"Why, it's safe enough!" she said with a laugh, but still wondering. "I'm not in the least afraid of snakes. I've killed several of them. Come along." And answering Fred's shouts she led the way through the grass and stones at an astonishing pace, entirely disregarding his entreaties to allow him to go first. "There! There!" cried Fred, his fist full of stones, pointing to some long grass almost hiding a small boulder about a dozen yards away. "He's squatting there. He's a big black ringhals. I threw him with three stones--didn't hit him, though. Man, but he's `kwai.' Look, look! There!" Disturbed anew by these fresh arrivals, the reptile shot up his head with an ugly hiss. The hood was inflated, and waved to and fro wickedly, as the great coil dragged heavily over the ground. "There! Now you can have him!" cried Fred excitedly, as Blachland stooped and picked up a couple of large stones. These, however, he immediately dropped. "No. Let him go," he said. "He wants to get away. He won't interfere with us." "But kill him, Mr Blachland. Aren't you going to kill him?" urged the boy. "No. I never kill a snake if I can help it. Because of something that once happened to me up-country." "So! What was it?" said the youngster, with half his attention fixed regretfully on the receding reptile, which, seeing the coast clear, was rapidly making itself scarce. "That's something of a story--and it isn't the time for telling it now." But a dreadful suspicion crossed the unsophisticated mind of the boy. Was it possible that Blachland was afraid? It did not occur to him that a man who had shot lions in the open was not likely to be afraid of an everyday ringhals--not at the time, at least. Afterwards he would think of it. They went back to where they had been sitting before, Fred chattering volubly. But he could not sit still for long, any more than he had been able to before, and presently he was off again. "You are wondering why I let that snake go," said Blachland presently. "Did you think I was afraid of it?" "Well, no, I could hardly think that," answered Lyn, looking up quickly. "Yet I believe you thought something akin to it," he rejoined, with a curious smile. "Listen now, and I'll tell you if you care to hear--only don't let the story go any further. By the way, you are only the second I have ever told it to." "I feel duly flattered. Go on. I am longing to hear it. I'm sure it's exciting." "It was for me at the time--very." And then he told her of the exploration of the King's grave, and the long hours of that awful day, between two terrible forms of imminent death, told it so graphically as to hold her spellbound. "There, that sounds like a tolerably tall up-country yarn," he concluded, "but it's hard solid fact for all that." "What a horrible experience," said Lyn, with something of a shudder. "And now you won't kill any snake?"