"Sure! D'ye see that little copper-colored cuss down there in the
corner, not more'n a foot long? If he got a crack at you, you'd not live
ten seconds."

"Well, I will take deuced good care that he gets no nip at me," declared
Chick, with a grin. "Why do they have such dangerous things around?"

"H'm! What would be the excitement, or the credit of snake charming, if
the wriggling beasts were made harmless by pulling out their fangs?"
demanded the stage hand. "It would be like a dog fight, with the dogs
muzzled. These belong to that heathen Hindoo, the snake charmer. He
shows next."

"Pandu Singe?" inquired Chick, glancing at the name on the program.

"Sure. He handles 'em like so many babies. There he is now, just coming
from his dressing room. He looks a bit like a snake himself."

Chick turned and gazed curiously at the approaching foreigner.

Pandu Singe was a tall, swarthy man, with straight, black hair, an
Indian cast of features, and a pair of intensely black and piercing
eyes. Their glitter was indeed like that in the eyes of a snake, yet the
Hindoo, approaching without a word to anybody, or a glance to either
side, was not without a certain sort of savage dignity.

He wore a red turban around his head, while a loose, black robe, belted
around his waist, reached nearly to his ankles. With a gesture he signed
the several men away from his hideous den of reptiles, and Chick retired