MARTIN RATTLER. 193

As he spoke, the savage referred to lowered the
pole, which seemed to be about thirteen feet long,
and pushing an arrow into a hole in the end of it,
applied it to his mouth. In another moment the
arrow flew through the air and grazed a bird that
was sitting on a branch hard by.

“’Tis a blow-pipe, and no mistake!” cried Barney.

“And a poisoned arrow, I’m quite sure,” added
Martin ; “for it only ruffled the bird’s feathers, and
see, it has fallen to the ground.”

“Och, then, but we’d have stood a bad chance in a
fight, if thim’s the wipons they use. Och, the dirty
spalpeens! Martin, dear, we’re done for. There’s no
chance for us at all.”

This impression seemed to take such deep hold of
Barney’s mind, that his usually reckless and half jest-
ing disposition was completely subdued, and he walked
along in gloomy silence, while a feeling of deep de-
jection filled the heart of his young companion.

The blow-pipe which these Indians use is an in-
geniously contrived weapon. It is made from a species
of palm-tree. When an Indian wants one, he goes
into the woods and selects a tree with a long slender
stem of Jess than an inch in diameter. He extracts
the pith out of this; and then cuts another stem, so

much larger than the first that he can push the small
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