“Yes,” said Mark. “Too many cooks spoil the broth.”
“Snake soup,” said Dean, laughing; “and I don’t know that I want to go.”
“I do,” cried Mark. “Here, hand over that rifle.”
“Shan’t. I want to defend myself. Get behind me, if you are afraid.”
“You wait,” cried Mark sharply.
“Quiet, there!” cried Sir James. “No one but the doctor is to fire. I don’t want the beater to be injured amongst those thick bushes.”
There was a few moments’ silence, for the faint rustling that had been made by the reptile in its retreat through the thick growth had now entirely ceased.
“It’s all over,” cried Buck.
“Not it, messmate,” said Dan. “Them things arn’t got nine tails, but they’ve got nine lives. Even if you cut ’em up you have to kill each piece, and then it won’t die till after the sun goes down.”
“Lu-lu-lu-lu-lu!” cried the pigmy, from where he was hidden on the other side of the clump.