lightning-like rapidity, hitting the ranger just above the wrist-bone.
With a startled exclamation the ranger drew up his arm. As he did so, a
huge rattler glided away through the brush.

Charley turned at the ranger's cry. He comprehended the situation at a
glance. "Quick!" he cried, springing to the ranger's side. "Give me your
arm."

He jerked back the ranger's sleeve, disclosing two dark spots on the back
of the wrist where the fangs had punctured the skin. Drops of blood were
oozing from them. Charley whipped out his knife and without hesitation
drew the keen blade several times across the ranger's wrist. Blood began
to flow down the hand. Putting his lips to the wound, Charley sucked out
mouthful after mouthful of blood, which he spat on the ground.

"Now squeeze your wrist tight just above the bite," said Charley. "Stop
the circulation of blood if you can."

Like a flash Charley picked up the dog leash and tied an end of it around
the ranger's arm, close to the shoulder, drawing it so tight that the
ranger winced. He cut the dangling end and took a second turn just above
the ranger's elbow. Then he made a third turn half-way down the forearm.
With little sticks he twisted the cords still tighter. Then he jerked out
his hypodermic syringe, which he carried already filled with fluid, and
thrusting the needle into the bleeding arm, injected the permanganate into
the wound.

Meantime, the ranger stood silent, his face pale, his jaws set
courageously. "Where did you learn to do all that?" he finally asked
Charley, with evident admiration. "You go about it like a doctor."