Winthrope swung up his stick, and dashed across the glade towards her.
“What is it–a snake?” he cried.
The girl did not seem to hear him. She had ceased screaming, and stood rigid with fright, glaring down at the ground before her. In a moment Winthrope was near enough, to make out the brilliant glistening body, now extended full length in the grass. It was nearly five feet long and thick as his thigh. Another step, and he saw the hideous triangular head, lifted a few inches on the thick neck. The cold eyes were fixed upon the girl in a malignant, deadly stare.
“Snake! snake!” he yelled, and thrust his cane at the reptile’s tail.
Again came a flashing leap of the beautiful ornate coil, and the stick was struck from Winthrope’s hand. He danced backward, wild with excitement.
“Snake!–Hi, Blake! monster!–Run, Miss Leslie! I’ll hold him–I’ll get another stick!”
He darted aside to catch up a branch, and then ran in and struck boldly at the adder, which reared hissing to meet him. But the blow fell short, and the rotten wood shattered on the ground. Again Winthrope ran aside for a stick. There was none near, and as he paused to glance about, Blake came sprinting down the glade.
“Where?” he shouted.
“There–Hi! look out! You’ll be on him!”
Blake stopped short, barely beyond striking distance of the hissing reptile.