“There is no snake here.”
“I certainly heard one.”
“No;—don't you recollect my killing a snake yesterday, and cutting off the rattles?”
“Yes.”
“Well, I was the snake just now, I made the noise. There are many of the Ingen tribes who will not disturb a rattle-snake; they say it is as harmless as a lamb, for that it never attacks, and even when about to strike in its own defence, always gives warning that you may get out of its way. On this account, they avoid it, and when found, turn from its path. This was all that saved us just now.”
“My thanks to you, Earth, it was a bright thought. Is there not something noble about the rattle snake. I like the motto, ‘don't tread on me.’”
“Come,” said Earth, stepping out of the tree, and peeping round, “there they go, eight in number; see those hindmost how they are loaded with plunder. Rolfe, I fear we can do nothing.”
“But we must do something, Earth; let us follow on and wait a chance.”
“Recollect,” said Earth, “we are in their country, and must be cautious:—we may follow them through the night, for their torch will be of more service to us, than to them; yet, when morning comes, if we have done nothing, we must return.”
“To spread the tidings?”