THE MOCCASIN SNAKE
The hearty breakfast and the bright sunshine, added to the consciousness
that they had found a shelter to which they might retreat in case of
need put new zest into the boys, and they felt much more hopeful and
lighthearted than they had twenty-four hours earlier.
“Somehow I have a hunch that this is going to be a lucky day for us,”
remarked Bobby, as he led the way.
“Here’s hoping that you’re right,” said Lee. “We’re certainly about due
for a change in fortune. Poor mother!” he added, anxiety coming into his
eyes, “she must be worried to death. It’s safe to say she hasn’t slept a
wink since we’ve been gone. I’ve no doubt she has searching parties out
looking for us, but in this swamp they might hunt for days without
coming across us.”
“We’ll trust in Bobby’s hunch,” Fred encouraged him. “They’ve often come
out all right. I think he’s got a rabbit’s foot hidden about him
somewhere.”
“If I had, we’d been out of this swamp long before this,” laughed Bobby.
“Now,” he went on, “there’s one thing we’ve got to do, and it’s more
important than anything else. Wherever we go, we’ve got to know how to
find our way back to this cabin. In the first place, it’s the only safe
place to spend the night. Then the very fact it’s here shows that
parties come to it sometimes and we may have the luck of falling in with
them.”
“Yes,” said Fred, “that’s good advice. But how are we going to do it?”
“By using this,” replied Bobby, showing him a small hatchet that he had
fastened to his belt. “I found this in one corner of the cabin this
morning and I brought it along. We’ll chip off pieces of bark from the
trees as we go along and that will help us to find our way back.”
He illustrated this by slashing a bit of bark off a tree that they
happened to be passing.
“That’s bully,” said Lee, greatly relieved. “I was just worrying about
the chance of not being able to find our way back again.”
They went on, looking carefully for some sign of a trail, by following
which they might again reach the plantation and friends.
Soon they found themselves on marshier ground than that near the cabin,
and they turned in another direction to find better footing.
The ground was covered with rotting leaves and bits of broken branches.
Fred was picking his way, and was just about to step on what seemed to
be an unusually thick stick, about three feet long, when there was a
warning shout from Lee who was several feet in the rear.
“Look out, Fred!” he yelled. “It’s a snake, a moccasin!”
The warning came too late. Fred’s foot had already touched one end of
the seeming stick. Like lightning, an ugly head upreared at the other
end and struck savagely at the intruder.
“Run!” shouted Lee. “Run for your life!”
Fred obeyed and ran as fast as the marshy nature of the ground
permitted. The snake pursued him gliding through the tussocks, his
baleful eyes like two flaming points.
Bobby had turned at Lee’s cry, and in a moment had grasped the
situation. He had the hatchet in his hand and threw it with all his
might at the snake, that was now close on Fred’s heels. He had no time
to take careful aim, but by great good fortune the sharp blade struck
the reptile a little behind the neck. It stopped instantly and writhed
about, beating the ground and hissing horribly.
Lee in the meantime had picked up a club, and with a few blows from this
put an end to the snake. Then he and Bobby hurried to their comrade, who
had seated himself on the trunk of a fallen tree, pale and panting.
“Did he bite you, Fred?” cried Bobby, his heart convulsed with fear for
his chum.
“I’m afraid he did,” replied Fred, in a tone that he tried to keep firm.
“He gave an awful dig at my foot.”
In a moment Bobby was on his knees and was taking off Fred’s shoe. There
were tiny holes in it where the snake’s fangs had penetrated. The
stocking too was torn, and Bobby’s heart sank as he stripped it off.
But a great wave of thankfulness swept over him when he saw that the
skin was not broken. He looked it over most carefully, but there was not
even a scratch. By the narrowest of chances, Fred had escaped. His stout
shoe had saved him.
“You’re all right, old boy,” said Bobby, though his voice trembled.
“That snake came mighty near doing for you but didn’t quite make it.”
Fred almost collapsed as he realized that he was safe, for he had feared
the worst.
“If he had struck above the shoe top it would have been good-night,”
said Lee, who shared to the full the joy and relief of his friends.
“Those moccasins are the deadliest snakes of the South. People are more
afraid of them than of rattlesnakes. A rattlesnake will give warning,
but a moccasin never does. Then too a rattlesnake is only too glad to
get away from you if you will let him, but the moccasin will chase you,
just as this one did. My, but you had a narrow escape. The snake was
gaining on you and would have wound himself around your leg in another
minute and then it would have been all over with you.”
Bobby brought a little water from a pool near by and carefully washed
the stocking, scrubbing the shoe also, to remove any trace of the poison
that there might be on them. Then after they had partially dried, Fred
put them on and they all went over to look at the hideous reptile. It
lay perfectly still and there was no doubt that it was dead, but to make
assurance doubly sure, Bobby recovered his hatchet that lay a few feet
away and with one stroke struck off the moccasin’s head.
“Gee, he’s an ugly looking sinner,” murmured Fred.
“Sure is,” agreed his chums in unison.