"Him bite you?" he asked earnestly.
"No," answered Whitey, "guess not—I didn't feel anything. He made me hop some, though," he added, going toward the dead snake as though to examine it.
But Injun was not satisfied; he stopped Whitey and made him take off his shoes and stockings and roll up his trousers and examine his legs critically for any evidences of a bite. In the calf of Whitey's leg, there was an almost imperceptible scratch; Injun examined it, and at once applied his lips to the wound and sucked the blood from it and spat it out; and this he repeated several times, while Whitey looked on, grinning and wondering what it was all about. Then Injun took Whitey's handkerchief from about his neck and tieing it above the wound—nearer to the heart—he knotted it, ran a short stick through the knot, and twisted the stick until the handkerchief was very tight. This is the first thing to be done in case of snake-bite, as it prevents, in a measure, the poison from getting into the circulation.
"Gee!" said Whitey, "my leg feels numb—I guess you got that thing too tight!"
Injun shook his head and insisted that Whitey get onto his horse and ride back. Whitey agreed, though he had begun to feel a certain drowsy numbness all over him, and Injun had to help him mount.
It was plain to Injun that Whitey never would be able to stay on his horse unassisted, and he mounted behind him and held him on, calling to his own pony to follow.
In this manner the two boys came to the ranch-house, where Whitey was taken in hand by Bill and Mr. Sherwood and the usual remedies administered, one of them being to pour whiskey into the victim.
The poison of a rattlesnake has a tendency to stop the heart, and whiskey is given to stimulate it—to make it beat faster—a primitive remedy and one that doesn't always work. And then, too, it is a question in the minds of many people as to which is the worse poison, rattlesnake juice or whiskey!
It was evident that Injun was not altogether satisfied with the treatment that his pal was getting; and he leaped upon his pinto and dashed away. After a time he returned with an old Indian Squaw, who set up her tripod of sticks and hung her kettle over a small fire and cooked some of the herbs that she had in a little bag. A couple of days later Whitey woke up and proceeded to get well—thanks to the squaw and to Injun!
And it is quite certain that he never again set out to kill a six-foot rattler with a rock! If a man hasn't a gun handy, it is just as well to give the rattler his full half of the road—or the whole of it, for that matter, if he seems to want it.