CHAPTER III
THE OLD SNAKE HUNTER
The boys—Jack, Tom and Bob—set off one morning at the Scout-Master’s direction for the bluestone quarries situated about a mile from the lodge. Don rushed joyfully ahead, barking at squirrels, who looked at him tantalizingly from safe retreats in the trees, chasing rabbits into their burrows, and making himself altogether disagreeable to the astonished inhabitants of the forest.
The way to the quarries was not an easy one. The boys had to climb over great rocks, descend the steep sides of mountains, slipping and sliding most of the way; they had to make a path through stout vines that reached from tree to tree and seemed determined not to let them pass. Still they went steadily forward, for what Scout would ever think of complaining or, worse yet, of turning back with a task half done?
Finally they saw before them through the trees a small hut before which an old man of strange appearance was standing. He wore an old brown hunting suit, so old and threadbare, in fact, that the boys wondered how it ever managed to hold together; his leather leggings were strapped securely just below the knee. In his hand he held an implement that looked like a pitchfork, but which had only two prongs, and in his mouth was a huge pipe that sent up a cloud of smoke at every puff. And although his face was all criss-crossed with wrinkles, the few people who knew him forgot all about that when they caught the kindly gleam of his dark eyes, which were just as keen and bright at sixty as they had been at twenty.
Don trotted up and down and regarded the old man, with one paw raised and his head cocked inquiringly on one side, confident of welcome.
“Waal, I’ll be durned!” said the old fellow scratching his head in perplexity. “If that dog ain’t the image of my Rover what got drowned down in the river yonder a year ago come Monday! Seems like he might almost be Rover’s sperret; that is, ef I was to believe in sech things. Come here, doggie, an’ ’splain yerself! One minnit ye ain’t there an’ next minnit ye air! Whar be ye from?” and he laid his hand gently on the big dog’s head.
Just then the boys came into the cleared space in front of the cabin and saluted the old man courteously.
“Waal, you be pow’ful fine youngsters,” he said, fairly beaming with delight at the unexpected visit. “Be this your doggie?”
“You bet your life he is!” Bob asserted, proudly. “Jack here is his real owner, but we all have a part interest in him. We come from the Boy Scouts’ camp about a mile back,” he went on to explain, “and we’re bound for the bluestone quarries.”
“Waal, I’ll be durned!” again said the old man, knocking the ashes out of his pipe. “Seems to me I heerd somethin’ ’bout a boys’ camp t’other day when I was down in town. Layin’ out that new ’state or whatever you call it, beant you?”
“Yes, we’re locating lakes and brooks and different kinds of trees, and we’re getting great fun out of it, too,” Jack replied; then added, “I’m afraid we’ll have to get along, fellows. We’ve got quite a way to go yet.”
“What’s your hurry, boys? ’Tain’t so often Old Sam has company drop in to see him that he’s glad to see ’em go. Why can’t ye stay and hev a bite o’ somethin’ to eat with me? I am bound for the quarries myself to get the ile from any o’ them pesky snakes what are fools enough to let me ketch ’em. I kin show you a durn sight better road there than any you know of.”
The boys, who had brought some lunch with them, were only too glad to accept Old Sam’s kind invitation. Don, who had felt a lively regard for the old man from the first minute he looked at him, trotted contentedly into the cabin with the rest.
The old man was so happy to have someone to talk to that he kept up a continual chatter as he put the frying-pan on the stove and sliced some bacon.
“You see,” he was saying, “it was like this, boys. We had had a turrible late spring same’s we’ve had this year an’ the river was pow’ful swollen an’ angry like, along o’ the snow meltin’ an’ comin’ down from the mountains. Waal, my Rover an’ me, we wuz walkin’ along when all o’ a sudden we heerd a child screamin’. Sez I to Rover, sez I, ‘It’s ’bout time, my boy, that we wuz findin’ out the meanin’ o’ that there scream.’
“Rover seemed like he wuz o’ the same opinion, cuz before I had time to git the words out o’ my mouth, away he went like a streak. When I got to the river, I see my Rover gather hisself together and spring into the river, makin’ straight fer a little patch o’ white that I took fer a child’s dress. It didn’t take long fer me to git my coat off and foller him, let me tell ye!”
The boys, deeply interested, waited impatiently while Old Sam turned a slice of bacon, and then continued, reminiscently:
“Waal, by the time I had fit my way as fur as from this stove to the door, I see Rover comin’ back with a little piece o’ white in his mouth. He swum much slower and feebler than he done at fust, and I could see that the strain was tellin’ on him turr’ble. I swum as fast as I could to meet him. Purty soon up he come, stickin’ on to that piece o’ white like he would sooner give up his own life than let go, but when he looked up at me so pitiful like I—I——” Here the old man choked and drew his hand hastily over his eyes, stealing a glance at the boys to see if they had noticed his weakness, but finding them all looking in the other direction, then, putting the bacon on the table, he went on:
“Waal, I put out my hand to take hold o’ the little child, an’ Rover, he let go jest too soon and the little one went under. I dove down, and soon felt the dress in my hand. When I got to the top, I jest nat’ally looked to see whar my Rover wuz, but I couldn’t see him nowhere. It hurt me turr’ble to go in without findin’ him, but I knowed my strength wouldn’t hold out much longer, so I had to use it while there wuz any left. Waal, I never could remember how I swum the rest o’ the way to shore, but I got thar some way, an’ found a crowd o’ people thar, glad enough to take the child after I had saved it. They told me how brave I wuz, too, but I turned on ’em, kind of fierce like, an’ said:
“‘It wuzn’t me as done it! It was my Rover, and he’s dead now. Dead, d’ye hear that?’ an’ then I jest walked away with my heart gone clean out o’ me. Ye see, my Rover wasn’t a water dog. He jest nat’ally hated the water, but the big, brave heart o’ him——” Here the old man’s voice grew husky, while Don, wistfully watchful, nestled close to him, looking up into his face with a great longing to comfort expressed in his beautiful eyes.
“Aye, lad,” and the voice was still unsteady, “aye, lad, ye have the look o’ my Rover!”
More than one of the boys dashed his hand across his eyes as he looked at the lonely old man with his arms around their Don’s neck.
In a moment Old Sam had pulled himself together, and called to the boys to “fall to,” upon which the boys brought forth their baskets and promptly carried out Old Sam’s suggestion. They avoided further mention of Rover, but their thoughts were often drawn back to the tragedy and in their hearts was a very tender spot for Rover’s master.
After dinner they all set out for the quarries. Sam, as he insisted upon the boys calling him, was as good as his word, showing them a much shorter road than the one they had intended to follow. In a short time they reached the quarry, and found they were in time to see some of the blasting done.
“Ye see,” Old Sam said, “owin’ to the late spring, all the snakes hasn’t left their snug bedding places in the rocks, but when the men comes around with their blastin’ the durned reptiles thinks it’s ’bout time fer them to be movin’. Ye wouldn’t believe it,” he went on, “but some o’ them critters curls up in a great big bunch durin’ the winter so’s they kin keep warm, and when they gits their walkin’ papers, it’s as easy as rollin’ off a log to ketch ’em, they take so long to get untangled.”
“But how do you catch them?” Jack had asked eagerly. “Isn’t there great danger of your being bitten?”
“Not much; ye have to be pow’ful keerful, that’s all. Ye see, I gets behind one o’ them snakes and sticks the two ends o’ this here pole in the ground, one on one side o’ his neck jest below the head, an’ the other on t’other side. Then I stoops over and picks him up by the neck, and drops him head first into this here leather bag. Then when I gets him home, I kills him and gets the ile.”
This interested the boys intensely, and they could not wait to see it done. They stood awhile watching the blasting when they had reached the quarry, and then Old Sam suddenly cried out: “See that? Look over there by them rocks! No, this way! That’s right! Now d’ye see that reptile? Come along, and I’ll show you how I kin ketch ’em.”
Excitedly the boys followed Sam across the rocks until he said, “Stay there! Don’t come a step further. Now jest watch yer Uncle Sam!”
So saying, Old Sam was off down the rocks, climbing as nimbly as a boy. With breathless interest the boys watched as he drew near a snake that lay basking in the sun. Without an instant’s hesitation, he slipped up behind it, plunged his pronged stick hard on the ground on either side of its neck and, stooping over, picked it up quickly just behind the head and threw it bodily into his bag. Then, closing the bag tight, he clambered up once more beside the admiring group of Scouts.
“You sure are a wonder!” said Tom, and the praise came from the bottom of his heart.
“I don’t think I’d have the nerve to try that,” said Tom Binns, who always had had a fear of snakes.
“Waal, ’twan’t much to do,” Old Sam protested, pleased beyond measure, nevertheless, by the boys’ hearty and open admiration.
After they had examined the quarries thoroughly, the party started out once more. When they reached Sam’s cabin, he urged them to come and see him often, to which the boys agreed eagerly, and exacted a promise from him in return that he would come and spend a day with them in camp soon.
So, with a last gentle pat on Don’s head, Old Sam watched the boys out of sight among the trees, and then turned with a happy sigh to enter his cabin.
“Them boys sure are fine lads, an’ the dog—waal, he did have the looks o’ my Rover!”
The boys went happily along, talking about the interesting events of the day, full of wonder at Old Sam’s courage and skill.
That evening around the camp-fire, they told an interested group of boys about the old snake hunter. Tom Binns, who had been especially interested in the story of Rover’s death, turned to Don where he lay in his usual place beside Jack, and whispered softly: “Don’t you go and get drowned like poor old Rover, boy, ’cause if you do, we sure would have to break camp! We can’t get along without our mascot, old fellow!”