“It was awful,” returned Darry. “What a close shave! Let us take him down to the river and bathe his face.”
They did as suggested, but even this failed to revive Hockley. Then Darry ran back to the camp for some medicine which was administered with care. But it was fully an hour before Hockley opened his eyes.
“Take him off!” he moaned. “Take the horrible thing off!”
“You’re safe now, Hockley,” said Darry, kindly. “The boa-constrictor is dead.” But Hockley was now out of his mind and did not understand, and he continued to plead most piteously that they save him from being crushed to death.
“We’ll have to carry him back to camp,” said Sam, and this was done. It was no easy task to get the hurt one up the bluff. Once in camp they fixed Hockley a soft bed and did all they could to make him otherwise comfortable.
“I never want to see another boa-constrictor, not even in a menagerie,” declared Sam. “I’ll dream of that thing for a week.”
The boys remained in camp after that. It was nightfall before Hockley came to his senses and then he complained of a severe pain in the chest. They uncovered him and rubbed him down with liniment.
“Is it dead?” he asked. “How did you kill it?” And when they told him he shook his head slowly, as if in wonder. Later on he called them both to him. “I’m much obliged for what you did,” he said humbly. “It was great. I shan’t forget it. I’m sorry we had the row.”
“So am I sorry,” returned Sam, and Darry nodded to show he agreed. “We can’t afford to quarrel out here, Jake. We may need each other’s help, eh?”
“That’s just what I was thinking. I guess I was a big fool to start it anyway. Let’s call it off, will you?”