Here Sam Eccles suited the action to the word, and the drover with the blue fly-veil shook his head. "You didn't deserve them drinks," said he. "What did you want to go and save a thing like that for? You should have let the joker die. _I_ would." "I wished I had," replied Sam, ruefully. "That's not the end of the yarn, d'ye see, and it's the end what's going to make you chaps smile. There's a rabbit inspector lives in this here township, and knows more about nat'ral history than any other two men in the back-blocks. He happened to be at home that day, and he's at home to-day, too, if you'd like to see the snake what bit the Italian. He has it in his house--and this is how he come to get it. Somebody tells him what's happened, and he looks in during the evening to see for himself. There was old Squally drowned in whisky, sleepin' like a kid. 'So,' says Mr. Gray--that's the rabbit-inspector--'now's my time. The other day I lost my pen-knife; must have dropped it out of the buggy, but remembered the place and drove back; met Squally on the way, and nat-rally never saw my knife again. Now's my time,' says he, 'to get it back. Now's the time,' he says, 'for all of us to get back everything we ever lost!' And down he goes on his knees beside Squally, and starts feeling in his pockets. "'Here it is!' he says directly; and yet he never gets up from his knees. "'Struck anything else, Mr. Gray?' says I at last. "'Yes, Sam, I have,' says he, turning round and fixing me with his blue goggles. 'What sort of a snake was it our friend here said had bitten him?' "'A coral,' says I. "'Not it,' says he. "'What then?' says I. "'A new variety altogether,' says Mr. Gray, grinning through his beard. "'Give it a name, sir,' says I. "'Certainly,' says he, getting up. 'If we call it the knife-snake we shan't be far out.' And blowed if he didn't show me the little blade of his own knife blooded at the point; blowed if he didn't fit the blessed point into Squally's blessed bites!" Sam covered his face for shame, but joined next moment in the laugh against himself. Not so he of the blue fly-veil. The drover's hairy visage was a strong study in perfectly candid contempt. "You run a bush pub, and you were had by that old dodge. It hasn't got a tooth in its head--it's as old as the blooming sandhills--yet you were had. My stars!" The new chum from Paka diverted the laugh by innocently inquiring what that dodge might be. "A free drunk," said the drover. "And you ought to stand _us_ free drinks, mister, for not knowing. You're only a shade better than our friend the boss. To swallow that old chestnut at this time o' day!" Sam Eccles lost his temper. "You've said about enough. The man I mean was a born actor. Either shut your blessed head or take off that coat and come outside." "Right," replied the drover, divesting himself on his way to the door. Sam followed him with equal alacrity, but came to a sudden halt upon the threshold.