THE OLD SNAKE HUNTER
The boys--Jack, Tom and Bob--set off one morning at the
Scout-Master’s direction for the bluestone quarries situated about a
mile from the lodge. Don rushed joyfully ahead, barking at squirrels,
who looked at him tantalizingly from safe retreats in the trees,
chasing rabbits into their burrows, and making himself altogether
disagreeable to the astonished inhabitants of the forest.
The way to the quarries was not an easy one. The boys had to climb
over great rocks, descend the steep sides of mountains, slipping and
sliding most of the way; they had to make a path through stout vines
that reached from tree to tree and seemed determined not to let them
pass. Still they went steadily forward, for what Scout would ever
think of complaining or, worse yet, of turning back with a task half
done?
Finally they saw before them through the trees a small hut before
which an old man of strange appearance was standing. He wore an old
brown hunting suit, so old and threadbare, in fact, that the boys
wondered how it ever managed to hold together; his leather leggings
were strapped securely just below the knee. In his hand he held
an implement that looked like a pitchfork, but which had only two
prongs, and in his mouth was a huge pipe that sent up a cloud of
smoke at every puff. And although his face was all criss-crossed with
wrinkles, the few people who knew him forgot all about that when they
caught the kindly gleam of his dark eyes, which were just as keen and
bright at sixty as they had been at twenty.
Don trotted up and down and regarded the old man, with one paw raised
and his head cocked inquiringly on one side, confident of welcome.
“Waal, I’ll be durned!” said the old fellow scratching his head in
perplexity. “If that dog ain’t the image of my Rover what got drowned
down in the river yonder a year ago come Monday! Seems like he might
almost be Rover’s sperret; that is, ef I was to believe in sech
things. Come here, doggie, an’ ’splain yerself! One minnit ye ain’t
there an’ next minnit ye air! Whar be ye from?” and he laid his hand
gently on the big dog’s head.
Just then the boys came into the cleared space in front of the cabin
and saluted the old man courteously.
“Waal, you be pow’ful fine youngsters,” he said, fairly beaming with
delight at the unexpected visit. “Be this your doggie?”
“You bet your life he is!” Bob asserted, proudly. “Jack here is his
real owner, but we all have a part interest in him. We come from the
Boy Scouts’ camp about a mile back,” he went on to explain, “and
we’re bound for the bluestone quarries.”
“Waal, I’ll be durned!” again said the old man, knocking the ashes
out of his pipe. “Seems to me I heerd somethin’ ’bout a boys’ camp
t’other day when I was down in town. Layin’ out that new ’state or
whatever you call it, beant you?”
“Yes, we’re locating lakes and brooks and different kinds of trees,
and we’re getting great fun out of it, too,” Jack replied; then
added, “I’m afraid we’ll have to get along, fellows. We’ve got quite
a way to go yet.”
“What’s your hurry, boys? ’Tain’t so often Old Sam has company drop
in to see him that he’s glad to see ’em go. Why can’t ye stay and
hev a bite o’ somethin’ to eat with me? I am bound for the quarries
myself to get the ile from any o’ them pesky snakes what are fools
enough to let me ketch ’em. I kin show you a durn sight better road
there than any you know of.”
The boys, who had brought some lunch with them, were only too glad to
accept Old Sam’s kind invitation. Don, who had felt a lively regard
for the old man from the first minute he looked at him, trotted
contentedly into the cabin with the rest.
The old man was so happy to have someone to talk to that he kept up
a continual chatter as he put the frying-pan on the stove and sliced
some bacon.
“You see,” he was saying, “it was like this, boys. We had had a
turrible late spring same’s we’ve had this year an’ the river was
pow’ful swollen an’ angry like, along o’ the snow meltin’ an’ comin’
down from the mountains. Waal, my Rover an’ me, we wuz walkin’ along
when all o’ a sudden we heerd a child screamin’. Sez I to Rover, sez
I, ‘It’s ’bout time, my boy, that we wuz findin’ out the meanin’ o’
that there scream.’
“Rover seemed like he wuz o’ the same opinion, cuz before I had time
to git the words out o’ my mouth, away he went like a streak. When I
got to the river, I see my Rover gather hisself together and spring
into the river, makin’ straight fer a little patch o’ white that I
took fer a child’s dress. It didn’t take long fer me to git my coat
off and foller him, let me tell ye!”
The boys, deeply interested, waited impatiently while Old Sam turned
a slice of bacon, and then continued, reminiscently:
“Waal, by the time I had fit my way as fur as from this stove to the
door, I see Rover comin’ back with a little piece o’ white in his
mouth. He swum much slower and feebler than he done at fust, and I
could see that the strain was tellin’ on him turr’ble. I swum as fast
as I could to meet him. Purty soon up he come, stickin’ on to that
piece o’ white like he would sooner give up his own life than let go,
but when he looked up at me so pitiful like I--I----” Here the old
man choked and drew his hand hastily over his eyes, stealing a glance
at the boys to see if they had noticed his weakness, but finding them
all looking in the other direction, then, putting the bacon on the
table, he went on:
“Waal, I put out my hand to take hold o’ the little child, an’ Rover,
he let go jest too soon and the little one went under. I dove down,
and soon felt the dress in my hand. When I got to the top, I jest
nat’ally looked to see whar my Rover wuz, but I couldn’t see him
nowhere. It hurt me turr’ble to go in without findin’ him, but I
knowed my strength wouldn’t hold out much longer, so I had to use it
while there wuz any left. Waal, I never could remember how I swum
the rest o’ the way to shore, but I got thar some way, an’ found a
crowd o’ people thar, glad enough to take the child after I had saved
it. They told me how brave I wuz, too, but I turned on ’em, kind of
fierce like, an’ said:
“‘It wuzn’t me as done it! It was my Rover, and he’s dead now. Dead,
d’ye hear that?’ an’ then I jest walked away with my heart gone clean
out o’ me. Ye see, my Rover wasn’t a water dog. He jest nat’ally
hated the water, but the big, brave heart o’ him----” Here the old
man’s voice grew husky, while Don, wistfully watchful, nestled close
to him, looking up into his face with a great longing to comfort
expressed in his beautiful eyes.
“Aye, lad,” and the voice was still unsteady, “aye, lad, ye have the
look o’ my Rover!”
More than one of the boys dashed his hand across his eyes as he
looked at the lonely old man with his arms around their Don’s neck.
In a moment Old Sam had pulled himself together, and called to the
boys to “fall to,” upon which the boys brought forth their baskets
and promptly carried out Old Sam’s suggestion. They avoided further
mention of Rover, but their thoughts were often drawn back to the
tragedy and in their hearts was a very tender spot for Rover’s master.
After dinner they all set out for the quarries. Sam, as he insisted
upon the boys calling him, was as good as his word, showing them a
much shorter road than the one they had intended to follow. In a
short time they reached the quarry, and found they were in time to
see some of the blasting done.
“Ye see,” Old Sam said, “owin’ to the late spring, all the snakes
hasn’t left their snug bedding places in the rocks, but when the men
comes around with their blastin’ the durned reptiles thinks it’s
’bout time fer them to be movin’. Ye wouldn’t believe it,” he went
on, “but some o’ them critters curls up in a great big bunch durin’
the winter so’s they kin keep warm, and when they gits their walkin’
papers, it’s as easy as rollin’ off a log to ketch ’em, they take so
long to get untangled.”
“But how do you catch them?” Jack had asked eagerly. “Isn’t there
great danger of your being bitten?”
“Not much; ye have to be pow’ful keerful, that’s all. Ye see, I gets
behind one o’ them snakes and sticks the two ends o’ this here pole
in the ground, one on one side o’ his neck jest below the head, an’
the other on t’other side. Then I stoops over and picks him up by the
neck, and drops him head first into this here leather bag. Then when
I gets him home, I kills him and gets the ile.”
This interested the boys intensely, and they could not wait to see it
done. They stood awhile watching the blasting when they had reached
the quarry, and then Old Sam suddenly cried out: “See that? Look over
there by them rocks! No, this way! That’s right! Now d’ye see that
reptile? Come along, and I’ll show you how I kin ketch ’em.”
Excitedly the boys followed Sam across the rocks until he said, “Stay
there! Don’t come a step further. Now jest watch yer Uncle Sam!”
So saying, Old Sam was off down the rocks, climbing as nimbly as a
boy. With breathless interest the boys watched as he drew near a
snake that lay basking in the sun. Without an instant’s hesitation,
he slipped up behind it, plunged his pronged stick hard on the ground
on either side of its neck and, stooping over, picked it up quickly
just behind the head and threw it bodily into his bag. Then, closing
the bag tight, he clambered up once more beside the admiring group of
Scouts.
“You sure are a wonder!” said Tom, and the praise came from the
bottom of his heart.
“I don’t think I’d have the nerve to try that,” said Tom Binns, who
always had had a fear of snakes.
“Waal, ’twan’t much to do,” Old Sam protested, pleased beyond
measure, nevertheless, by the boys’ hearty and open admiration.
After they had examined the quarries thoroughly, the party started
out once more. When they reached Sam’s cabin, he urged them to come
and see him often, to which the boys agreed eagerly, and exacted a
promise from him in return that he would come and spend a day with
them in camp soon.
So, with a last gentle pat on Don’s head, Old Sam watched the boys
out of sight among the trees, and then turned with a happy sigh to
enter his cabin.
“Them boys sure are fine lads, an’ the dog--waal, he did have the
looks o’ my Rover!”
The boys went happily along, talking about the interesting events of
the day, full of wonder at Old Sam’s courage and skill.
That evening around the camp-fire, they told an interested group of
boys about the old snake hunter. Tom Binns, who had been especially
interested in the story of Rover’s death, turned to Don where he lay
in his usual place beside Jack, and whispered softly: “Don’t you go
and get drowned like poor old Rover, boy, ’cause if you do, we sure
would have to break camp! We can’t get along without our mascot, old
fellow!”