They had not progressed above two dozen paces beyond the margin of the reeds, however, when Grosvenor, who was leading the way along a narrow track through the coarse grass, uttered a sharp ejaculation, and halted suddenly in his tracks, the next moment stamping violently on something just before him. "What is the matter, old chap?" demanded Dick, stepping quickly to his friend's side. "Snake!" replied Grosvenor briefly, and in a rather tremulous tone of voice; "trod on him--unintentionally of course--and the beggar turned sand bit me. Take that--and that--and that, you brute--" "Where is the thing?" demanded Dick anxiously. "There," responded Grosvenor, pointing to a writhing, twisting something that squirmed on the grass as he ground the heel of his heavy boot on it. "Take your foot away, man, and let me have a look at it," commanded Dick; and as the other did as he was ordered Maitland bent down and directed a quick, keen glance at the reptile, about six inches of whose body was crushed almost to a jelly. Then, quickly pinning the flat, heart-shaped head to the ground with the muzzle of his gun, he pulled the trigger, and thus effectually put an end to the creature's existence. With the barrel of his weapon he deftly whisked the still writhing body half a dozen yards away into the long grass, and then turned sharply to his friend. "Sit down, old chap, quick," he said, "and show me where you were bitten." Somewhat startled by his companion's abrupt manner, Grosvenor seated himself on the ground and drew up his left trouser leg, pulled down his sock, and revealed two small punctures close together in the lower part of the calf of the leg, barely visible in the fast-decreasing light. "I see," ejaculated Dick, fumbling in his waistcoat pocket as he spoke. "Take your pocket handkerchief, quick; tie it round your leg below the knee, and with the barrel of your revolver twist it as tight as you possibly can, tourniquet fashion, so as to stop the passage of the blood into your body. Now," as he drew forth and opened a penknife, the blade of which he made a point of always keeping razor-keen, "I am going to hurt you a little bit, so set your teeth and bear it, old man." "All right; go ahead," responded Grosvenor. "Was the brute venomous, then?" "Can't say," responded Dick evasively, as he quickly slashed the flesh across and across over the two punctures; "but we are not taking any more chances to-day, my boy." The blood, instead of spurting from the knife wounds, oozed forth thick and sluggishly; whereupon Dick, without a second's hesitation, applied his lips to the gashes, which were close together, and sucked strongly for about a quarter of an hour, spitting out the blood which gradually began to flow a little more freely. Finally, when the flow had ceased, he groped in his pocket and produced a small case containing a stick of lunar caustic; then from another pocket he drew forth a box of matches, which he handed to Grosvenor.