“What’s to be done, Griggs?”
“I can’t think o’ nothing but say Sh! to ’em to frighten them away.”
“Oh, don’t do that,” cried Chris, in alarm. “It might make them attack us.”
“It might,” said Griggs thoughtfully. “Well, I’m about beat. I’ve got a tidy bit of pluck in me when I’m stirred up—as much as most men have—but I can’t stand rattlers. The idea of getting bitten sends a cold chill all down my back. I’d a deal sooner be hugged by a grizzly. Poison snakes and mad dogs make a regular coward of me.”
“They would of anybody,” said Chris. “But I say, what is to be done?”
“Sit down and wait, my lad. I s’pose snakes have some sense in ’em, same as other critters. They’re bound to find out before long that they can’t break the iron hoops nor bore through the staves to get at the water; and when they’re tired perhaps they’ll give up and go home.”
“But we can’t wait. Father will be coming soon to see why we’re so long.”
“Well, he’ll be able to see without our telling him.”
“But can’t we do something to drive them away?”
“I know what I should do if we were in some places,” said Griggs.