big tree, which
fell upon the goat there, and finished her outright. She's a trifle old
and tough, I expect; but she'll make first-rate mulligatawney soup
nevertheless; and there will be her two kids, as tender as spring lamb,
into the bargain. It makes one's mouth water to think of them. And,
then, there's those medlars--but, hallo! I say, Ernest, what is the
matter? Why, you look as pale and weak as if you were just recovering
from a typhus fever. What's befallen you?"

"I have had a very narrow escape from a most terrible death, Nick,"
returned Warley, gravely, "and my nerves haven't got over it."

"Hallo! what?" again exclaimed Gilbert. "Escape from death, do you say?
Why, what has happened?"

"Just go in there--into that hut to the right, and you'll see," was the
answer.

Lavie and Wilmore had by this time learned the main outline of what had
occurred, from the Hottentot, and they all went into the cottage to
examine the remains of the great snake.

"A proper brute, that," observed Gilbert, as they stood by the side of
the reptile, which had by this time ceased to wriggle. "That is the
biggest snake I ever came across. There's his head gone, and a bit of
his tail; but I don't think what remains can be less than twenty feet.
Lion, old fellow," he continued, caressing the dog while Frank patted
his head, "you did that well, and shall have a first-chop supper."

"We can ascertain its length exactly," said Lavie; "I have got a yard
measure here; and here too is the remainder of the tail. Stretch the
body straight out, Frank, and I'll soon tell you the measurement."

The serpent was accordingly measured, and was found to be some inches
more than nineteen feet long.

"What kind of snake is it?" asked Frank, when this point had been
determined.

"A python, or boa-constrictor, no doubt," answered the surgeon; "they
give them other names in these parts, but that is the creature. No
other description of serpents that I ever heard of attempts to crush up
its prey by muscular pressure."

"But serpents which do that are seldom or never venomous, are they?"
inquired Wilmore.

"I believe not," answered Lavie, "but that point has been disputed.
Omatoko calls the reptile an `ondara,' and insists upon it that its bite
is not only poisonous, but causes certain death. It may be so. It is
evident that it would have bitten Ernest if it could; and serpents that
are devoid of venom do not often bite. Well, I su