"I'll see him when he's sober," said the drover grimly. "But he can act!"
"My oath! Sober or drunk. Hullo, here is a joke; blowed if that new chum hasn't fetched Mr. Gray to have a look at old Squally, just like he did before!"
And the two men paused to watch the rabbit-inspector, who had entered without looking their way, kneel down beside the prostrate Pasquale, and bend over him with blue spectacles intent. He examined the punctures on the left instep; he stooped and sucked them with his lips. His next act was to raise one eyelid after another; his last, to lay a weather-beaten hand upon the Italian's heart; and all this was done in a dead silence which had fallen upon the place with the entry of Mr. Gray.
"Long life to 'im again," murmured the drover, emptying his glass; but Sam Eccles neither heard nor answered him. At length the inspector arose, and turned towards them with his expressionless glasses.
"There was no nonsense about it this time, Sam. It was a snake right enough, and a coral-snake into the bargain."
Sam gave a gasping cry.
"But if he's drunk——"
"He isn't; he's dead."
In his own corner the Gol-gol boundary-rider lay snoring through it all, a dead snake still curled upon his breast.