290 TROPIC DAYS 



jaws struck as the branch fell from my hand. In a 

 moment I had whipped the tomahawk from my belt 

 and slashed at the body of the snake squirming at my 

 feet, as, baffled for a moment by the falling branch, 

 it gathered itself for a second attack. 



Few of the enemies of man are more easily disabled 

 than a snake. Always zealous in obedience to the 

 Biblical law, it is honest to confess to a decided prefer- 

 ence for elbow-room when engaged in its actual fulfil- 

 ment. This was a fight with man's first enemy in close 

 and awkward quarters a precipice behind, walls of 

 rock in front and at either hand . Three times my length , 

 strong enough to constrict to death a giant, wily enough 

 to seek the cover of the matted roots of the tree, several 

 points were in favour of the snake. My first wild 

 haphazard stroke, which had merely scored its flesh, 

 seemed to have roused its vindictiveness. Once in those 

 coils, the chances of victory would be remote indeed. 



Part of the python's still gliding length was within 

 reach, while (the forepart resting on a branch) the head 

 was but slightly higher than mine, though beyond the 

 radius of the tomahawk. 



The bulging head drew slowly back, as the snake 

 released sufficient of its length to encompass me. The 

 yellow, blinkless eyes, with knife-edge pupils, flashed 

 with the hate of agelong feud as I edged against the wall. 

 My arm was free. The lust of battle tightened every 

 nerve. Neither flashing eyes nor strangulating length 

 made for fear. The hitherto all-conquering snake, 

 lord and master of the ravine, bade defiance, joining 

 issue with the craft of its kind. 



Slowly the pendant portion increased as the subtle 

 beast seemed to concentrate all its energies on one 

 triumphant, invincible effort. 



Anticipating the fateful instant, I slashed with all my 



