“Oh!” he screamed. “Come here! Boys, hurry! Something rattles all around under me!”
The others quickly urged their way towards him, some in real, some in pretended alarm.
George now proved himself a hero. The vigour of his intellect overawed the others, and they made way for him respectfully. At length he was about to derive some advantage from the ponderous tomes whose pages his grimy thumbs had soiled so often.
“Yes,” he said, “I know just what you heard. Don’t be excited, Will; keep very cool. It’s a rattlesnake! The great naturalist says they skulk around brush-heaps and tangled bushes, ready to pounce on their prey. I know, for I’ve read all about it; and luckily, I am prepared for the worst. Now, where are you bitten, and I’ll cauterize it.”
And the speaker busied himself by stripping his pockets of their treasures, which he dropped on the ground at random.
Jim, however, did not view the matter so philosophically. At the bare mention of the word rattlesnake, he turned and tore wildly through the “jungle,” crying piteously: “Oh! I’ve got the chills! I’ve got the chills! the chills! the chills! awful chills!”
Chapter VIII.
George Comes Out Ahead.
Meanwhile, Will stepped out of the pile of brushwood and said, somewhat foolishly, “Now, George, don’t be foolish; you know well enough there are no rattle-snakes in this part of the country. Put up your instruments of cauterization, and let us all take a squint under these ‘brambles.’”