CHAPTER XXVI

WITH THE SMOKE

_Dreamy_, that was the way it seemed to the panic-stricken Skinny. The thing was so unreal! Following immediately upon his frantic striving, this loathsome thing had slowly emerged upon the stick and by a kind of sluggish inevitable instinct incorporated Skinny's thin leg in its unconscious coiling. There he was bound by this living horror to the big limb hie had been using.

So drowsily deliberate was the long snake that it would have seemed not amiss to remind it of its ghastly error. But if its instinctive action had been purposeless it was none the less effectual. It was tightly coiled around these two dissimilar supports; it seemed as free of malice and intention as so much binding rope. But even in his astonishment and fright, Skinny saw that it was a great rattlesnake; its bony appendage looked like a pine cone lying against the branch. Bound to this branch as he was, he could not stand and he sank down exhausted and terror-stricken in the depression. It was the usual sort of climax to his heroic achievements.

He was in no condition to ponder on the cause of this singular happening, but the reader will surmise the facts. The snake was probably in a stupor caused by the fumes below when Skinny's long implement descended into the suffocating cave. Instinctively it had coiled itself about the stick and was lifted out before its coiling was complete. The depth of its stupor may be conceived by its drowsy action of including the adjacent leg of its rescuer as it settled into coiled inertness.

If Skinny could have stood erect perhaps he would have had some command of himself, would have thought of something to do. But he was at the same disadvantage as a person is who has been knocked down. He was powerless till he could rise; and he could not rise. His whole little trembling body seemed involved in this ghastly attack. If he had been bound and thrown into that little muddy jungle, he would have felt less fearful, less at the mercy of a foe. But this horrifying thing had occurred without a struggle on his part. He had striven like one possessed, till his stout little heart beat like a trip-hammer, and then, in the proud moment of his triumph this deadly reptile had slowly, silently, probably unconsciously coiled its slimy, clinging form around his leg, and he had gone down in defeat--perhaps to death.

But he got hold of his senses. Should he dare to call? If Danville was alive and conscious, he would hear and perhaps rescue him. But how? What could Danville do that he, Skinny, could not do? Anything that either of them tried to do would be perilous, might precipitate a fatal sequel. If he moved or shouted, he might arouse the torpid thing whose clammy coldness he could feel against his torn stocking. His leg was not bound for its whole length, but he dared not even wriggle his foot. The reptile was so tightly coiled that the circulation was embarrassed in his leg and his foot was asleep. Yet he dared not seek relief by moving it about. His predicament was appalling, unnerving, especially to a boy of his highly strung nature.

He tried to bring himself to scream. That might either bring help or death. Quick help or quick death. But probably Danville was already dead. The smoke was pouring out like smoke out of a chimney; it was a good job this little mascot had done. Why did not Danville shout, or appear? Surely, if he was safe, he would not fail to see the smoke rising from the jungly hillock; he would scramble up and investigate. The thought of the smoke caused him to indulge the hope that this mounting column he had released might be seen at camp; that if he just lay motionless perhaps some one would come and rescue him from this grotesque predicament. But in his heart he knew that it would not be seen at camp, seven miles distant.

The smoke was thinning out now and loathsome little bugs with many legs crawled rapidly about, seeking their wonted shelter under damp logs; they were part of the exodus from that stifling inferno, hardier than humans in their battle with the deadly fumes. One of them crawled aimlessly across Skinny's face, but he dared not move his arm to brush it away. He saw one of his familiar little red lizards making its way up the stick and across the rattlesnake as if it did not mind this poisonous reptile in the least.

Suddenly a thought came which startled him. This loathsome snake would come out of its stupor now that it was in the pure, clear air. It would realize where it was and would sting him. It would sting him right where its horrible head lay, a little above his knee. He strained his eyes, pressed his chin into his chest, and looked at that frightful head. The little beady eyes were open; it was hard to believe that the snake was stupefied. But at least it did not shoot out its cruel, darting tongue. It remained quite motionless. It seemed satisfied if he was. But why should it remain long inert when these escaping denizens of the cave were able to make good their rush to safety?

Skinny knew that his only chance lay in prompt action; that when the snake began to move, it would not release itself and crawl away. It would bite him and he would die in an hour. That was what Uncle Jeb Rushmore had said, about an hour "_more ner less_." Well, he was too wrought up to lie there waiting for death; he must do something. The thought occurred to him that if he had a jack-knife, he could stab the snake. But you see he had no jack-knife, he had nothing that scouts have. So he resolved to shout. Perhaps Danville was alive and would hear him. And perhaps his voice would not arouse the drowsy reptile to bite him. If it did and Danville came, then Danville would know what had happened. He believed that if Danville had not been stifled to death, he would be emerging into consciousness by now.

By rolling over just a little bit he might be able to look down into the opening he had made. He had not directly made that opening; that is, he had not worked it all out with his stick. He thought he must have dislodged a stone that had fallen into the cave, and thus broken the root-bound earth. Suppose he looked down into that dark inferno--suppose there was light there. Something, he knew not what, had caught fire there. And suppose the rock he had dislodged had fallen on Danville lying prostrate and overcome....

Skinny had too much imagination. Well, he must not imagine things now, but act. He made up his mind what he would do. He would shout. That, of course, would agitate his body and probably arouse his torpid foe to deadly action. If that occurred he would quickly wrench his tattered shirt off, pull it around his skinny little leg, and tie it in a knot. Then he would reach for a stick which he saw, slip it under the encircling shirt and turn it, drawing the shirt tighter and tighter around his wounded limb just above the point of the deadly bite. He thought that the bite would be just about where the head was, on the front of his leg just above the knee. He had the stick all picked out. Suddenly the wild thought came to him of reaching down and grabbing the serpent by the neck. But he was so placed with relation to it that he could not apply the necessary strength. Shouting was best, at least as a first recourse.

So he shouted.