"'Here it is!' he says directly; and yet he never gets up from his knees.
"'Struck anything else, Mr. Gray?' says I at last.
"'Yes, Sam, I have,' says he, turning round and fixing me with his blue goggles. 'What sort of a snake was it our friend here said had bitten him?'
"'A coral,' says I.
"'Not it,' says he.
"'What then?' says I.
"'A new variety altogether,' says Mr. Gray, grinning through his beard.
"'Give it a name, sir,' says I.
"'Certainly,' says he, getting up. 'If we call it the knife-snake we shan't be far out.' And blowed if he didn't show me the little blade of his own knife blooded at the point; blowed if he didn't fit the blessed point into Squally's blessed bites!"
Sam covered his face for shame, but joined next moment in the laugh against himself. Not so he of the blue fly-veil. The drover's hairy visage was a strong study in perfectly candid contempt.