The boys were allowed to drive the colt and make a day of it. They fished until afternoon, but at last the fish failed to bite and the gnats bothered them so, they left the fishing and tramped alongshore to look at some snares they had set.
"Say, Dick; hi, come here and look at the track I've struck," called Joe; "believe it's our old friend, the snapping turtle. Yes, here he is, fast asleep. Ain't he just a corker?" The two boys had come upon the old fellow as he lay sunning himself.
"Let's wake him up and have some fun with him," suggested Joe. "I'll get a stout stick; you watch him and see that he don't get away."
Methuselah had not been asleep, however, so he just raised one cold eye and stared after the boys insolently, as much as to say, "Who's afraid?"
Soon the boys began to prod the old fellow rather too much for his comfort, for there are certain vulnerable places upon a turtle, and one of these is his wrinkled neck. The stick bothered him so he began twisting his snaky head about angrily and snapping at the boys, hissing savagely, finally clinging obstinately to the stick, so that the boys managed to raise him and turn him upon his back where he waved his flippers helplessly, trying in vain to right himself and crawl away.
"Oh, oh, Joe, look! see! why, here's a date. It says—why, it says '1825'; it surely does, see!"
"Great Scott, Dick, it surely does," cried Joe excitedly, as he read the worn date cut in the shell. "Why, it's grandfather's old snapper, the one he thinks bit off his toe when he was a boy. This old fellow must be terribly old; he was big when grandfather first saw him and grandfather's awful old. Oh, if we could only get him back to camp. Tell you what, before anything happens, let us carve a date right under this one. Give me your knife, Dick." So, together, the boys carved 1913 right under the old date. By prodding the old turtle they made him seize the stick again firmly and together they managed to lift him into their wagon, leaving him helplessly waving his flippers, flat upon his back.
Soon they started for home, but not a minute too soon, for a thunderstorm was beginning to travel over the mountain. Before they were half-way home it began, and the colt, frightened by the rattle of the thunder in the mountain passes, broke and ran. The old wagon swayed and bounced from side to side and the boys had all they could do to manage the colt. They were glad enough to reach camp, finally, and not until they drove to the shed did they remember the snapping turtle, but, to their dismay when they looked for him, he was gone.
"It's a shame!" exclaimed Dick. "I wanted grandfather to see him. Hold the lantern, Joe; perhaps he's slid away under the seat." But they searched in vain, for during their wild ride the old Tyrant had righted himself and slid off the tail end of their wagon.
Away back on the mountain road lay Methuselah, somewhat stunned by his fall. All night he lay there with a piece nicked from his shell. At sunrise he was off over the rough road heading for the pond. He crawled along aimlessly at first. Finally reaching a rise in the ground, all at once he lifted his snaky neck, scenting moisture—the pond. Raising himself high upon his great flippers, his horny head stretched out like a racer, he ran scrambling over stones and through matted jungles of weeds. At last he saw the gleam of the pond lying steel-like and sullen ahead. The hot sun heated his thick shell to furnace heat, scorching his flesh beneath; he longed to plunge into the cooling water. Finally, in desperate haste having reached a high place in the bank, he rolled the remainder of the distance and fell with a loud splash into the pond, straight down into the oozing mud to the bottom, scattering catfish and small fry in all directions.