“Wasn’t he a whopper, Ken?” said Hal. “We ought to have got his hide. What a fine specimen!” “Boys, you drive away those few little snakes while I figure on a way to get the boat down.” “Not on your life!” replied Hal. George ably sustained Hal’s objection. “Mucho malo,” said Pepe, and then added a loud “No” in English. “All right, my brave comrades,” rejoined Ken, scornfully. “As I’ve not done any work yet or taken any risks, I’ll drive the snakes away.” With Pepe’s _machete_ he cut a long forked pole, trimmed it, and, armed with this weapon, he assaulted the rolls and bands and balls of brown snakes. He stalked boldly down upon them, pushed and poled, and even kicked them off the mossy banks. Hal could not stand that, and presently he got a pole and went to Ken’s assistance. “Who’s hollering now?” he yelled to George. Whereupon George cut a long branch and joined the battle. They whacked and threshed and pounded, keeping time with yells. Everywhere along the wet benches slipped and splashed the snakes. But after they were driven into the water they did not swim away. They dove under the banks and then stretched out their pointed heads from the dripping edge of moss. “Say, fellows, we’re making it worse for us,” declared Ken. “See, the brown devils won’t swim off. We’d better have left them on the bank. Let’s catch one and see if he’ll bite.” He tried to pick up one on his pole, but it slipped off. George fished after another. Hal put the end of his stick down inside the coil of still another and pitched it. The brown, wriggling, wet snake shot straight at the unsuspecting George, and struck him and momentarily wound about him. “Augrrh!” bawled George, flinging off the reptile and leaping back. “What ’d you do that for? I’ll punch you!” “George, he didn’t mean it,” said Ken. “It was an accident. Come on, let’s tease that fellow and see if he’ll bite.” The snake coiled and raised his flat head and darted a wicked tongue out and watched with bright, beady eyes, but he did not strike. Ken went as close as he thought safe and studied the snake. “Boys, his head isn’t a triangle, and there are no little pits under his eyes. Those are two signs of a poisonous snake. I don’t believe this fellow’s one.” “He’ll be a dead snake, b’ gosh,” replied George, and he fell to pounding it with his pole. “Don’t smash him. I want the skin,” yelled Hal. Ken pondered on the situation before him. “Come, the sooner we get at this the better,” he said.