"Look to my horse!" cried Hardwicke.

"See that he is not bitten!" and then he slowly walked over to where a dozen menials, with heavy clubs, had beaten the writhing cobra into a shapeless mass.
"Come away, all of you!" cried the captain, in Hindustanee.

"Run, some of you, and get the snake catcher!" Doctor McMorris, arriving on the gallop, had reported the absolute safety of the frightened girl, when Harry Hardwicke, leaning on his sheathed sword, watched a slim, glittering-eyed Hindu, followed by a boy bearing an earthen pot, who had noiselessly reconnoitered the vicinity of the great tree.

The boy most keenly watched all the movements of his white-robed master, who, drawing a little fife from his red cummerbund sash, began to play a shrill, weird tune.

A frightened household coterie watched from a safe distance the thirty-foot circle of herbage around the shade of the giant tree trunk.