“What’ll we do?”
“Sammy—wake Sammy.”
“Go and wake him,” says I, for I didn’t like to put my feet down on that ground for fear of stepping right in the middle of a rattler.
We didn’t dare call Sammy, for fear of being overheard; and it wasn’t safe to throw a stick at him, because he might wake up and holler. There was nothing for it but to take a chance with the snakes.
“Come on,” says I. But I didn’t trust my feet on the ground till I’d found my club. I took it and reached all around as far as I could, thumping the earth so if there were any rattlers hanging around they’d be scared away, or at least rattle so we’d know where they were. I didn’t hear anything, so I made up my mind it would be safe for a little ways at least.
We got down and made for Sammy as quietly as we could go. Sam lay with one arm over his head and the other across his face, and his mouth open wide enough to take in an apple. Mark tickled the palm of his hand, but Sammy only closed his fingers. Then I tapped him on the cheek. Sam just slapped at me like I was a mosquito. It was plain Sammy was a sound sleeper.
There wasn’t anything left but to shake him good and hard, so Mark shook. As soon as he did he slapped his hand over Sammy’s mouth so he couldn’t holler, but that isn’t what Sam did at all. He just heaved himself onto his feet all at once and grabbed Mark with his big hands. He’d have broken him in two if I hadn’t spoken quick.
“Sammy,” says I, as sharp as I could, “it’s us—Mark and me.”
He came to in a minute and grinned at us sheepish-like.
“Sammy most bust fat boy,” he said. “Sammy wake up quick. Scairt. He grab—no find out who.”