“No! It’s not a snake!” replied the hunter. “It’s worse. It’s the snake-tree!” “What’s that?” asked Mr. Henderson, hurrying up. “The snake-tree has Jack,” the hunter went on. “It is a plant, half animal, half-vegetable. It has long branches, not unlike a snake in shape. They can move about and grab things.” “One of them got a grip on Jack as he leaned against the dead tree trunk. I just caught a glimpse of it, and called to prevent Mark from running into danger.” “Can’t we save him?” asked Mr. Henderson. “I’m going to try!” replied Andy. “Quick! Gather up some pieces of dry wood. I have some paper, and my pipe lighter. We must fight the snake-tree with fire!” CHAPTER XXIII THE DESERTED VILLAGE Jack’s cries were growing fainter and fainter. Peering in through the branches of the dead tree the professor could see the whip-like limbs winding closer and closer about the boy. “I am afraid we will be too late!” he said. Andy had twisted some paper into a rude torch. He set fire to it with his pocket lighter, and, when Bill and Mark brought him some little pieces of dead wood the old hunter added them to his bundle, which was now blazing brightly. “How are you going to do it?” asked the professor. “I’ll show you,” replied Andy. He bound the sticks and paper together with wisps of grass and then, when it was so hot he could hardly hold it longer, he ran as close as he dared to the snake-tree and tossed the torch at the foot of it. The blazing bundle fell among some damp leaves and grass, as Andy had intended it should, and soon a dense smoke arose, pouring straight up through the branches of the animal-tree, the limbs of which were gathered in a knot about the half-unconscious form of the boy. For a few minutes they all waited anxiously. Would Andy’s trick succeed? Had the terrible tree not already squeezed the life from Jack? But, while they watched, there seemed to come a change over the tree. The snake-like arms waved less and less. They seemed to straighten out, as though deprived of power by the smoke which was now so dense as to hide Jack from sight. Then the arms suddenly relaxed and something rolled from them and fell to the ground. With a quick movement Andy darted in, crawling on his hands and knees beneath the limbs, and brought Jack out. The boy was white and his eyes were closed. “Get some water!” cried the old hunter. Mark ran toward a stream a little distance away. He brought some of the curiously thick liquid in his hat, and while Andy held the boy the professor sprinkled some of the drops on his face, and forced some between his lips. In a little while Jack’s eyes slowly opened. “Don’t let it eat me!” he begged. “You’re all right now,” said Andy heartily. “Not a bit harmed, Jack. But,” he added in a low tone, “it was a close call.” A few whiffs from a bottle of ammonia the professor carried soon brought Jack’s color back.