“Take your foot away, man, and let me have a look at it,” commanded Dick; and as the other did as he was ordered Maitland bent down and directed a quick, keen glance at the reptile, about six inches of whose body was crushed almost to a jelly. Then, quickly pinning the flat, heart-shaped head to the ground with the muzzle of his gun, he pulled the trigger, and thus effectually put an end to the creature’s existence. With the barrel of his weapon he deftly whisked the still writhing body half a dozen yards away into the long grass, and then turned sharply to his friend.
“Sit down, old chap, quick,” he said, “and show me where you were bitten.”
Somewhat startled by his companion’s abrupt manner, Grosvenor seated himself on the ground and drew up his left trouser leg, pulled down his sock, and revealed two small punctures close together in the lower part of the calf of the leg, barely visible in the fast-decreasing light.
“I see,” ejaculated Dick, fumbling in his waistcoat pocket as he spoke. “Take your pocket handkerchief, quick; tie it round your leg below the knee, and with the barrel of your revolver twist it as tight as you possibly can, tourniquet fashion, so as to stop the passage of the blood into your body. Now,” as he drew forth and opened a penknife, the blade of which he made a point of always keeping razor-keen, “I am going to hurt you a little bit, so set your teeth and bear it, old man.”
“All right; go ahead,” responded Grosvenor. “Was the brute venomous, then?”
“Can’t say,” responded Dick evasively, as he quickly slashed the flesh across and across over the two punctures; “but we are not taking any more chances to-day, my boy.”
The blood, instead of spurting from the knife wounds, oozed forth thick and sluggishly; whereupon Dick, without a second’s hesitation, applied his lips to the gashes, which were close together, and sucked strongly for about a quarter of an hour, spitting out the blood which gradually began to flow a little more freely. Finally, when the flow had ceased, he groped in his pocket and produced a small case containing a stick of lunar caustic; then from another pocket he drew forth a box of matches, which he handed to Grosvenor.
“I’ll relieve you of this,” he said, laying his hand upon the revolver, the barrel of which Phil had twisted in the handkerchief and had been holding in place all this while, “and you can start striking matches, so that I may see what I am doing.” Then, giving the revolver an extra twist or two, he pulled out his own handkerchief and deftly secured the weapon in place, after which he proceeded, by the light of the matches which Grosvenor struck, one after the other, carefully and thoroughly to cauterize the wounds.
“There,” he remarked cheerfully, with a sigh of relief as he finished his task, “that is as much as we can do here. The next thing is to get you back to the camp as soon as possible.”
“All right,” assented Grosvenor. “But,” he added, as he attempted to rise, “I’m afraid I shall have to get you to help me, old chap; I couldn’t possibly—”