They had a private bath adjoining their room, and Jim turned on the tap. When the tub was half full, Joe brought in the box and put it in the tub, placing sufficient weight upon it to keep it beneath the surface of the water.
“Those air holes will do the business, I think,” said Joe. “In a few minutes the box will be full of water. We’ll leave it there a little while, and then we’ll open the box and see if we guessed right.”
At the expiration of twenty minutes, they drained the water out of the tub. Then Joe got the chisel, and with considerable effort forced open the cover of the box.
“You see,” he said.
Jim saw and shuddered.
Lying in the water that was still seeping out through the air holes was a rattlesnake all of four feet long.
They viewed the creature with a feeling of loathing. But still deeper was the feeling they had against the scoundrels who had chosen that cowardly way of attempting to injure Joe. The snake, after all, was just the instrument. Infinitely worse were the rascals who had employed it as their weapon.
“We’ve had some pretty narrow escapes,” said Joe. “And this is one of them. If you hadn’t happened to hear that buzz, I might be a dead man this minute.”
“It’s too horrible for words!” exclaimed Jim, “It seems incredible that any one could plan such a thing for their worst enemy. Who do you think did it?”
“One guess is as good as another,” replied Joe. “But if you ask me, I should say that the man or men who did it sat in the grandstand on the first day we played in this city.”