The Orphan by Robert Stallman Read Free Book Online Page B

voice is getting smaller, almost a whisper. He is falling asleep.
    “And then what?” Gus is still sitting up.
    “And then you get the old lady for bait,” Rusty whispers.
    “How d’ye mean?”
    There is no answer. Rusty is asleep.
    “You really thinking about robbing a farm?” Tommy whispers from his place beside Rusty.
    “Nah, nah. Go to sleep,” Gus says. He shakes his big shaggy head. “I’m gettin’ tired of sleeping in the dirt is all.”
    I listen for a time, but the only other sound is the old man coughing and coughing.
    ***
    In the world of animals, reflexes are the ticket to each night’s life. The mouse must move at great speed to escape the owl, the ferret, the cat; and they in turn, are operating far above anything a human set of reflexes could match. The human must be excited by adrenalin to nearly a mindless state before his responses can even come within range of those of most animals. The snake also, much admired for the speed of his strike, is relatively slow in comparison with the rapid reflexes of some mammals. The morning Robert was collecting eggs and heard the rattler as he reached into a nest box, we could have sustained a painful and poisonous injury. But my reflexes responded before Robert even fully heard the rattle, and when the snake struck it was at my fast disappearing paw, not Robert’s slow little hand. The snake, extended almost out of the nest box by its awkward strike, is easy to pluck out of the air with my other claw, even as the basket of eggs is smashing on the floor. One quick bite behind the flat head finishes it off. I do not like snakes, to eat or to look at, but they are no danger to me unless I am completely off guard, say if I were to lie down on one. It occurs to me as I dispose of the rattler that there might be more of them about, but before I can look or sniff around, I hear the farmer coming and must shift.
    “What is that, boy?” Martin said, staring at the snake Robert was dragging. Carrying a full pail of milk in each hand, he set them down so quickly that the foamy milk slopped out onto the ground.
    “I found it by the chicken house,” Robert said, holding it up as it continued to coil and uncoil. “I think it’s dead, but it’s still winding up.”
    “That’s a rattlesnake,” Martin said, picking the mottled snake from Robert’s hand. “Don’t see them very often around here. Hey!” He looked at the head which hung by a few shreds of muscle where I had neatly bitten through the spine. “Looks like a dog did a job on this fella.” He held the snake up admiringly. “Must have been Biff. Look at the size of those tooth marks.”
    Listening, I feel disgust. As if that stupid old Shepherd could have even caught the snake, much less have done such a neat job on it. Robert was aware, of course, of the truth, and aware too that there were probably more snakes in the area. “I thought I saw another one in that pile of straw in the corner of the chicken house, but I’m not real sure.”
    The farmer knotted his brows together so that his eyes almost disappeared. He tossed the snake away into the weeds. “Well, we’d better see about that. Part of that old chicken house floor’s just dirt. Could have a bunch of them living in there for the eggs.” He smiled down at Robert. “These snakes are dangerous, you know. So I want you to keep out of the chicken house until we find out if there’s any more in there.”
    “I broke a bunch of eggs,” Robert said, holding up the pail.
    Martin took the pail from him and set it down. He picked Robert up and swung him high in the air, grinning the whole time. “We can throw the eggs to the hogs, but we want you without a bunch of tooth marks in you, son.”
    Later, Robert watched from the doorway of the chicken house, for Martin would not allow the little boy to come in while he lifted old planks out of the hard-packed dirt that formed the uneven floor. All the chickens had been herded outside into the run