Glenn grew uneasy. Joe was pale—very pale, and breathed hard.
Boone entered, with a smile on his lip.
“Have you got the plantain?” asked Joe, in feeble accents, with his languid eyes nearly closed, thinking it was Sneak.
“Sit up and tell me how you feel,” said Boone, in vain striving to repress his smile.
“Oh, St. Peter! I haven’t strength enough to lift my hand,” said Joe, his eyes still closed.
“Did you find the snake?” asked Glenn.
“Yes,” replied Boone. Joe groaned audibly. “I will tell you all about it,” he continued; “I found the spot where Joe had been gathering the berries, and tracked him without difficulty to every bush he visited by the bruised grass under his foot-prints. At length I came to the cluster of bushes where he received the wound. I stood in his cracks and saw where he had plucked the raspberries. When about to cast down my eyes in quest of the snake, suddenly I felt a blow on my own ankle!”
“Did the same snake bite you?” asked Mary, quickly.
“Yes,” replied Boone, still smiling. Joe opened his eyes, and after gazing a moment at Boone, asked him if he did not suffer much pain.
“Fully as much as you do—but hear me through. I sprang back with some violence, I admit, but I did not run away. Lifting my cane, I returned with a determination to kill the snake. I stooped down very low to ascertain the precise position of its head, which was concealed by a large mullen leaf—I saw its eyes and its bill—”