in that windless air.

Giving it a good start, he touched the point of flame to the
piled jute and paper in front of him. It caught in an
instant. Still holding the lighted match, he repeated this
ticklish process time after time, tossing handfuls of the
blazing stuff down onto the floor at his side.

In two minutes more he had a gayly-flaming pile of inflammable
material burning high there. Its gleam lightened every inch
of the gloomy room. It brought out into hideous clearness the
writhing dark bodies of the crawling moccasins, even to the
patches of white at their lips which gave them their sinister
name of "cottonmouths." Fat and short and horrible to look
upon, they were, as they slithered and twisted here and there
along the bright-lit floor or coiled and hissed at sight of
the flame and of the fast plying hand and arm of the captive
just above them.

But Brice had scant eyes or heed for them. Now that his blaze
was started past danger of easy extinction. he plunged both
hands again into the box. And now. two handfuls at a time.
he began to cast forth more and more of the stuffing.

With careful aim he threw it. Presently there was a wide line
of jute and paper extending from the main blaze across to the
next box. Then another began to pile up in an opposite
direction, toward the door. The fire ran greedily along these
two lines of fuel.