WITH THE SMOKE
_Dreamy_, that was the way it seemed to the panic-stricken Skinny.
The thing was so unreal! Following immediately upon his frantic
striving, this loathsome thing had slowly emerged upon the stick and
by a kind of sluggish inevitable instinct incorporated Skinny's thin
leg in its unconscious coiling. There he was bound by this living
horror to the big limb hie had been using.
So drowsily deliberate was the long snake that it would have seemed
not amiss to remind it of its ghastly error. But if its instinctive
action had been purposeless it was none the less effectual. It was
tightly coiled around these two dissimilar supports; it seemed as
free of malice and intention as so much binding rope. But even in
his astonishment and fright, Skinny saw that it was a great
rattlesnake; its bony appendage looked like a pine cone lying against
the branch. Bound to this branch as he was, he could not stand and
he sank down exhausted and terror-stricken in the depression. It was
the usual sort of climax to his heroic achievements.
He was in no condition to ponder on the cause of this singular
happening, but the reader will surmise the facts. The snake was
probably in a stupor caused by the fumes below when Skinny's long
implement descended into the suffocating cave. Instinctively it had
coiled itself about the stick and was lifted out before its coiling
was complete. The depth of its stupor may be conceived by its drowsy
action of including the adjacent leg of its rescuer as it settled
into coiled inertness.
If Skinny could have stood erect perhaps he would have had some
command of himself, would have thought of something to do. But he
was at the same disadvantage as a person is who has been knocked
down. He was powerless till he could rise; and he could not rise.
His whole little trembling body seemed involved in this ghastly
attack. If he had been bound and thrown into that little muddy
jungle, he would have felt less fearful, less at the mercy of a foe.
But this horrifying thing had occurred without a struggle on his
part. He had striven like one possessed, till his stout little heart
beat like a trip-hammer, and then, in the proud moment of his triumph
this deadly reptile had slowly, silently, probably unconsciously
coiled its slimy, clinging form around his leg, and he had gone down
in defeat--perhaps to death.
But he got hold of his senses. Should he dare to call? If Danville
was alive and conscious, he would hear and perhaps rescue him. But
how? What could Danville do that he, Skinny, could not do? Anything
that either of them tried to do would be perilous, might precipitate
a fatal sequel. If he moved or shouted, he might arouse the torpid
thing whose clammy coldness he could feel against his torn stocking.
His leg was not bound for its whole length, but he dared not even
wriggle his foot. The reptile was so tightly coiled that the
circulation was embarrassed in his leg and his foot was asleep. Yet
he dared not seek relief by moving it about. His predicament was
appalling, unnerving, especially to a boy of his highly strung nature.
He tried to bring himself to scream. That might either bring help or
death. Quick help or quick death. But probably Danville was already
dead. The smoke was pouring out like smoke out of a chimney; it was
a good job this little mascot had done. Why did not Danville shout,
or appear? Surely, if he was safe, he would not fail to see the
smoke rising from the jungly hillock; he would scramble up and
investigate. The thought of the smoke caused him to indulge the hope
that this mounting column he had released might be seen at camp; that
if he just lay motionless perhaps some one would come and rescue him
from this grotesque predicament. But in his heart he knew that it
would not be seen at camp, seven miles distant.
The smoke was thinning out now and loathsome little bugs with many
legs crawled rapidly about, seeking their wonted shelter under damp
logs; they were part of the exodus from that stifling inferno,
hardier than humans in their battle with the deadly fumes. One of
them crawled aimlessly across Skinny's face, but he dared not move
his arm to brush it away. He saw one of his familiar little red
lizards making its way up the stick and across the rattlesnake as if
it did not mind this poisonous reptile in the least.
Suddenly a thought came which startled him. This loathsome snake
would come out of its stupor now that it was in the pure, clear air.
It would realize where it was and would sting him. It would sting
him right where its horrible head lay, a little above his knee. He
strained his eyes, pressed his chin into his chest, and looked at
that frightful head. The little beady eyes were open; it was hard to
believe that the snake was stupefied. But at least it did not shoot
out its cruel, darting tongue. It remained quite motionless. It
seemed satisfied if he was. But why should it remain long inert when
these escaping denizens of the cave were able to make good their rush
to safety?
Skinny knew that his only chance lay in prompt action; that when the
snake began to move, it would not release itself and crawl away. It
would bite him and he would die in an hour. That was what Uncle Jeb
Rushmore had said, about an hour "_more ner less_." Well, he was too
wrought up to lie there waiting for death; he must do something. The
thought occurred to him that if he had a jack-knife, he could stab
the snake. But you see he had no jack-knife, he had nothing that
scouts have. So he resolved to shout. Perhaps Danville was alive
and would hear him. And perhaps his voice would not arouse the
drowsy reptile to bite him. If it did and Danville came, then
Danville would know what had happened. He believed that if Danville
had not been stifled to death, he would be emerging into
consciousness by now.
By rolling over just a little bit he might be able to look down into
the opening he had made. He had not directly made that opening; that
is, he had not worked it all out with his stick. He thought he must
have dislodged a stone that had fallen into the cave, and thus broken
the root-bound earth. Suppose he looked down into that dark
inferno--suppose there was light there. Something, he knew not what,
had caught fire there. And suppose the rock he had dislodged had
fallen on Danville lying prostrate and overcome....
Skinny had too much imagination. Well, he must not imagine things
now, but act. He made up his mind what he would do. He would shout.
That, of course, would agitate his body and probably arouse his
torpid foe to deadly action. If that occurred he would quickly
wrench his tattered shirt off, pull it around his skinny little leg,
and tie it in a knot. Then he would reach for a stick which he saw,
slip it under the encircling shirt and turn it, drawing the shirt
tighter and tighter around his wounded limb just above the point of
the deadly bite. He thought that the bite would be just about where
the head was, on the front of his leg just above the knee. He had
the stick all picked out. Suddenly the wild thought came to him of
reaching down and grabbing the serpent by the neck. But he was so
placed with relation to it that he could not apply the necessary
strength. Shouting was best, at least as a first recourse.
So he shouted.