He saw the cavernous mouth of the snake
opened to an amazing width; the thin tongue, that resembled a tiny
stream of blood; the small, glittering eyes; the horn-like fangs, at
the roots of which he well knew were the sacks filled almost to
bursting with the most deadly of all poisons; the thin neck, swelling
out until the scaly belly of the loathsome reptile was visible.
The Huron continued steadily approaching the revolting thing. He was
scarcely a yard distant when the neck of the snake arched like a
swan's, and the head was drawn far back to strike. In an instant the
stock of his rifle swept over the top of the log with the quickness of
lightning. There followed a sharp, cracking noise, like the explosion
of a percussion-cap, and the head of the rattlesnake spun twenty feet
or more out over the swamp. It struck the branch of a tree, and,
dropping to the water, sunk out of sight. The headless body of the
reptile now writhed and doubled over itself, and smote the tree in the
most horrible agony. Oonomoo walked quietly forward, and with his feet
shoved it from the log. Still twisting and interlocking, it sunk down,
down, down into the clear spring-like waters until it could be seen on
the gravelly bottom, where its struggles continued as he passed on.
Not affected by this occurrence, the Huron walked on as quietly as
before, his dark, restless eye seemingly flitting over every object
within his range of vision.
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