“Is the leg much swollen?” asked Boone, endeavouring to ascertain without taking off the bandages.
“Oh! oh! don’t do that! it’ll kill me in a minute—for its swelled fit to burst!” cried Joe, shrinking from Boone’s grasp.
“All the cases of snake-bite that I have seen differ from this. I have always found the swollen limb nearly devoid of feeling. Did you kill the snake?”
“No—Oh!”
“Tell me precisely the place where you were standing when it bit you—there is a mystery about it that I must solve.”
“Oh—it was—I can’t speak! my breath’s going fast! Oh! Paternoster—”
William then described the spot to Boone in such precise terms that the old woodman declared he would immediately repair thither and endeavour to find the snake. He accordingly set out in the direction indicated without further delay; while Roughgrove, believing that poor Joe was really on the verge of eternity, strove to comfort his departing spirit with the consolation that religion affords.
“Oh! that ain’t the right one!” exclaimed Joe, pushing away the Episcopal prayer-book held by Roughgrove.
“Then here is one you cannot object to,” said Roughgrove, opening the Bible.
“Oh, that’s not it, either!” cried Joe, in great distress. “Is there no priest in this region? I’m a Roman Catholic—oh!”