One day an incident rather out of the common befell. Lowering Treloar cautiously down an old shaft to, as usual, make a preliminary survey, I presently heard a splash and a cry of ‘Heave-up!’ Up he came, a regular Laocoon, in the close embraces of a thumping, lively carpet snake, whose frogging ground he had intruded upon.
He had, by luck, got a firm grip of the reptile round the neck, and was not bitten. He was, however, badly scared.
Doubtfully he listened as, while releasing him from the coils, I assured him that the thing was perfectly harmless.
Was I quite certain on this point? he wished to know. Of course I was; and I quoted all the authorities I could think of.
Then, before despatching it, would I let it bite me? As an ardent ophiologist, he took the utmost interest in such a fact, and would like to become as confident as myself of it.
But I pointed out earnestly that this was simply trifling, and that we had no time to spare. Practical demonstration is a very capital thing in many cases. But ver non semper viret, and our friend of the curiously-patterned skin might not be always innocuous.
We took three ounces out of a pillar in Snake Shaft.
That night, on returning to our camp, we found an old man there. He was the first person we had seen for a [79] ]month; and so were inclined to be cordial. There was nothing particularly remarkable about the new-comer, except that he had a habit of tightly shutting one eye as he looked at you.
I have called him old because his hair was grey; but he was still a very powerful man, and likely to prove a tough one at close quarters.
‘Come and have some supper, mate,’ said Treloar.