Dropping upon the ground, he hastily unfastened and turned down his legging. There, sure enough, was a tiny red spot, with a single drop of blood oozing from it.
"The rattlesnake has two fangs," said Fred; "but there is only one wound here."
"It wasn't a direct blow, I suppose," said the white-faced Jack, who had good reason to be terrified over the occurrence, for the rattlesnake, although ranking below the cobra in the virulence of its venom, is the most deadly serpent in America, and the veteran hunter fears it more than the most savage of wild animals.
Fred stooped down and examined the wound closely. A thrilling suspicion was becoming certainty in his mind.
"When did you feel that bite?" he asked.
"At the moment I landed on my feet. What a dreadful poison it is! I can feel it all through my body; and don't you see that my ankle has begun to swell?"
Fred continued to study the wound, pressing his finger around it and bending close to the limb. Had the hurt been caused by the fang of a serpent he would have tried to suck out the venom. Suddenly he looked up with glowing face.
"Now, Jack, my dear fellow, don't be frightened; you haven't been bitten at all."
"What do you mean?"
"At the moment you landed on your feet I was beating the life out of the snake, and he was giving his whole attention to me. He did not try to bite you till you turned about and began striking at him."