THE SNAKES 333 



into the water with such smoothness of motion that no 

 splash accompanies its disappearance. A few bubbles 

 mark the dive and we turn to stare at one another in 

 mutual disappointment. 



We had been snake-hunting through the bayous for 

 half the day and several dozen harmless captives filled 

 the bags. Relieving the guide from the tiresome punt- 

 ing of the flat-bottomed craft, the writer had posted his 

 faithful and enthusiastic companion on the bow as look- 

 out as we spied this, our first "cotton-mouth." But a 

 little more than a week before the writer had left the 

 North in a whirl of snow for a short stay in the wonder- 

 fully balmy air of the far Southern coast. From blus- 

 tering winds and leafless trees to an atmosphere like 

 the Northern June, the stately palmettoes and the live 

 oaks with their garlands of hanging moss, was a delicious 

 change. Reptile life flourished in variety and plenty. 



"That snake's an old timer and the boss of this 

 swamp," said my guide. "There's not a copper-belly 

 or a brown water snake in the bayou. He's cleaned 

 'em all out." 



The author agreed with his companion. On more 

 than one occasion he had noted the cannibalistic habits 

 of the Moccasin. But the big fellow was gone and 

 we sat looking from his sunning place to the wake of 

 bubbles — to no avail. After due consultation we de- 

 cided to try his capture at night, when he would be less 

 wary. Marking well the location of the tree, the deci- 

 sion was to return on the evening of the following day. 

 The "cotton-mouth" has the characteristic of selecting 

 a particular roost; we were sure of rinding the big fel- 

 low on the same tree. 



It was late in the following afternoon that we started 

 again for the bayous. Along the sandy trail our mules 



