"How are you?" cried Tom, nearly dropping Mr. Damon's legs in his excitement, for he had hold of his feet, while Ned was at the head.
"Are you all right?" gasped Ned.
"Yes--I--I guess so. I--I feel as though I had been put through a clothes wringer though. What happened?"
"A big snake dropped down out of a tree and grabbed you," answered Tom.
"And then what? Put me down, boys, I guess I can walk."
"We shot it," said Ned modestly.
"Bless my insurance policy!" exclaimed the odd gentleman. "I--I hardly know what to say. I'll say it later. You saved my life. Let me see if any bones are broken."
None was, fortunately, and after staggering about a bit Mr. Damon found that he could limp along. But he was very sore and bruised, for, though the snake had squeezed him but for part of a minute, that was long enough. A few seconds more and nearly every bone in his body would have been crushed, for that is the manner in which a constrictor snake kills its prey before devouring it.
"Santa Maria! The dear gentleman is not dead then?" cried San Pedro, as the three approached the tents.
"Bless my name plate, no!" exclaimed Mr. Damon.