There lay the rusty key, just visible through the lurid smoke glare.

But not ten inches away from the far side of it coiled a moccasin, head poised threateningly as the box grazed it under Gavin's sharp heave.
Stooping, Brice snatched up a great bunch of the flaming paper and flung it on the serpent's shining coils.

In practically the same gesture he reached with lightning quickness for the key.
By a few inches he had missed his hurried aim for the moccasin.

He had intended the handful of fire to land on the floor just in front of it, thus causing it to shrink back.
Instead the burning particles had fallen stingingly among its coils.
The snake twisted its arrow-shaped head as if to see what had befallen it.

Then catching sight of Brice's swooping hand it struck.
But the glance backward and the incredibly quick withdrawal of the man's hand combined to form the infinitesimal space which separated Gavin from agonizing death.