"A snake charmer!" muttered Burton, disappointment in his voice. "They're as common as Albinos—and about as much of a drawing card."
"That's a cobra di capello he's working with," remarked Matt, staring at the snake with a good deal of interest. "I saw one in a museum once, and heard a lecturer talk about it. The lecturer said that the bite of a cobra is almost always fatal, and that there is no known antidote for the poison; that the virus works so quickly it is even impossible to amputate the bitten limb before the victim dies."
"Shnakes iss pad meticine," muttered Carl, "und I don'd like dem a leedle pit."
"Sufferin' rattlers!" exclaimed McGlory. "I've been up against scorpions, Gila monsters, and tarantulas, but blamed if I ever saw a snake in a sunbonnet before—like that one."
The cobra's hood, which was fully extended, gave it the ridiculous appearance of wearing a bonnet, and there was something grewsome in the way the reptile's head swayed in unison with the flute notes. Suddenly the head darted sideways.
Motor Matt's quickness alone kept him from being bitten. He leaped backward, just in the nick of time to avoid the darting fangs. McGlory, wild with anger, picked up an iron rod that was used about the calliope and made a threatening gesture toward the snake.
"Speak to me about that!" he breathed. "What kind of a snake tamer are you, anyhow? If you think we're going to stand around and let that flat-necked poison thrower get in its work on us, you——"
The cowboy made ready to use the rod, but Matt caught his arm.
"Hold up, Joe," said Matt. "No harm has been done, and this is a mighty interesting performance."
"Aber der sharmer don'd vas aple to put der shnake to shleep mit itseluf," demurred Carl. "Der copra don'd seem to like der moosic any more as me."