“Let’s see, I’ve heard something about that before: poisonous snakes have a spade-shaped head, haven’t they?”
“That’s what they call it, sir. It is really a great swelling at the back of the jaws on either side of the neck. This swelling is made by the poison bags which communicate with their hollow fangs. You’ll see if you shoot the big gentleman I saw crawling back into his hole this morning. I dare say he’s out again now, to be in the hot sun. Why, what’s the matter, Master Nic?”
“Matter?”
“Yes, sir; you keep going off in a dreamy way, and not listening.”
Nic frowned and was silent.
“I beg your pardon, sir; it is like my impertinence to ask you. I forget sometimes, when you are ready to treat me like a human being, that I am only a convict.”
“Don’t take it like that,” said Nic hurriedly. “It was only because I was thinking, Leather.”
“Yes, sir, I see: some little trouble at home.”
“Oh, no!” cried Nic, ready to blurt out everything now. “You see I like you, Leather.”
The man’s eyes flashed and then softened for a moment, while his lips quivered; but his hard, cynical, bitter aspect and tones came back—the manner born of years of misery and degradation, and he cried mockingly: