“I have been bitten by a rattlesnake.”
“What! bitten by a rattlesnake? Do you speak seriously?”
“Quite true it is—but I have taken the antidote. I am cured.”
“Antidote! Cured! And what cure? who gave you an antidote?”
“A friend whom I met in the swamp!”
“A friend in the swamp!” exclaimed Reigart, his astonishment increasing.
I had almost forgotten the necessity of keeping my secret. I saw that I had spoken imprudently. Inquisitive eyes were peeping in at the door. Ears were listening to catch every sound.
Although the inhabitant of the Mississippi is by no means of a curious disposition—malgré the statements of gossiping tourists—the unexplained and forlorn appearance I presented on my return was enough to excite a degree of interest even among the most apathetic people; and a number of the guests of the hotel had gathered in the lobby around the door of my chamber, and were eagerly asking each other what had happened to me. I could overhear their conversation, though they did not know it.
“He’s been fightin’ a painter?” said one, interrogatively.
“A painter or a bar,” answered another.