"Reade," he demanded, "Did that thing strike you?"

"What thing," asked Tom in wonderment.

"The rattler that I killed!"

"Rattler?" gasped both cub engineers.

"Yes. From the distance I thought I saw it strike out at you.

There's a nest of the reptiles at some point near that brush.

That's why I warned you to get away from there. Never stand in brush, in the Rockies, unless you've looked before stepping.

Were you struck?"

"I believe something did sting me," Reade admitted, remembering that smarting sensation in his left leg.

"Which leg was it? demanded Rutter, halting beside the cub.

"Left---a little above the ankle," replied Tom.

"Take off your legging. I must have a look. Hazelton, call to one of your chainmen and send him back to make sure of my pony."

Harry hastened to obey, then came back breathless. Rutter, in the meantime, had turned up enough of Tom's left trousers' leg to bare a spot on the flesh that was red. There were fang marks in the centre of this reddened surface.

"You got it, boy," spoke Rutter huskily. "Now we'll have to go to work like lightning to save you."

"How are you going to do it?" asked Tom coolly, though he felt decidedly queer over the startling news.

"Hazelton," demanded Rutter, turning upon the other cub engineer, "have you nerve enough to put your lips to that wound, and draw, draw draw as hard as you can, and keep on until you've drawn all the poison out?"

"I have," nodded Harry, sinking to his knees beside his chum.

"I'll draw all the poison out if I have to swallow enough to kill me."

"You won't poison yourself, Hazelton," replied Rutter quickly, as one of the chainmen came near with the recaptured pony. "Snake venom isn't deadly in the stomach---only when it gets into the blood direct. There's no danger unless you've a cut or a deep scratch in your mouth. Spit the stuff out as you draw."

Having given these directions, Jack Rutter turned, with the help of one of the chainmen to fasten a blanket behind the saddle to make a sort of extra saddle. The blanket had been lying rolled at the back of the saddle.

Harry, in the meantime, without flinching, performed his task well. Had he but known it, Rutter's explanation of the lack of danger was true; but in that moment, with his chum's life at stake, Harry didn't care a fig whether the explanation were true or not.

All he thought of was saving Tom.

"I reckon that part of the job has been done well," nodded Rutter, turning back from the horse. "Now, Reade, I want you to mount behind me and hold on tightly, for we're going to do some hard, swift riding. The sooner we get you to camp the surer you will be of coming out of this sc.r.a.pe all right."

"I've never had much experience in horsemanship, and I may out a sorry figure at it," laughed Reade, as, with Harry's help he got up behind Rutter.

"Horsemanship doesn't count---speed does," replied Rutter tersely.

"Hold on tightly, and we'll make as good time as possible. I'm going to start now."

Away they went, at a hard gallop, Tom doing his best to hold on, but feeling like a jumping-jack.

"It won't take us more than twenty minutes," promised Jack Rutter.

CHAPTER VII

WHAT A SQUAW KNEW

All the way to camp Rutter kept the pony at a hard gallop.

"Thurston! Mr. Thurston!" he shouted. "Be quick, please!"

Even as the young man called, Mr. Thurston ran out of his tent.

"You know something about rattlesnake bites, I believe?" Rutter went on hurriedly, as Tom Reade slipped to the ground. "The boy has been bitten by one and we'll have to work quickly."

"Don't bring any liquor, though," objected Reade, leaning up against a tree. "If liquor is your cure for snakebites I prefer to take my chances with the bite."

"Get the shoe off and roll up the trousers," directed the chief engineer, without loss of words. "Fortunately, I believe we have someone here who knows more about treating the bites than I do.

Squaw!"

An Indian woman who had been sitting on the gra.s.s before the chief's tent, a medley pack of Indian baskets arranged before her, glanced up.

"Snake! You know what to do," went on Mr. Thurston hurriedly. "You know what to do----eh? Pay you well."

At the last three magic words the aged squaw rose and hobbled quickly forward.

"Take boy him tent," directed the Indian woman.

"I can walk," remarked Tom.

"No; they take you. Heap better," commanded the woman.

Instantly Mr. Thurston and Rutter took hold of Tom, raising him into their arms. Through the flap of his tent they bore him, depositing him on his cot. The Indian woman followed them inside.

"Now you go out," she ordered, with a sweep of her hand. "Send him cookman. Hot water---heap boil."

Thus ordered, Jake Wren came on the run with a kettle of boiling water. The Indian squaw received it with a grunt, ordering that bowls and cups be also brought. When Wren came the second time he lingered curiously.

"You go out; no see what do," said the squaw.

So Jake departed, the squaw tying the flap of the tent after he had gone. Then, from the bosom of her dress she drew out a few small packages of herbs. The contents of these she distributed in different bowels and cups.

"I'd like to see what the old witch is doing, and how she's doing it," declared Rutter in a whisper.

"She'll stop short if she catches you looking in on her," replied the chief, with a smile. "For some reason these Indians are very jealous of their secrets in treating snakebites. They're wizards, though, these same red-skinned savages."

"You believe, then, that she can pull Reade through?" asked Rutter eagerly.