front, and immediately from this rises the head and neck of a
large green mamba.

Instinctively the man's hand goes to his revolver, then he pauses. The
snake is hissing viciously. More of the long neck appears, waving to
and fro as though preparing for a spring. This is a peculiarly fierce
and aggressive species when disturbed, and the man knows it. He knows
also that the chances of being able to stop its rush with a bullet are
small. He abandons the firearm and starts another plan.

He begins whistling in a low but peculiarly clear note. The effect is
magical. The angry, excited waving of the sinuous neck ceases. The
head, still raised, is motionless as though under some new and
enthralling influence. Clearly on the part of its owner hostilities are
suspended.

He sustains the spell. Tune after tune trills forth in that clear note,
and the reptile, its deadly head still raised, its original fury dulled
to an almost placid expression, still listens. To the performer the
position now seems ridiculous, then rather interesting. He has never
set up as a snake-charmer before. For now, indeed, the horror with
which the much dreaded reptile had inspired him has given way to a
subtle sort of sympathy. He no longer fears it. He seems to have tamed
it, and feels accordingly. It is a strange and appropriate picture: the
man and the dreaded serpent, the dim shadowing away of the tangled
forest, the two horses snuffing with uneasy curiosity in the background,
the river reach, still and deep-flowing, with the muzzles of its two
voracious denizens causing a light ripple on its surface.

All thought of destruction has faded from the mind of the human actor in
this weird performance. He continues to evolve his natural music, even
advancing a few steps nearer to his grim listener. The latter shows no
sign of fear or resentment. Then an interruption occurs.

Crash! The motionless, uplifted neck of the serpent seems to fly nearly
in half, and the great coils beat and burst convulsively in the grass.
The man turns. Another man is standing behind him holding a shotgun,
one barrel of which is still smoking.

"What the devil did you do that for?" says the first angrily.

The other laughs, a thick sort of laugh, and by no means a pleasant one.

"Do that for?" he echoes, speaking with somewhat of a Jewish tone and
accent. "Can't I shoot a blighted snake without having to ask your
leave?"

"You idiot. I was in t