“That’s probably a serpent—a boa—kicking the bucket,” Frank answered.
“A what?” questioned Clay. “A serpent in there?”
“Surest thing you know! And I imagine from familiar sounds that he nearly got Jule!”
“But how?” puzzled Clay.
“Hypnotized him!” Frank answered. “But come on,” he continued. “We may as well go in and learn the facts as to stand here and guess.”
They passed through a fringe of thorny vines and came out in a small glade. In the middle of this slight clearing stood Alex and Jule, the latter looking pale and shriveled. At their feet lay the still writhing body of a giant boa—one of the constrictor serpents which make the forests of South America so dangerous.
“Look at him,” Alex shouted, pointing to the serpent. “Look at the arrow plump through his neck! Broke the backbone of him at the first shot. Don’t you ever tell me that I can’t edit one of these bean-shooters! What? That’s his snake!” he added, making a face at Jule.
The serpent was still pounding about the glade, but his backbone had been broken by the boy’s arrow, and his death was only a question of time. Jule approached Clay with an apologetic smile on his face.
“He near got me!” he said.
“How?” asked Clay, not having understood Frank’s short explanation of what might have taken place.