“That’s a fib,” said Sneak, “bekaise a dead man can’t be a dying.”
“Let me see,” said William, stooping down to examine the place on which Joe’s hands were convulsively pressed. With some difficulty he pulled them away, and tearing down the stocking, actually saw a small bleeding puncture over the ankle bone!
“What kind of a snake was it?” asked Glenn in alarm. “A rattlesnake—Oh!”
“Did you see it?” continued Glenn, knowing Joe’s foible, though it was apparent he suffered from some kind of a wound.
“I heard it rattle. Oh, my goodness! I’m going fast! I’m turning blind!”
La-u-na told him to run to the house and cover the wound with salt, and remain quiet till Sneak could obtain some plantain leaves from the prairie. Joe sprang up and rushed down the hill. Sneak set out in quest of the antidote, and the rest directed their steps homeward.
When they reached Roughgrove’s house, they found Joe lying in the middle of the floor on his back, and groaning most dolefully. He had applied the salt to the wound as directed, and covered it and his whole leg so plentifully with bandages that the latter seemed to be as thick as his body.
“How do you feel now, Joe?” asked Glenn.
“I’m a dead man!” said he.
La-u-na told him not to be alarmed, and assured him there was no danger.