It was a glorious morning. The dew still sparkled on the grass, birds sang in the trees, and the newly risen sun flooded the landscape with beauty. A mountain brook rippled over the stones. Partridges drummed in the tangled thickets, chipmunks flitted like shadows across the mountain paths, squirrels chattered noisily in the branches. Everywhere was life and movement, but all the artificial noises of the town were conspicuous by their absence. To the boys, so long used to city life, the change was delightful beyond words.
By the side of the path, about a quarter of a mile from the lodge, was a great dogwood tree snowy with its fragrant blooms. Tom reached up to break off a branch, but just as he snapped the stem it slipped through his fingers and fell in the bushes beneath. He stooped over to pick it up. There was a whirring sound, a rattle that struck terror to their hearts and Tom jumped back with a great, gray, writhing thing hanging to his sleeve. He shook it off and staggered backward, while the rattler instantly coiled to strike again.
[CHAPTER III]
A Run for Life
Quick as lightning Bert slashed at the wicked head with a heavy stick he had been carrying. It caught the snake just as it darted forward and broke its back. It fell, twisting and writhing, and Bert throwing away his stick leaped to Tom’s side.
“Did he get you, Tom?” he asked, with a horrible fear tugging at his heart.
“I don’t know,” answered Tom, trying to smile. “He seemed to be tangled up in my sleeve. Perhaps his teeth didn’t go through. But I feel—rather—queer.”
In an instant Dick and Bert yanked off Tom’s coat and rolled up his shirt sleeve. Their hearts almost stopped beating. There, just below the elbow were two tiny punctures, fiery red against the white skin.