“Did you—you fetch him?” faltered Fred. He felt so weak in the lower limbs that he had to rest on the edge of a bunk for support.
“Think I did,” was the laconic reply of the old hunter. He held the double-barreled gun ready for a second shot.
But this was unnecessary, for as the smoke cleared away it was seen that the snake had been literally cut to pieces by the dose of shot. The tail still whipped over the floor, and, catching it up, the old hunter threw it on the back of the fire, and a moment later the head and the bits of body followed.
“Was it a rattler?” questioned Harry.
“No, it was only an ordinary everyday snake,” answered Joel Runnell. “I reckon the heat warmed him into life. But he scared you, didn’t he, Fred?”
“Well-er—it wasn’t very pleasant,” answered the stout youth. “I don’t want another such bunkmate.”
“I guess none of us do,” came from Joe. “Ugh! it makes one shiver to think of it.”
“I’m going to search around for more,” said Harry, and took up the lantern. The others helped him, but no more snakes were to be found.
As Joel Runnell had predicted, New Year’s day proved clear, and the bright sun, shining on the snow, was fairly dazzling.
“We’ll go out after dinner,” said the old hunter. “The sun will soon make the top of the snow right for snow-shoeing,” and so it proved.