Then he shakes his head and starts all over again.
“He can’t get over the rock!” says Magpie, awed-like, and we watches the old preacher turn into the street out of our sight.
“Magpie,” says I, “this here circus is getting in bad. You can do a lot of things around here, but any time elephants start hitting preachers with rocks, it’s going too far. I feel within me that there’s going to be a reaction.”
We sets down to consider things, when here comes Yuma, Wick and Big-Foot. They’re sneaking along like they was afraid we’d fly away. Yuma has a sack in his hand, while the rest of ’em packs guns. They stares down at Bosco and contemplates deep-like over our wild man.
“You—you’re the snake-eater the judge told us about?” asks Yuma.
“I am,” says Bosco. “Eat ’em alive! Greatest sensation of the age! Scientists has pondered over my marvelous powers to withstand the bite of poison reptiles. Yessir, I am Bosco! I eat ’em alive!”
“You sure must be a awful handicap to the snakes,” opines Yuma. “You’ve got St. Patrick beat, feller. All he done was chase ’em. You eat pizen ones?”
“Always! The flavor of poison is vanilly to me.”
“Not rattlers?” says Big-Foot. “Not them spotted devils?”
“Rattlers? Ha! Ha! Ha! I love ’em. I’m sorry I haven’t any left, gents, but I ate the last one day before yesterday. I suppose I’ve got to go back to eating ordinary food.”