Don sturdy with the big snake hunters

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CHAPTER I In Deapty Pert

‘Wet, Don, I’ve fixed up the contract for those big snakes I hope to catch in Brazil,”’ said Captain Frank Sturdy to his nephew, Don, as he stopped at the door of the garage where the latter was overhauling the engine of his car.

‘‘That’s bully, Uncle Frank!’’ exclaimed Don Sturdy, a lad of fourteen, unusually tall and strong for his age, as he dropped the spark plug he was grinding and came eagerly to the door. ‘‘I hadn’t any idea that you’d put the deal through so soon.’’

‘<T didn’t myself, to tell the truth,’’ admitted the captain. ‘‘There’s usually a good deal of humming and hawing and backing and filling before the company comes to the point. Big bodies move slowly, you know. But several big orders from zoological gardens happened to come in at about the same time; consequently,

‘i they were ready and anxious to talk business. So we’ve signed on the dotted line, and all I’ve got to do is to get the snakes—that is,’’ he added, with a grin, ‘‘if the snakes don’t get me first.’

‘<They’ll have to be pretty lively to do that,’’ laughed Don. ‘‘But honest, Uncle Frank, that’s the best thing I’ve heard since Sitting Bull sat down. When do we start? I’m just crazy to be off.’’

‘Where do you get that ‘we’ stuff?’’ asked the captain quizzically.

““You don’t mean to say that you’re not going to take me along!’’ exclaimed Don, a look of alarm coming into his eyes.

‘Of course [’ll take you along,’’ affirmed the captain. ‘‘I was just teasing you a bit. Though I’m free to admit that, on your account, I wish the trip were a little less dangerous. Hunting anacondas and boa constrictors is risky business, and capturing them alive is still more risky. I’ve got a right to take chances on my own life, but I feel uneasy about exposing you .to such peril.’’

‘‘Don’t worry on my account,’’ said Don. ‘‘Look at the risks we took in the Sahara Desert. But we came through all right. But you haven’t told me yet when you'll be ready, to start.’’

‘‘T imagine that we can have all our preparations made in about two weeks—three at the outside,’’ answered Captain Sturdy thoughtfully. ‘‘There are a lot of loose ends connected with our last desert trip that have got to be attended to. Then, too, I have to buy a good deal for the outfit we’ll take along to Brazil. But I'll make the fur fly from now on, for I’m quite as anxious to get down there as you are yourself, and you know why.’’

“Yes, I know why,’’ said Don, as a great longing came into his eyes. ‘‘It’s in Brazil that we’ll have the best chance of finding my father and mother and sister Ruth, if they’re still alive.”’

““They’re alive all right,’’ declared the captain heartily, more to reassure the hearthungry lad than from profound conviction. ‘‘T’m sure from the story that Mr. Allison told us that they were rescued from the worst peril of the shipwreck and probably taken to Brazil. We’re on a warm trail now, and we’ll follow it to the end.’’

‘‘Tt was only last night that I dreamed of Ruth,’’ said Don, his voice a trifle husky. ‘‘It seemed as though I were in a jungle, and, looking through the trees, I saw her holding out her arms to me and calling me to hurry. I worked like mad to make my way through the brush to get to her, but when I got to the spot where I had seen her she had vanished. But I could still hear her voice calling me to hurry. I’m just sure that she’s alive.’’

He turned away to conceal his emotion, for his pretty sister was inexpressibly dear to him.

‘We'll find them all if it’s in human power to do so,’’ affirmed the captain. ‘‘And Amos will be as keen as any of us.’’

‘Oh, is Uncle Amos going with us too?’’ asked Don delightedly.

‘Tt would take a team of wild horses to hold him back,’’ laughed the captain. ‘‘He’d come anyway, but it just happens that business calls him in that direction too. He’s made arrangements to go to Brazil in the interests of a museum, and he’s also tied up with a drug company interested in certain specifics that are said to be obtainable in the wilds along the Amazon River. So we’ll all go together.”’

‘““That’s splendid!’’? cried Don enthusiastically. ‘‘Now if we could only get Teddy to come along, we’d have the same party that we had on our Sahara trip.’’

““It would be great,’? agreed the captain. ‘“Teddy’s a fine boy, and I’d like nothing better than to have him along. But the last time I saw Mr. Allison he said that Teddy would have to devote himself to school studies for some time to come to make up for what he lost while he was in Africa. So we’ll have to count Teddy out of it this time.’’

Uncle and nephew talked for a few minutes longer, and then the captain left to attend to his correspondence. Don spent a little time finishing the work he was doing, and then went into the house to wash himself.

He was passing the living room door when he heard the shrill voice of Jennie Jenks, the maid of all work, in voluble conversation with Mrs. Roscoe, the housekeeper. He glanced in. Mrs. Roscoe, a pleasant, rather good-looking woman, was sitting in a rocking chair. Jennie stood by a table, occasionally shifting a wad of chewing gum from one side of her mouth to the other, while she excitedly poured out her story.

‘<T tell you I heard it, as sure as I’m standin’ here, Mrs. Roscoe. I was comin’ in from hangin’ up the clothes, an’ as I passed the garage I heard the cap’n sayin’ to Mister Don that he was goin’ to get a lot of big snakes, Golcondas, I think it was he called ’em, an’ I want to say one thing and that ain’t two, that if he brings any of them big slimy things into this here house I’m goin’ to pack up and get out jest as sure as my name’s Jennie Jenks. I never could abide them horrid things, an’ it gives me the cold shivers even to think—’’

Just then Don gave a loud hiss, and Jennie jumped so convulsively that she swallowed her gum and choked so that Mrs. Roscoe had to thump her on the back.

“‘Oh, Mister Don, what a start you did give me!’’ said Jennie reproachfully, as soon as she could get her breath.

‘‘Never mind, Jennie, [’ll get you a new stick of gum,’’ said Don, with a grin.

‘‘Wasn’t it the truth I was tellin’ Mrs. Roscoe about them Goleondas?’’ Jennie appealed to Don for corroboration.

‘¢Call them anacondas and it’s the truth all right,’’? agreed Don. ‘‘We hope to bring home a lot of them.’’

‘Bring home!’’ shrieked Jennie. ‘‘Oh, the awful things! To have them crawlin’ around and likely enough step on them. I suppose the dratted things are as big as that old black snake that tried to climb into the buggy, when me and Dan Bixby was goin’ to the county fair???

“‘Let’s see, that was about four feet long, wasn’t it?’’ asked Don casually.

‘‘Dan killed the critter, an’ said it was all of five feet long when it was stretched out,’’ replied Jennie.

‘‘Well,’’ said Don, ‘‘the Golecondas, as you call them, are sometimes twenty-five or thirty feet long.’’

* Jennie showed all the symptoms of having a “fit.

‘<And as thick,’’ continued Don, casting his eyes around the room, ‘‘as one of those piano legs over there.’’

Ps

‘‘Heaven have mercy on us!’’ gasped Jennie.

‘We might put them up in the attic,’”’ teased Don. ‘‘They won’t be likely to bother you much. They sleep a good deal of the time, especially after they’ve eaten a whole goat or sheep. Jt would only be when they got real hungry again that they might roam over the house. Then, of course, they might snap you up if you got in the way. They could swallow you as easily as you swallowed the gum—more so, in fact, for they wouldn’t choke while they were doing it.’

Jennie by this time was almost past speech.

‘“‘Of course, you might have a chance even then,’’ Don went on, winking at Mrs. Roscoe. ‘You know the whale swallowed Jonah, and he came out again all right. It might be an interesting experience.”’

‘“‘Now, Mister Don, quit your fooling,’’ admonished the good-natured housekeeper. ‘‘Jennie will be having hysterics if you keep this U ges

Don went up the broad staircase to his room, took a bath and replaced his overalls with his ordinary clothes. When he went downstairs he found his uncle standing by the window in the living room.

“Got anything special on hand, Don?’’ the captain asked.

‘‘Nothing but what can wait,’’? was the answer. ‘‘Is there anything you want me to do for you?’’

‘‘T’d like to have you go over to Mr. Thompson’s for me, if you don’t mind. There are some business papers that I should like to have him sign.’’

‘*T’ll be glad to go,’? said Don, and he took the documents his uncle handed to him. ‘‘I’ve been working pretty hard on the ear all morning, and I feel like taking a good walk.’’

The boy started out at a brisk gait, rejoicing in the bright sunshine, which was all the more welcome because of the heavy rains which had fallen during the two days preceding. The air had been washed clean and was fresh and inspiring, the dust of the road had been laid, and the grass and foliage of the trees were a vivid green. It was one of the days when it is good to be alive.

About half a mile from the house ran a creek which abounded with fish, and where Don had spent many happy hours with rod and reel. It was not very deep, except in spots, and ordinarily ran along placidly.

But as Don neared it that day, he noted that it had become a raging torrent. The heavy rains had swollen it to an unusual height, and the water was rushing through the narrow channel like a millrace and with a roar like that of an angry beast.

An exclamation of surprise broke from the lips of the youth.

‘‘Never saw it as bad as that before,’’ he said to himself. ‘‘There must have been a cloudburst up in the mountains. I’d hate to be in it at this minute. No one could fight against that current.’’

He hurried on to look at the unusual spectacle. i The path that he had been traveling ran almost parallel with the course of the stream, and he had only a few rods to go before he was on the bank of the angry torrent.

A little distance upstream a huge tree trunk bridged the creek, which at that point was about twenty feet wide. It was frequently used by the people of the vicinity as a convenient method of getting from one side to the other, for the nearest real bridge was more than half a mile below. Don himself had often crossed by way of the tree in the course of his fishing excursions.

He was glad that he did not have to cross it that day, for the spray had drenched it and made it exceedingly slippery. Ordinarily this condition would not have greatly mattered, for a fall would have meant little more than a wetting. But a fall into this welter of waves and foam—the boy shuddered a little as he thought of it.

Absorbed in watching the tumbling waters, Don had not noticed the approach of a boy and girl on the other side of the stream. Only when they were almost on the edge of the bank did his eyes catch sight of them.

The girl, he noticed, was pretty, with sparkling blue eyes, wavy brown hair and a graceful figure. But what immediately fixed his attention and stirred him to pity was the painfully crippled boy, who walked with difficulty by the aid of a crutch, dragging one leg behind him as though it were partly paralyzed.

‘““Poor fellow,’’? thought Don, as he tried to realize what it would mean to himself if he were so afflicted.

The pity he felt gave way almost instantly to a thrill of alarm, as the girl ran gayly forward and stepped on the slippery tree trunk, with the evident intention of crossing the creek.

‘Emily! Emily, come back! You'll fall!’’ cried her companion, hobbling toward the edge of the bank.

‘Oh, no, I shan’t’’? she called back, as she took a few more steps. ‘‘I’ve crossed it a hundred times before.’’

‘*Please, please come back!’’ cried the erippled boy, in a tone frenzied with anxiety.

She was nearly a third of the way over by, this time, but the urgency in her companion’s tone seemed to swerve her from her purpose, and she turned to go back. In turning her foot slipped, and the next instant she had fallen into the raging waters.

A ery of anguish rose from her companion as he saw her disappear, and he dragged himself forward frantically with the evident design of plunging after her, though in his condition he could render no help and would almost certainly have himself been drowned.

‘“Wait!’’ shouted Don, who had thrown off his coat and was racing to the spot.

‘‘Oh, save her!’’ cried the boy. ‘‘She’s my sister! Save her!’’ |

‘<T’ll try to!’’ cried Don, and plunged headlong into the torrent.

CHAPTER II A Terriric STRUGGLE

Don rose to the surface after his dive. He shook his head to clear the water from his eyes and looked about him. For a moment he could distinguish nothing in the tumult of waters. Then his heart leaped; he had caught sight of the girl being carried on by the resistless force of the current.

But even as he looked she disappeared, to come to the surface considerably farther down the stream.

He struck out vigorously in her direction, with a muttered prayer that he might be in time. He was a powerful swimmer, and the current aided him. But that same current was also hurrying the girl along unpityingly.

It was evident that she could not swim, although her hands were beating the torrent frantically in an effort to keep her head above water. He caught one glimpse of a despairing face turned toward him, and the sight put new power into his strokes.

‘‘Hurry, oh, hurry!’’ shouted the crippled boy, who was hobbling along the bank as fast as he could, trying to keep pace with Don. ‘‘She’s gone down twice already. Hurry! Hurry!’’

Don needed no urging. Every ounce of strength that he had was being exerted. He had gained considerably. Would he reach her before she went down for the last time?

Nearer and nearer he came, his arms working like piston rods. He could see that she was again sinking. Her head was gradually submerged, until only her long hair streaming behind her was showing.

He made a superhuman effort and fairly leaped forward. Reaching out with his right hand, he caught one of the strands of her hair. He held on to it desperately, and drew her head above the surface of the water.

His exertions had tired him badly, and his lungs felt as though they would burst, while his breath came in gasps. But he held on to his burden tightly with one hand, while he kept himself up with the other.

She was conscious, but too far gone to struggle, which was fortunate, for had she grasped him it might have meant the end for both of them. He got one of her arms over his shoulder, and held it there with his left hand, while with the other he tried to make his way to the bank.

It was hard work to make his course across the rushing current, encumbered as he was, and it might have fared badly with them both had he not been able to grasp the overhanging branch of a tree. He held on to this until he got some of his strength back, and then painfully and slowly succeeded in making his way to the shore.

The crippled boy was waiting for them, and, bending down, took most of the weight of his sister from Don. Then Don climbed up on the bank, and together they lifted the girl and laid. her on the grass.

She was pale and weak, but still conscious, and she tried to summon up a wan little smile of gratitude as they chafed her wrists and hands to get her blood circulating freely. Soon they were able to lift her to a sitting position and prop her against a tree.

Her brother fairly wept with relief.

‘“‘Oh, Emily, Emily!’’ he exclaimed, as he patted her hands. ‘‘Oh, but I’m glad that you’re safe! What if you had been drowned! And how can we thank you enough?’’ he added, turning to Don. ‘‘You were awfully brave to go in after her.’’

“Oh, that was nothing,’’ said Don, somewhat embarrassed, not only by the boy’s words but by the look of gratitude in the eyes of the girl. ‘‘Any one else that happened along would have done the same thing.’’

A Terrific Struggle as)

The girl shook her head at this and tried to speak, but Don stopped her. .

‘“Don’t try to say anything,’’ he said gently. ‘Wait till you get your strength back. Do you live far from here?’’ he asked, turning to the boy.

““Only about a quarter of a mile,’’ was the reply. ‘‘In the old Turner place. My name is Fred Turner, and this is my sister, Emily.’’

**Oh, yes,’’ said Don. ‘‘I’ve often heard of you, though I’ve never met you before. My name is Don Sturdy.’’

“Don Sturdy!’’ exclaimed the boy, with quickened interest. ‘‘Are you the fellow that had such wonderful adventures in the Sahara Desert?’’

‘¢Why, I don’t know as I’d call them wonderful,’’ replied Don, flushing a little uneasily, as he always did when any one referred to his exploits, ‘‘but I have just got back from there with my two uncles.”’’

‘¢Oh, I have heard all about you,”’ cried Fred Turner with a look akin to hero worship in his eyes. ‘‘Gee, I don’t wonder now at your pluck in saving my sister!’’

‘sWe ought to get your sister home as soon as possible,’’ said Don hastily. ‘‘Then your mother can look after her and put her to bed.

It wouldn’t be a bad thing, either, to send for a doctor.’’

‘We haven’t any mother,’’ the boy answered sadly. ‘‘An aunt of ours keeps house for us.”’

**Oh, I'm sorry,’’ said Don. ‘‘But, anyway, we ought to get your sister home. Do you feel able to walk?’’? he asked, turning to the girl.

She nodded, and with Don’s assistance rose to her feet. But her limbs refused to support her, and she sank down again.

Don was perplexed.

“‘T’ll run home and get our ear,’’ he said. **Tt won’t take me long, and I'll get back in a jiffy. But wait!’’ he added, as he heard the hum of an automobile on the road. ‘‘Here comes a car now. I'll stop it and see if we can get a lift.’’

He ran out to the road and signaled for the rapidly approaching ear to stop. It did so promptly, and it was with great satisfaction that Don recognized in the driver the very Mr. Thompson whom his uncle had sent him to see. He was a big genial man, a lawyer who transacted a good deal of Captain Sturdy’s legal business.

‘**Hello, Don!*? he exclaimed, as he looked in surprise at his drenched and clinging garments. ‘*What on earth have you been doing? Taking a swim with your clothes on? You leek like a drowned rat.’

“‘T suppose I do,’’ laughed Don. ‘‘But look here, Mr. Thompson. There’s a girl here who fell into the water, and she needs to get home in a hurry. Will you give us a lift?”’

“To be sure I will,’’ replied Mr. Thompson, with ready sympathy, as he climbed out of the car. ‘‘Where is she?”’

Don led the way to the bank of the creek.

While he and Mr. Thompson are helping the girl and her crippled brother into the automobile, it may be well for the benefit of those who have not read the preceding volume of this series to tell just who Don was and what had been his adventures up to the time this story. opens.

Don Sturdy was a tall, muscular boy, fourteen years old, living in the old Sturdy stone house at Hillville, about fifty miles from New York City. He had brown hair and eyes of the same color, a fair complexion, a frank, handsome face and a likable smile. He was generally liked by boys of his age, and excelled in outdoor sports, such as baseball and football, besides being a crack shot.

His father, Richard Sturdy, had been an explorer of note, and on his last trip had taken with him his wife, Alice, and Don’s only sister, Ruth, two years younger than Don, and to whom the lad was devotedly attached. They went on the exploring ship Mercury, which mysteriously disappeared while on a trip around Cape Horn, South America. She was supposed to have been sunk, and to have c¢arried down with her all her passengers and crew.

The blow was a terrible one to Don, who seemed at one blow to have been deprived of all the members of his immediate family. For many months he cherished the hope that somewhere they were still alive, but as time went on without any news of the missing ones, this hope grew more and more slender. Still he never abandoned it entirely, and the one purpose of his life was to find them, if they were still alive.

Though apparently an orphan, he had two staunch friends and protectors left in his two uncles, Captain Frank Sturdy, brother of Richard Sturdy, and Professor Amos Regor Bruce, brother of Don’s mother.

Captain Sturdy, who had never married, was a noted big game hunter, a large, powerful man with swarthy skin and black eyes that could flash with merriment or grow terrible with anger. He had traveled all over the world, gathering animals dead and alive for museums and menageries. He was a dead shot, and Don’s own expertness with the rifle had been gained under the tutelage of his Uncle Frank, who was at the same time his guardian.

Professor Bruce, also a bachelor, was of a different type, rather small in build with gray eyes and gray hair. He was a very learned man, an eminent archeologist with degrees from many universities, and spent most of his time in collecting specimens of ancient life and art for museums and learned societies.

_ All three, when at home, lived in the Sturdy mansion, which was taken care of by a rather elderly couple, Mr. and Mrs. Dan Roscoe, the former acting as man of all work about the place while Mrs. Roscoe attended to the housekeeping, helped by the maid, Jennie Jenks, whose gum-chewing proclivities have already been noted.

Both the captain and the professor had, a short time before, been called to go to Algeria in fulfillment of contracts they had with the International Museum and Menagerie Collection Corporation, with their main offices in New York and branch establishments in London and Paris.

They had taken Don with them, largely to keep his mind from brooding over the loss of his parents and sister. They had scarcely reached Tuggurt in Algeria, before they found adventure thickening about them. Don rescued an American boy of about his own age, Teddy Allison—commonly called Brick because of his red hair—from natives who were attacking him, and learned that Mr. Allison, Teddy’s father, had been carried away by Arabs in a raid on his caravan, with which he had gone into the Sahara Desert to search for a cave of emeralds reputed to be located somewhere in the Hoggar Plateau.

The plight of the boy enlisted the sympathy of Don and his uncles, and they planned an automobile expedition into the desert to rescue Mr. Allison, if he were yet alive.

They went through many perils and exciting adventures, and more than once found themselves face to face with death. How they suffered from thirst and sand.storms, what battles they had with bandits, how gallantly Don bore himself among dangers that might have appalled the bravest, and the news Don learned that gave new life and hope in the search for his parents—all these and more are narrated in the first volume of this series, entitled: *“‘Don Sturdy on the Desert of Mystery; or, Autoing in the Land of the Caravans.’’

And now to return to the girl who owed her life to Don’s coolness and courage.

They had helped her into Mr. Thompson’s ear and her crippled brother after her when Don suddenly remembered his coat on the other side of the creek.

**Just a second, Mr. Thompson,”’’ he said, as he ran to the tree trunk that crossed the stream.

“‘T have some papers in that coat that Uncle Frank wanted me to give to you.’’

‘““You’re taking chances on that slippery trunk,’’? warned Mr. Thompson.

“‘T know it,’’ laughed Don. ‘‘But I haven’t time to go down to the bridge. I’ll take a chance.”’

Luck was with the boy, and he was back in a few minutes, with the coat. Then Mr. Thompson started the automobile, followed the road indicated by Fred, and in a short time they were at the Turner house.

There were exclamations of alarm from the young folks’ aunt, Miss Mary Turner, when she saw the pale face and wet clothes of her niece. But the others speedily reassured her and helped the girl into the house, where her aunt promptly put her to bed, while Fred, going to the telephone, called up the family doctor, who promised to come as soon as possible.

‘‘Well,’? said Mr. Thompson, when, having done all he could, he prepared to go, ‘‘I guess I'll be getting along. By the way, Don,’’ he added, with a twinkle in his eye, ‘‘you told me of the girl falling into the creek, but you didn’t say how she got out.’’

‘“‘You see that she’s out all right, don’t you?’’ countered Don, with a smile.

‘“‘Thanks to you, yes,’’? was the reply.

‘‘Her brother told me all about it, while you were getting your coat. And I’m going to tell Frank Sturdy, when I see him next, that he’s lucky in having such a nephew! But I must go on. Don’t you want to come with me, Don? I'll drop you at your house.”’

But Don had taken an instant liking to Fred Turner and felt deep sympathy for him. He had the feeling that he would like to stay and talk to the boy, so he said:

“‘Thank you, Mr. Thompson; but I think [Il stay here with Fred a little while.’’

Mr. Thompson left, and the two boys were alone together, as Miss Mary Turner was still upstairs with Emily.

Fred Turner seemed to be about the same age as Don. Nature had given him a good frame and had evidently designed that he should be strong and tall, but her designs had been thwarted by his affliction. The lack of exercise showed in his thin face and slender arms. The face, however, though marked with suffering, was keen and intelligent, and the expression was frank and open.

**Tt seemed a miracle that you should have come along just when you did. And you had nerve to plunge in after Emily!’’ Fred said fervently. ‘‘I’m sure thankful to you. It was sie to see her there and not be able to help

er,”

““You had just as much nerve as I had,’’ replied Don. ‘‘You were going in after her, if I hadn’t stopped you.’’

“¢Oh, I’d have gone in,’’ admitted Fred. ‘‘I’d rather have died with her than have gone on living without her. She’s all I’ve got in the world, for somehow or other one can’t get very, near to Aunt Mary. But what good could I have done, anyway? I’m no good with this crippled leg of mine,’’ he ended, with a touch of bitterness in his tone.

“You mustn’t talk that way,’’? admonished Don gently. ‘‘There’s lots in life for you, even if you are lame. That may be cured after a while. Was it the result of an accident?’’

‘‘No,’? answered Fred. ‘‘It started years ago with an attack of infantile paralysis. Then there were complications that the doctors didn’t seem to understand. If my father had only lived—’’

He broke off and sat staring moodily before him. Don’s heart was full of pity for the unfortunate boy, so handicapped in the race of life.

‘“‘Tf my father had only lived,’’ Fred repeated, rousing himself, ‘‘I might have had some chance of being cured. He was a scientist, interested specially in chemistry, and he had heard of a drug in South America that was reported to have worked wonderful cures for natives whose trouble seemed to be like mine. He was planning to go for that special purpose to Brazil—”’

‘*Brazil!’? interrupted Don. ‘*‘Why, that’s where I’m going a few weeks from now. And what’s more,’’ he added, as another thought struck him, ‘‘my Uncle Amos is going there ona special hunt for rare drugs. Perhaps he'll find the one your father wanted. By ginger, Fred, maybe we'll cure you yet!’