“Oh! St. Peter! Sneak!” cried Joe, throwing back his head, and lifting up his knees nearly to his chin. “Ha! ha! ha! did one of ’em cut you, Joe? They hurt like fury, but their tails ain’t pisen. Look what a whelk they’ve made on the hoss.” “Sneak, why don’t you get away from this nasty place! One of them shot right over the pony’s neck a while ago, and came very near hitting me on the chin.” “You must hit ’em as they come. Yander comes one—now watch me!” Saying this, Sneak turned the steed so as to face a tremendous racer about forty paces distant, that was approaching with the celerity of the wind with its head above the tall grass. When it came within reach of his rod, he bestowed upon it a blow that entirely severed the head, and the impetus with which it came caused the body to fly over the steed, and falling upon the neck of the pony, with the life yet remaining (for they are constrictors,) instantly wrapped in a half dozen folds around it! Pete snorted aloud, and, springing forward, ran a hundred paces with all the fleetness of which he was capable. But being unable to shake off the terrible incumbrance, with his tongue hanging out in agony, he turned back and ran directly for the horse. When he came up to the steed, he pushed his head under his neck, manifesting the greatest distress, and stamping and groaning as if becoming crazed. “Dod! let me git hold of him!” cried Sneak, bending forward and seizing the snake by the tail. The long head-less body gave way gradually, and becoming quite relaxed fell powerless and dead to the earth. “Oh, Sneak, let’s go!” said Joe, trembling, his face having turned as pale as death while Pete was dashing about in choking agony under the tight folds of the serpent. “Smash me if I go as long as there’s a snake left!” replied Sneak, striking down another huge racer; but this one, having its back broken, remained stationary. Thus he continued to strike down the snakes as long as any remained on the field; and, as they became scarce, Joe grew quite valorous, and did signal service. At length the combat ceased, and not a living serpent could be seen running. “Sneak, we’ve killed them all—huzza!” cried Joe, flourishing his rod. “Yes, but you didn’t do much—you’re as big a coward as ever.” “Oh, I wasn’t _afraid_ of them, Sneak,” said Joe; “I was only a little cautious, because it was the first time I ever went a snaking.” “Yes, you was mighty cautious! if your bridle hadn’t broke, you’d have been home long ago.” “Pshaw, Sneak!” said Joe; “you’re much mistaken. But how many do you think we’ve killed?” “I suppose about a quarter of a cord—but I’ve heard tell of men’s killing a cord a day, easy.” “You don’t say so! But how does it happen so many are found together? When I go out I can never find more than a dozen or so.” “There’s a _snake den_ under that clear place,” said Sneak, “where they stay all winter—but its not as big a den as some I’ve seen.”