“Bitten,” said Griggs laconically, as he raised the double rifle that he had unslung, took a rapid aim, and fired the barrel loaded with small shot at what seemed to be an undulating line of grey sand.
The report sounded dull and dead, while as the smoke rose the undulating line of sand became a writhing tangle of something tying itself up into knots, untying itself, lashing the sand and dust up into a little cloud, and then as the dust rose the loathsome-looking length of a big snake became gradually clear to see, with the tail in the air announcing its owner’s nature by keeping up a peculiar skirring sound something like the running down of a distant piece of clockwork.
“That’s done for him,” said Griggs, quietly reloading his piece. “Almost as big a one as they make ’em.”
The little party closed round the dying reptile, and then followed the doctor to where he stepped up to the mule, which kept on stamping and making efforts to curve round and bite at its near hind-leg, but could not reach it on account of the pack it bore.
Griggs slung his double rifle and seized the end of the pack-rope, casting loose the load and letting it slide to the ground, while the doctor cautiously approached to examine the place at which the mule now tore fiercely with its teeth.
“Better not, sir,” said Griggs warningly.
“But I want to try and help the poor brute,” said the doctor.
“Yes, sir; that’s nice and humane,” said Griggs; “but mules are not horses nor dogs. The poor brute is mad with agony, and you’ll be kicked or bitten, to a dead certainty.”
“I feel as if I must risk it,” said the doctor. “I might inject ammonia, and save its life.”
He approached closer, holding out one hand and speaking soothingly to the poor beast; but it turned upon him viciously and snapped at the extended hand like a dog, fortunately biting short, for the snap was sharper than the snatch back made by the doctor’s hand.