Hans had seated himself on a log not far from the tree, to rest and recuperate while the examination of the ground was being made. As for searching for the man, Hans would not have done that, lest he should find him.
A peculiar look of horror had crept into Dunnerwust’s face, which grew rapidly more pronounced.
What was its cause?
Hans had felt something reach out from the log on which he was sitting and press against one of his legs. He thought it the head of a snake and that if he moved it would strike him.
Whatever it was pushed gently against his leg for a moment, then pushed a little harder, after which the pressure was withdrawn. The movement was really such as might have been made by some animal in the log trying to shift to an easier position.
Hans would have leaped up and shrieked out, but that he was made too weak by that queer touch. Then the pressure returned.
It was unbearable. He could not stand it, even to save himself from snake bite. His heart gave a great bound, and, as it drove the chilled blood through his veins, his strength came back.
“Wow! Hellup! Fire! Murter!” he screeched, jumping up as if he had been touched by a hot coal. “I vos kilt alretty!”
As he did so, he felt a human hand come out of the log and clutch one of his legs. This was more than flesh and blood could endure. Instead of running he fell flat to the ground, where he rolled and kicked and shrieked in a way to raise the dead.
Excited cries came from the game warden and his deputies and from the members of Merriwell’s party. All rushed toward Hans.