Shepherdstown register. [volume] (Shepherdstown, Va. [W. Va.]) 1849-1955, 1896-10-15
A TRUE SNAKE STORY.

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be said even of the Garden of Eden.
1t had been very hot that summer
on the ranch. Men work in the fields
of California with the thermometer at
10 degrees, while they fall down oi
heat apoplexy in the streets Of New
York and Chicago at 90 degrees. That
is the maxim they preach to the stran-
ger in the west, and it has truth in it,
but it is mistake to suppose that even
in California men work in the fields
in comfort in such temperature and
that summer the thermometer had gone
very near l15 degrees. So we were
grateful enough to get away into the
hills for a spell, with a wagon and a
tent and the usual outfit of pots and
pans, three of us, white men, with
Louie, the Mexican (whom we called,
in the vernacular, the Greaser) to mind
the horses and make himself generally
useful Our programme was to fish
the rivers, shoot deer, and possibly a
grizzly bear, discover a gold mine, and
90 back to the ranch with prospec-
tive fortune.
We had just pitched our tent. Down
on the plain for weeks before we had
been sleeping out on the verandas, but
the air of the hills had a nip in it by
contrast. 1t was late in the afternoon,
but there was still plenty Of sunshine.
[ followed Louie round shoulder of
the hill, going to fetch water at a lit
tie distance from a stream tumbling
from somewhere among the snowy
peaks that capped the zone Of frs on
the great mountains above us. These
mountains had, at some time or other,
sent down little avalanche of small
rocks that lay heaped on our left as
we walked. The scene was the most
peaceful imaginable.
In an instant a succession Of small
incidents sent the peace to limbo.
Louie dropped his pannikin with a
tinkling clatter, crying "Sancta Ma
ria !" in voice of terror At the
same time l heard the dread rattle OF
a snake, and saw its length gleam un-
der Louie's feet and vanish among the
rocks.
"Sancta Marial" he tottered back
into my arms, his dark face livid with
fear
"What is it, Louie? Did the snake
strike you ?"
.In the foot, he said. "Yes."
Let US get back to camp. Quick,
lean on me.
whats the good, boss ?' he asked.
I'm a dead man. Nevertheless he
came with me, leaning on my shoulder,
and making a lame walk Of it.
Down in the plain we had no rattle
snakes. For miles about the ranch
there were no rocks for them and
though there were plenty Of squirrel
holes we never saw snakes about them.
The thought of such things did not en-
ter our heads, and Louie, weary of his
boots, had kicked them off, with the
long spurs, and came with me in his
stocking feet on this quest for water.
A word explained to the boys what
had happened.
"Strychnine's the best, said Jock
Peters, who was our authority on the
question of snake-bites, which he had
studied in Australia "but we haven't
got it so we must do what we can for
him with this but it's poor chance, y
he added in whisper, as, to save time,
he knocked the neck off a bottle of
brandy. Drink it, Louie he said !;
"never mind cutting your lip; get it
down that's the chief thing"
The Mexicans teeth chattered as
we forced in the neck of the bottle,
but he drank a great gulp without
winking. The liquor, or pickle either,
to scorch Mexican's throat has yet
to be found.
jim Kelly, the Irishman, was sad
ding the freshest Of our horses to ride
at best speed into Lindsay, eleven
miles away in the haze of the plains,
for the doctor. In a minute he was
pounding away along the hills. Fix
up light as high as you can put it if
it's dark before we get back, he shout
ed as he went.
We pulled the sock off the Mexican's S
foot. Already it was swelling fast,
with purplish tinge round tiny
blue spot, from which the smallest i'm
aginable drop of blood had welled.
"Any good cauterizing it?" sug-