“Duck your head, Bumpus!” he called out; at which the other hastened to obey, not in the least inclined to feel the heft of that stout pole.
He heard a crash, and gave a yelp.
“Hey! that was my left foot you hit! Quit knocking me!” was his plaint.
“Well, you wouldn’t give me enough room!” declared Step Hen, complacently; “but it’s all right, Bumpus, you suffered in a good cause, and that ought to repay you. I got him, and he isn’t agoing to jab you this trip, mark my words!”
So Bumpus, despite his pain, raised his head again far enough to see that Step Hen had indeed settled the snake; for it was wriggling aimlessly this way and that, trying to strike even in its death throes, such was its venomous nature.
“Toss it overboard, Step Hen!” ordered the scout-master.
Managing to get the point of the pole under its folds, the other hastened to do so, and the struggling reptile floated off, much to the relief of all those who had been menaced, especially poor Bumpus, who was nursing his toes, and grumbling that he had “to pay the fiddler even if he didn’t dance.”
“I hope now that pesky thing didn’t go and get a bite at me unbeknown,” he said, as though a new feeling of alarm had suddenly taken possession of him; and though the rest laughed at the idea, nothing would ease the mind of the stout boy until he had taken off his leggings and closely examined both shins; when he felt relieved of his anxiety.
Of course the talk among the boys for some time afterwards was in connection with these dangers that are ever present in Southern waters, especially those of the swamps.
And again Thad cautioned them to beware how they allowed a moccasin to become in any way familiar.