"And what's more," continued the chief, "I have heard of a man who had a pet tarantula, with which he used to visit places and organize fights, just as people do at a cocking main, but I can't say that I ever saw it done. It may be true, just as the dancing story may be true, but if it were I should have heard of some cases of it." "But how did the creatures get the reputation?" asked Roger. "Surely there must have been some cause for it." "There is, I believe," answered the chief. "So far as I can learn a convulsive twitching follows a tarantula bite, and as the best thing to do in all poison cases is to walk the sufferer up and down until he is ready to drop, the twitching at such a time might resemble St. Vitus's dance. This was exaggerated, as most travelers' tales were in the early days, but I don't think at worst, that it is much more dangerous than the sting of a black hornet." "Then you have scorpions down here too, haven't you? Are they as bad as they are supposed to be?" "The main trouble with a scorpion is his vicious make-up," was the reply. "He's about the wickedest-looking proposition that ever came down the pike, but his bite is not fatal. One of the fellows with me one year had a little experience with a scorpion that made me think they are not as bad as they look. "You know the way they love to creep into the folds of cloth? Well, my assistant had just taken up his flannel shirt from the ground where he had been drying it in the sun, and after shaking it well and examining it thoroughly to see that nothing had crept into it, he laid it on the table a minute before putting it on. Then he slipped it over his shoulders and suddenly gave a yell, ripping the shirt off as he did so, and there across his chest ran a full-grown scorpion, which, as it passed above the region of the heart brought his devilish sting over his head and struck three times. "Of course, I felt sure that the poor fellow was gone, because I knew nothing of scorpions then, except by reputation, and the place of the stings was so near the heart that I didn't care to try to cut them out or cauterize or anything of that sort. Well, the three places puffed up the size of pigeon eggs, and for a few hours the pain was very considerable, but they went down by night, and there were no after-effects." "Why, Mr. Barrs," said Roger, "you are making out all these dangerous and venomous creatures to be comparatively harmless. I thought you said there were such a lot of them down here." "Well," replied the older man, "there are enough. Leaving the snakes out of the question, there are several varieties of ants that it is wise to give a wide berth, and the centipede is a creature to leave strictly alone." "Is their bite fatal?" asked the boy. "They don't bite." "Their sting, then." "They haven't any sting," responded Barrs, smiling at the boy's bewilderment. "Then what have they got?" "They've got feet!"