He opened his eyes slowly and saw Tom kneeling over him. On a rock stood the cage of straw burning cheerily. On the cage lay the twigs and on these, two solid bits of hard wood, not yet ignited. The place looked horrible in the light, a light which it had never known before.
“You’re all right, old man,” Tom said feelingly; “I ought to have got here sooner, but you’re all right. What happened?”
Brent stared about him blankly. “My leg—I⸺”
“I know, I’ll get you free of him, he’s dead, don’t worry.”
“The—a—snake⸺”
“Yep, it’s one, but he’s dead. What happened?”
“It’s light,” said Brent, blinking his eyes and moving his head right and left.
“Yep, that’s all right. Can you sit up? Fine! What killed him, do you know?”
“I don’t know—unless it was worry,” said Brent.
“You’re all right,” Tom laughed, relieved. “You’re the same old Brent.”