Hal seemed rooted to the spot. Pepe began to jabber. Ken watched the snake, and felt instinctively from its sinister looks that it was dangerous. George came running back with his .32 and waved it in the air as he shot. He was so frightened that he forgot to aim. Ken took the rifle from him.
"You can't hit him with this. Run after your shotgun. Quick!"
But the sixteen-gage was clogged with a shell that would not eject. Ken's guns were in their cases.
"Holy smoke!" cried George. "He's coming down."
The black-snake moved his body and began to slide toward the tree-trunk.
Ken shot twice at the head of the snake. It was a slow-swaying mark hard to hit. The reptile stopped and poised wonderfully on the limb. He was not coiled about it, but lay over it with about four feet of neck waving, swaying to and fro. He watched the boys, and his tongue, like a thin, black streak, darted out viciously.
Ken could not hit the head, so he sent a bullet through the thick part of the body. Swift as a gleam the snake darted from the limb.
"Santa Maria!" yelled Pepe, and he ran off.
"Look out, boys," shouted Ken. He picked up Pepe's machete and took to his heels. George and Hal scrambled before him. They ran a hundred yards or more, and Ken halted in an open rocky spot. He was angry, and a little ashamed that he had run. The snake did not pursue, and probably was as badly frightened as the boys had been. Pepe stopped some distance away, and Hal and George came cautiously back.
"I don't see anything of him," said Ken. "I'm going back."