Startled, Charley looked down. In moving forward he had placed his right foot squarely upon the head of a huge snake, while his left foot was lying across the reptile's big body. It was only by summoning all his self-control that the lad kept from jerking impulsively ahead or to one side, a course which would surely have resulted in instant death. In fact, death was threatening as it was. The boy could hardly retain his position as the powerful reptile began to twist back and forth beneath his feet. Luckily, where he stood the ground was soft, and the parts of the snake upon which he stood were deeply imbedded in the soft sand, but, even with that in his favor, it was only a question of seconds before the repulsive reptile wriggled free. Charley drew his automatic and fired down at the huge, writhing, black body between his feet. The first shot penetrated the middle of the snake, and, firing slowly and carefully, Charley cut roughly through the middle of the snake's body. As its struggles grew less, the lad leaped far ahead and looked back. The snake was still struggling vigorously, but, with its body nearly severed, it could do nothing but swing its head viciously. "You did that pretty neat, lad," said the teamster cheerfully. "I was afraid you would try to jump. You've shore got pluck." Charley grinned. "It was simply a bad case of being too scared to move. Well, let's climb on the wagon and get back to camp. Say," he continued, as the teamster whipped up the mules he had harnessed up while talking, "do you have many of those moccasins out here?" "Not many right here," grinned the driver, "but on these strips of pine lands there is not supposed to be any. I suppose our crew kills from twenty to twenty-five a week. Sometimes we kill them all curled up nice and comfortable in our bunks. But, pshaw! that ain't nothing to the day it will be five or ten miles farther out. I drove out there once and it's a sure bet the wheels and mules' hoofs killed over a hundred going and coming." "Whew!" Charley whistled, "that's not very pleasant to hear, but, here we are at camp, and I've been too excited over this trip to ask your name." "It's Jim Canody--'Languid Jim' they generally call me," grinned the teamster. "You can go back to work, then, Jim," said Charley. "Do your best, and I'll have a good man to help you soon. Drive in by the cook tent and I'll jump off there." "Well, Chris," he inquired, "how are you getting on?" The little negro grinned. "Dis ain't going to be no cinch, Massa Charles," he said. "Cooking and cleaning up for twenty-five men is goin' to be a mighty big job for one small nigger. 'Sides, if you work a night crew hit means a whole lot more work putting up midnight lunches. Dat's a lot of extra work." "I see you have got to have an assistant," Charley agreed. "Dat's so," acquiesced Chris, "but he's going to be mah helper, and I want to pick him out."