Grizzle, who was fresh and frolicsome after the long rest and regular feeding, suddenly broke away from the halter, cut some awkward capers, then bolting out, careered at full gallop straight for the marsh.
In vain we called him by name. Fritz would even have rushed after him, had not I held him back. In another moment the ass was close to the thicket, and with the cold shudder of horror, we beheld the snake rear itself from its lair, the fiery eyes glanced around, the dark deadly jaws opened widely, the forked tongue darted greedily forth—poor Grizzle's fate was sealed.
Becoming aware on a sudden of his danger, he stopped short, spread out all four legs, and set up the most piteous and discordant bray that ever wrung echo from rocks.
Swift and straight as a fencer's thrust, the destroyer was upon him, wound round him, entangled, enfolded, compressed him, all the while cunningly avoiding the convulsive kicks of the agonized animal.
A cry of horror arose from the spectators of this miserable tragedy.
“Shoot him, father! oh, shoot him—do save poor Grizzle!”
“My children, it is impossible!” cried I. “Our old friend is lost to us for ever! I have hopes, however, that when gorged with his prey, we may be able to attack the snake with some chance of success.”
“But the horrible wretch is never going to swallow him all at once, father?” cried Jack. “That will be too shocking!”
“Snakes have no grinders, but only fangs, therefore they cannot chew their food, and must swallow it whole. But although the idea is startling, it is not really more shocking than the rending, tearing and shedding of blood which occurs when lions and tigers seize their prey.”
“But,” said Franz, “how can the snake separate the flesh from the bones without teeth? And is this kind of snake poisonous?”
