He pointed to a creature four or five inches long, with many legs and with horned jaws, which rested on his knee, shaking its tiny head from one side to the other.
“A centipede!” murmured Professor Strong, and doubling up his finger he snapped the thing to the ground and there quickly stamped on it.
“A centipede!” bawled Hockley. “They’re poisonous, so I’ve heard. I—I think he bit me in the back of the hand. Do you think that if he did it will prove fa-fatal?” And he turned pale.
“I don’t think so, Hockley. Let me see your hand.”
“Yes, sir. But hadn’t we better get out of here? There may be more around?”
“We might go where there are more instead of less. Venezuela is full of centipedes, and some of them are dangerous. But that wasn’t such a big fellow, and your hand seems to be all right. They won’t bite a human being unless they are pushed to it, and some natives do not mind the bites at all.”
“No hurt me,” put in Cubara, with a smile. “Some of my people eat dem—no poison much, no,” and he shook his head vigorously.
“I don’t want any more of them,” growled Hockley. “What a nasty looking thing—with so many legs!”
“You always want to shake out everything you wear before you put it on,” said the professor, to all of the boys. “If you don’t you may encounter scorpions and tarantulas as well as centipedes. They are the great drawbacks to almost every hot country.”