"He's as good as dead, gentlemen," said the carpenter. "He won't hunt no more rats under this place. Give me my chopper, please; I am thinking there are a few more here. Let's have 'em out, or they'll be in the way and get their tails trodden on when the fighting begins." "Yes, let's have them out, Chips," cried Poole; "but be careful. They may be poisonous, and savage with being disturbed." "Oh yes, I'll be careful enough," cried the carpenter; and raising the joist again he stepped back from the window and drove it into another corner of the room, the boys peering in through the nearest window and eagerly watching for the result. "Nothing here," cried the carpenter, after giving two heavy thrusts. "Yes, there is. Here's a little baby one. Such a little wriggler! A pretty one too; seems a pity to kill him." "No, no," cried Fitz, as he watched the active movements of the little snake that suddenly raised itself like a piece of spiral spring, its spade-shaped head playing about menacingly about a foot from the ground. "Yes, take care," cried Poole. "I believe that's a viper." "So's this," said the carpenter, letting one end of the joist rest upon the ground and the other fall heavily right across the threatening snake. "Hah! That's a wiper, and I wiped him out." Next moment he lifted the joist again, and used it pitchfork-fashion to jerk the completely crushed dangerous reptile out of another window, before advancing to the third corner, where a larger heap of Indian corn-husks seemed to have been drawn together. "Anything there, Chips?" cried Fitz. "Oh yes, there's a big un here--two on 'em; and they're telling tales of it, too, for they've left 'em hanging outside. Now, whereabouts will their heads be?" "Take care," cried Poole, "for you may cripple one and leave the other to dart at you." "Yes, and that wouldn't be nice," said the carpenter thoughtfully. "I don't mind tackling one of them, but two at a time's coming it a bit too strong. 'Tarn't fair like." "Look here," cried Fitz, "we'll come in, and each have a joist. We should be sure to kill them then." "I dunno so much about that, gen'lemen. You might help, and you moten't. If they made a rush you might be in my way, and you know, as old Andy says, Too many cooks spoil the snake-soup. Here, I know; I can soon turn them out." "How?" cried Poole, as the man stood the joist up against the wall. "I'll soon show you," cried the carpenter, pulling out a match-box. "You'll burn the place down." "Nay," cried the man; "them corn-shucks will just flare up with a fizz; I can trample them out before they catch the wood. You two be on the look-out, for there's no knowing which window my gentlemen will make for as soon as they find as it aren't the sun as is warming them up." He struck a match as he spoke, let the splint get well alight, and then stepping forward softly he stooped down to apply it to the pale, dry, creamy-looking corn-leaves.