Charley handed his little axe to the ranger, and began to fumble in his pocket for the cord which he had used as a leash for his dog. The ranger looked around him for suitable poles. Close by the trail lay the rotting trunk of a large tree that had fallen years before. On the far side of this log and close to it some fine saplings had grown up, probably made thrifty by the rotting wood of the great tree. The ranger reached over the log to chop a sapling. At the same instant the pup, ranging in the bushes, growled savagely. Momentarily the ranger lifted his eyes, letting his axe head sink to the ground. Something moved under it, and at the same instant a hideous head reared itself above the leaves and struck with lightning-like rapidity, hitting the ranger just above the wrist-bone. With a startled exclamation the ranger drew up his arm. As he did so, a huge rattler glided away through the brush. Charley turned at the ranger's cry. He comprehended the situation at a glance. "Quick!" he cried, springing to the ranger's side. "Give me your arm." He jerked back the ranger's sleeve, disclosing two dark spots on the back of the wrist where the fangs had punctured the skin. Drops of blood were oozing from them. Charley whipped out his knife and without hesitation drew the keen blade several times across the ranger's wrist. Blood began to flow down the hand. Putting his lips to the wound, Charley sucked out mouthful after mouthful of blood, which he spat on the ground. "Now squeeze your wrist tight just above the bite," said Charley. "Stop the circulation of blood if you can." Like a flash Charley picked up the dog leash and tied an end of it around the ranger's arm, close to the shoulder, drawing it so tight that the ranger winced. He cut the dangling end and took a second turn just above the ranger's elbow. Then he made a third turn half-way down the forearm. With little sticks he twisted the cords still tighter. Then he jerked out his hypodermic syringe, which he carried already filled with fluid, and thrusting the needle into the bleeding arm, injected the permanganate into the wound. Meantime, the ranger stood silent, his face pale, his jaws set courageously. "Where did you learn to do all that?" he finally asked Charley, with evident admiration. "You go about it like a doctor." "When the Wireless Patrol was in camp at Fort Brady," replied Charley, "one of the fellows was bitten by a copperhead. Dr. Hardy had already drilled us in first-aid and we knew just what to do. You bet none of us will ever forget." "I shall owe my life to you," said Mr. Morton. "That is, I shall if----"