As he spoke he gave his bamboo staff a whirl round his head, which threw the writhing reptile into a knot at the end, and then giving a final jerk the dangerous creature was dashed into the middle of the fire, where a loud sputtering, crackling, and hissing bespoke its fate.
"Was that it hissing in agony?" said Harry, with a look of disgust.
"Oh no, Sahib," said the old hunter, smiling. "It is only the flesh. The heat in there killed the snake directly. Look! there is a dead bird; that will make the same noise. Throw it in."
"Why, it's one of those beautiful rosy pigeons," said Harry, "only half its feathers are burnt off. It's dead enough. I say, though, it's a pity to waste that. I'll make Mike cook it for breakfast. What's that bird?"
"A crow," said Phra, turning the object over with his foot; and then, before Harry could seize it, tossing it into the fire himself, for a precisely similar hissing to arise.
"I'm glad of that," said Harry; "it seems so horrible to burn anything alive. Here, Mike, how soon will our breakfast be ready?"
"As soon as I can go on board to get it, sir. The gentlemen are not up yet."
"Not up!" said Harry. "Why, you talk as if they slept in bedrooms—Look! there they are."
For as he spoke the matting was drawn aside, just as the light was coming fast, the faint rays of the sun striking horizontally through the soft, grey mist, and lighting it up like a cloud at sunset.
The effect was wonderful, for with the first rising of the sun there was a light breeze which lifted the mist, making it rise and float away in wreaths across the tops of the jungle trees, the coming of bright day once more bringing forth a wild chorus of shrieks, pipings, and strange cries from the hidden birds.