Chapter XXI: Going Up

He opened his eyes slowly and saw Tom kneeling over him. On a rock stood the cage of straw burning cheerily. On the cage lay the twigs and on these, two solid bits of hard wood, not yet ignited. The place looked horrible in the light, a light which it had never known before.

“You’re all right, old man,” Tom said feelingly; “I ought to have got here sooner, but you’re all right. What happened?”

Brent stared about him blankly. “My leg--I----”

“I know, I’ll get you free of him, he’s dead, don’t worry.”

“The--a--snake----”

“Yep, it’s one, but he’s dead. What happened?”

“It’s light,” said Brent, blinking his eyes and moving his head right and left.

“Yep, that’s all right. Can you sit up? Fine! What killed him, do you know?”

“I don’t know--unless it was worry,” said Brent.

“You’re all right,” Tom laughed, relieved. “You’re the same old Brent.”

“He wanted his own way and I had to put my foot down firmly,” Brent said coming to himself. “His death must have been quite unexpected. He was on the job the last time I saw him. Maybe he had a stroke.”

“Doesn’t make any difference--long as you’re all right,” Tom said, with a ring of real feeling in his voice.

“Oh, I’m all right; asleep at the switch, that’s all,” said Brent rather weakly. “Gee williger, he’s a long guy, isn’t he? Do you know there was something crooked about that snake? He’s a rattler, isn’t he?”

“He was,” said Tom, dangling the frightful thing, “but he ain’t.”

And do you know, it was I and no other, who suggested the solution of the snake’s death. And that was a month afterwards. It did not occur to Brent what he had done. As for Tom, scout, woodsman, detective, general wiseacre, and what not, he did not deduce the fact; perhaps because the stone was not visible. Anyway, the little scene of the encounter was changed by his own descent and by Brent’s sprawling fall.

But unquestionably in those last moments of that ghastly deadlock the creature’s head was held under water long enough to kill it. What other explanation is there? If you can think of any you are welcome to it. At least Tom is satisfied that I am right (for once in my life), and as for Brent the only alternative he has to offer is that the snake had acute indigestion.

“Any news of the sock?” Tom asked.

“Look in that hollow place where I lifted a stone out.”

“Nothing there,” said Tom.

“Foiled again,” said Brent. “There was a stone in there that had a cross on it.”

“Yes?”

“Anyway, let’s get out of here,” said Brent. “I feel the need of a change; you get tired of one place. We can talk it over in the cabin. As I see it now that cabin is my idea of heaven. And this--how are we going to---- By the way, were you walking around up there?”

“Not till I got here,” laughed Tom.

“Before I did my fainting stuff I heard some one up there and called, but no one answered. I guess it must have been a telephone girl.”

“What?” Tom asked, all interest.

“Let’s see if we can’t get up in the world,” said Brent. “I feel as if I’d like to be a rising young adventurer. Did you get my other shoes out of the car?”

“Wait till you hear about the car.”

“It didn’t start, did it? I’ve had surprises enough for to-day.”

“I had a run-in with a bobcat.”

“Tut, tut, you’re not in my class,” said Brent.

“All right, then,” said Tom, busy with the rope, “all I want you to do is sit in this loop and don’t do anything till you reach the top--leave it to me.”

“Going up,” said Brent; “third floor, ladies’ millinery, groceries, books, and sporting goods----”

“Shut up and get your long legs through that loop,” said Tom.

“Suppose it goes around my neck,” said Brent. “All the glory of my adventure with the snake will be as naught. Everything will hang on your word--and I’ll hang on the rope. What do you think I am? A baby, or a murderer or something? I’m willing to hang around here, but I’m not willing to hang _in_ here. I’m going to climb up in a gentlemanly, dignified manner, as I came in. Is that rope fastened good and tight up there?”

“All right,” said Tom indulgently and with deep feeling still in his voice, “only you go first. And if you don’t make it, I’ll be here to tell you what to do next.”

“Somehow I hate to leave the place now,” said Brent. “I have too much sentiment, that’s the trouble with me.”

With which poetic reflection, he grabbed hold of the dangling rope, braced one of his legs against the masonry, and clambering, with the support of the rope and both his lanky legs, contrived by a series of unlovely maneuvers to reach the top, where he scrambled out over the bushes.

“Top floor, stationery, men’s apparel, and leather goods,” he called down. “See if you can do it as gracefully as that. And don’t forget my flashlight.”