The Boy Hunters

by Mayne Reid

This, no doubt, was the idea of the snake; but it is probable that its antagonist at the moment would have been delighted to “cry quits” with it, for the bird was in a worse “fix” than it was. As things stood, the serpent had undoubtedly the advantage.

It was likely to prove a protracted struggle; for, although there was much twisting and wriggling over the ground, and flapping of the odd wing—that was still free—very little change for a long time appeared to take place in the relative position of the combatants. This could be seen, whenever they paused to rest themselves—which they did every two or three minutes.

How was it to end? The kite could not kill the snake, for he could not get at it, either with his beak or talons. The hold which he had at first taken he had lost, in his attempts to save himself from falling; and he was now unable to renew it, so closely was the reptile warped around him. The snake, on the other hand, could not kill the kite; for, although possessed of considerable powers of constriction, they were not sufficient. It was strong enough to hold, and, perhaps, squeeze its antagonist, but not strong enough to crush and kill him.

Though each, no doubt, at the moment wished to be far enough from the other, they could not separate with safety to both. The kite could not get away, and the snake dared not let him go!

How, then, was the affair to end, in the event that no third party should interfere? This was the conjecture of our adventurers, as with curious eyes they watched this singular contest. The train of reasoning was as follows:—

By one or the other dying of hunger. But which would starve first? It was well-known that the kite could live for days without food. Ha! but so too could the snake,—nay, more, for every day the bird could go without eating, the reptile could fast ten; besides, the snake had just dined—dined sumptuously upon the scorpion-lizard, that was now lying undigested in his stomach; whereas the kite had not tasted dinner,—nay, it was very certain he had not breakfasted either—and must have been very hungry indeed to have attempted preying upon a blood-snake full four feet long—for, as is well-known, his usual prey is the locust, the chameleon, and the little green snake (Coluber aestivus). Under every view of the question then, the snake had the advantage of the bird, and would easily outstarve him. Thus, then, the affair would end, if the combatants were left to themselves.

The young hunters arrived at this conclusion; and, having watched the contest until their curiosity was satisfied, were about stepping forward to put an end to it, when a new manoeuvre on the part of the combatants caused them to remain still. The kite had got his beak close to the head of the serpent, and was striking with open mandibles, endeavouring to seize the jaw of the latter. He was upon his back—for these birds fight best in that position. The serpent, on the other hand, was trying his best to bite the bird; and for this purpose at intervals extended its jaws, showing the double rows of sharp conical teeth. At one of these intervals, while its mouth was open, the kite struck quickly upward, and seized the lower jaw of the reptile in his beak. The latter closed its mouth on the instant; but the horny mandible was impervious to its sharp teeth, and the bird regarded them not.

The kite continued to hold fast with his powerful beak. He had now gained the advantage, for which he had been all the while contending. He had got a “fulcrum for his lever,” and he was not slow in using it. Suddenly turning back upward, with the aid of his wing and one of his claws, he held himself fast to the ground, while with his strong neck he drew the head of the serpent close under him until it lay within reach of his other claw. Then with a quick fierce stroke he planted his talons, so as to encircle the throat of his adversary, clutching and holding it like a vice.

This manoeuvre put a period to the contest. The red coils were seen to loosen, then fall off; and, although the reptile still writhed, it was only in its death-struggles. In a few moments its body lay along the grass, powerless and without motion.

The kite after a short rest drew his beak from the jaws of the serpent, raised his head, extended his wings—to assure himself they were free—and, with a scream of triumph, rose upward, the long carcass of the reptile trailing after him like a train!