“I’m going down the river a bit. I reckon there’s no harm in that,” answered Hockley and without waiting for further argument he strode away and was soon lost to sight in the jungle.
“He wouldn’t go off like that if he wasn’t boiling mad,” observed Sam.
After cleaning up the two boys started in to fish, there being nothing else by which to while away the time. But biting was not lively, and after half an hour of only fair success they walked up the bluff again. They had just reached the tent when they heard a gunshot, followed by a yell of fright.
“That’s Hockley!” ejaculated Darry. “He has stirred up something and it has scared him to death.”
“Help! help!” came faintly to their ears. “Help!”
“We had better go and see what is the matter,” said Sam, and caught up a rifle. Darry had already reached for a shotgun, and thus armed both boys sped down the bluff again and in the direction from whence the cries proceeded.
They had not far to go. Beyond the bend of the stream was an inlet and back of this a somewhat open glade, bordered by half a dozen low-drooping rubber trees. Among these trees stood Hockley, fairly paralyzed with terror and close at hand, swinging from a branch, was a boa-constrictor all of fifteen feet in length.
“Help! save me!” screamed the unfortunate youth.
“Oh, what a snake!” burst out Darry, and then stood still, hardly knowing whether to proceed or not.