“Oh, it’s horrid,” whispered Chris; “dreadful! The kegs are lying on a nest of snakes, and they’re rising and falling and playing about them like flames round logs of wood.”
Chapter Fourteen.
A Fight with the Enemy.
Griggs uttered one low whistle as he slipped his arm through the rein so as to leave his hands at liberty, one to press back his cowboy’s hat, the other to sweep the gathering drops of perspiration from his brow. “I never could abear snakes,” he said huskily. Then after a pause he drew a long, deep breath, to say with an attempt—a very sorry attempt—at cheerfulness—“Well, we’ve found the kegs, anyhow.”
“Yes,” said Chris bitterly, “and where the snakes are.”
“Bless ’em, yes!” said Griggs, looking in the direction of the horrible reptiles. “Well, we don’t want them.”
“But we want the water.”
“Of course.”