William then described the spot to Boone in such precise terms that the old woodman declared he would immediately repair thither and endeavour to find the snake. He accordingly set out in the direction indicated without further delay; while Roughgrove, believing that poor Joe was really on the verge of eternity, strove to comfort his departing spirit with the consolation that religion affords. “Oh! that ain’t the right one!” exclaimed Joe, pushing away the Episcopal prayer-book held by Roughgrove. “Then here is one you cannot object to,” said Roughgrove, opening the Bible. “Oh, that’s not it, either!” cried Joe, in great distress. “Is there no priest in this region? I’m a Roman Catholic—oh!” “Can you not confess your sins _directly_ to God—the God who is everywhere, and governs all things?” said the aged man, impressively, and with animation. “I have prayed,” said Joe; “but now I want the ointment!” “Your body, which must be placed in the damp cold earth, needs no oil. It is far better to purify the soul, which perishes not,” said Roughgrove, in fervent and tremulous tones. “Oh!—Oh! Ugh!” cried Joe, in a deep guttural voice, and turning over on his face. His fears had evidently been increased by the solemn tone and look of Roughgrove. “Don’t be alarmed, Joe,” said Glenn, turning him again on his back. “Sneak will soon be here, and La-u-na says the plantain will be sure to cure you. William tells me that he has seen the Indians permit the snakes to bite them for a mere trifle in money, so certain were they of being restored by the plant. And indeed he never knew a bite to terminate fatally.” “But I’m afraid Sneak won’t come in time,” replied Joe, somewhat comforted. “Pshaw! he won’t loiter in a case of this kind—he knows it is no joke,” continued Glenn. “But suppose he can’t _find_ any plantain—then I’m dead to a certainty! Oh me!” “Does the pain increase much?” asked Mary. “Oh, yes! its ten times worse than it was ten minutes ago! I’m going fast—I can’t move either leg now,” he continued, in a weak utterance. Glenn grew uneasy. Joe was pale—very pale, and breathed hard. Boone entered, with a smile on his lip. “Have you got the plantain?” asked Joe, in feeble accents, with his languid eyes nearly closed, thinking it was Sneak. “Sit up and tell me how you feel,” said Boone, in vain striving to repress his smile. “Oh, St. Peter! I haven’t strength enough to lift my hand,” said Joe, his eyes still closed. “Did you find the snake?” asked Glenn. “Yes,” replied Boone. Joe groaned audibly. “I will tell you all about it,” he continued; “I found the spot where Joe had been gathering the berries, and tracked him without difficulty to every bush he visited by the bruised grass under his foot-prints. At length I came to the cluster of bushes where he received the wound. I stood in his cracks and saw where he had plucked the raspberries. When about to cast down my eyes in quest of the snake, suddenly I felt a blow on my own ankle!”