-charmer, is the very man. How fortunate I
should have met with him!"
After a moment's hesitation--during the time these reflections were
passing through my mind--I called out to the black--
"Lead on! I follow you!"
Whither did he intend to guide me? What was he going to do? Where was
_he_ to find an antidote? How was he to cure me?
To these questions, hurriedly put, I received no reply.
"You truss me, mass' Edward; you foller me!" were all the words the
black would utter as he strode off among the trees.