"Water moccasins and copper-heads mostly," said his friend cheerfully, "but you soon get so used to them that you don't mind them. It's very seldom that you ever hear of any one being bitten by a snake. They all seem more anxious to get out of your way than you out of theirs."
"And you're anxious enough, too!" remarked Hamilton.
"That's pretty good security, don't you think?" queried the older boy with a laugh. "When both sides want to get away, there's not much chance of a meeting."
"But how about the alligators?"
"That was real good sport," the other rejoined. "But I kept down to the smaller chaps most of the time. I don't suppose there's really very much danger, even in the big fellows, as long as you know just how to handle them."
"I don't think I'm particularly keen about handling them," answered Hamilton. "I shouldn't think the big ones would want more than about one bite to put you out of business."
"That's all right," the older boy admitted, "but what's the use of giving one that chance? Anyway, so I learned down there, it's not so much the bite that the hunters are afraid of as the stroke of the tail. It doesn't take such a big alligator to break your leg like a pipestem with a sweep of that long, scaly tail of his."
"But how do they catch them?"
"With a noose, when they're sunning themselves. An alligator lies on a bank, half in and half out of the water, most of the time, with his eyes shut. Sometimes he really is asleep, and sometimes he isn't. That's where the fun comes in. Of course, if you can get the boat right up to where he is, close enough to slip the noose over his jaws, you've got him all right. There's a knob on the snout that keeps the noose from slipping off, and he sort of strangles when you tow him through the water. But if you can't get there with the boat you have to go it on foot."
"You mean you have to get out of the boat and walk right up to his jaws?"