The sun had set when we reached our garden and went down the draw toward the house. Otto Fuchs was the first one we met. He was sitting on the edge of the cattle-pond, having a quiet pipe before supper. Antonia called him to come quick and look. He did not say anything for a minute, but scratched his head and turned the snake over with his boot.
‘Where did you run onto that beauty, Jim?’
‘Up at the dog-town,’ I answered laconically.
‘Kill him yourself? How come you to have a weepon?’
‘We’d been up to Russian Peter’s, to borrow a spade for Ambrosch.’
Otto shook the ashes out of his pipe and squatted down to count the rattles. ‘It was just luck you had a tool,’ he said cautiously. ‘Gosh! I wouldn’t want to do any business with that fellow myself, unless I had a fence-post along. Your gr
