and throw it away, and then skin the body and roast a piece of it.  I done it, and he eat it and said it would help cure him. He made me take off the rattles and tie them around his wrist, too.  He said that that would help.  Then I slid out quiet and throwed the snakes clear away amongst the bushes; for I warn't going to let Jim find out it was all my fault, not if I could help it. Jim sucked and sucked at the jug, and now and then he got out of his head and pitched around and yelled; but every time he come to himself he went to sucking at the jug again.  His foot swelled up pretty big, and so did his leg; but by and by the drunk begun to come, and so I judged he was all right; but I'd druther been bit with a snake than pap's whisky. Jim was laid up for four days and nights.  Then the swelling was all gone and he was around again.  I made up my mind I wouldn't ever take a-holt of a snake-skin again with my hands, now that I see what had come of it. Jim said he reckoned I would believe him next time.  And he said that handling a snake-skin was such awful bad luck that maybe we hadn't got to the end of it yet.  He said he druther see the new moon over his left shoulder as much as a thousand times than take up a snake-skin in his hand.  Well, I was getting to feel that way myself, though I've always reckoned that looking at the new moon over your left shoulder is one of the carelessest and foolishest things a body can do.  Old Hank Bunker done it once, and bragged about it; and in less than two years he got drunk and fell off of the shot-tower, and spread himself out so that he was just a kind of a layer, as you may say; and they slid him edgeways between two barn doors for a coffin, and buried him so, so they say, but I didn't see it.  Pap told me.  But anyway it all come of looking at the moon that way, like a fool. Well, the days went along, and the river went down between its banks again; and about the first thing we done was to bait one of the big hooks with