按键盘上方向键 ← 或 → 可快速上下翻页，按键盘上的 Enter 键可回到本书目录页，按键盘上方向键 ↑ 可回到本页顶部！
————未阅读完？加入书签已便下次继续阅读！
and a large snake； beautifully diamonded in dark and pale brown； zigzagged purposefully across the black mud towards the man。
Bond watched； fascinated。 He guessed it was a boa of the Epicrates family； attracted by the smell of blood。 It was perhaps five feet long and quite harmless to man。 Bond wondered if Scaramanga would know this。 He was immediately put out of his doubt。 Scaramanga's expression had not changed； but his right hand crept softly down his trouser leg； gently pulled up the cuff； and removed a thin； stiletto…style knife from the side of his short Texan boot。 Then he waited； the knife held ready across his stomach； not clenched in his fist； but pointed in the flick…knife fashion。 The snake paused for a moment a few yards from the man and raised its head high to give him a final inspection。 The forked tongue licked out inquisitively； again and again； then； still with its head held above the ground； it moved slowly forward。
Not a muscle moved in Scaramanga's face。 Only the eyes were dead…steady； watchful slits。 The snake came into the shadow of his trouser leg and moved slowly up towards the glistening shirt。 Suddenly the tongue of steel that lay across Scaramanga's stomach came to life and leaped。 It transfixed the head of the snake exactly in the centre of the brain and pierced through it； pinning it to the ground and holding it there while the powerful body thrashed wildly； seeking a grip on the mangrove roots； on Scaramanga's arm。 But immediately； when it had a grip； its convulsions released its coils which flailed off in another direction。
The death struggles diminished and finally ceased altogether。 The snake lay motionless。 Scaramanga was careful。 He ran his hand down the full length of the snake。 Only the tip of the tail lashed briefly。 Scaramanga extracted the knife from the head of the snake； cut off its head with a single hard stroke； and threw it； after reflection； accurately towards a crab hole。 He waited； watching； to see if a crab would e out and take it。 None did。 The thud of the arrival of the snake's head would have kept any crab underground for many minutes； however enticing the scent of what had made the thud。
James Bond； kneeling in the bush； watched all this； every nuance of it； with the most careful attention。 Each one of Scaramanga's actions； every fleeting expression on his face； had been an index of the man's awareness of his aliveness。 The whole episode of the snake was as revealing as a temperature chart or a lie detector。 In Bond's judgment； Scaramanga； for all his blood…letting and internal injuries； was still very much alive。 He was still a most formidable and dangerous man。
Scaramanga； his task satisfactorily pleted； minutely shifted his position； and； once again； made his penetrating examination of the surrounding bush。
As Scaramanga's gaze swept by him without a flicker； Bond blessed the darkness of his suit…a black patch of shadow among so many others。 In the sharp blacks and whites from the midday sun； Bond was well camouflaged。
Satisfied； Scaramanga picked up the limp body of the snake； laid it across his stomach； and carefully slit it down its underside as far as the anal vent。 Then he scoured it and carefully etched the skin away from the red…veined flesh with the precise flicks and cuts of a surgeon。 Every scrap of unwanted reptile he threw towards crab holes； and； with each throw； a flicker of annoyance crossed the granite face that no one would e and pick up the crumbs from the rich man's table。 When the meal was ready； he once again scanned the bush； and then； very carefully； coughed and spat into his hand。 He examined the results and flung his hand sideways。 On the black ground； the sputum made a bright pink scrawl。 The cough didn't seem to hurt him or cause him much effort。 Bond guessed that his bullet had hit Scaramanga in the right chest and had missed a lung by a fraction。 There was haemorrhage and Scaramanga was a hospital case； but the blood…soaked shirt was not telling the whole truth。
Satisfied with his inspection of his surroundings； Scaramanga bit into the body of the snake and was at once； like a dog with its meal； absorbed by his hunger and thirst for the blood and juices of the snake。
Bond had the impression that if he now came forward from his hiding place Scaramanga； like a dog； would bare his teeth in a furious snarl。 He got quietly up from his knees； took out his gun； and； his eyes watching Scaramanga's hands； strolled out into the centre of the little clearing。
Bond was mistaken。 Scaramanga did not snarl。 He barely looked up from the cut…off length of snake in his two hands and； his mouth full of meat； said； 〃You've been a long while ing。 Care to share my meal？〃
〃No thanks。 I prefer my snake grilled with hot butter sauce。 Just keep on eating。 I like to see both hands occupied。〃
Scaramanga sneered。 He gestured at his blood…stained shirt。 〃Frightened of a dying man？ You limeys e pretty soft。〃
〃The dying man handled that snake quite efficiently。 Got any more weapons on you？〃 Scaramanga moved to undo his coat。 〃Steady！ No quick movements。 Just show your belt； armpits； pat the thighs inside and out。 I'd do it myself only I don't want what the snake got。 And while you're about it； just toss the knife into the trees。 Toss。 No throwing； if you don't mind。 My trigger finger's been getting a bit edgy today。 Seems to want to go about its business on its own。 Wouldn't like it to take over。 Yet； that is。〃
Scaramanga； with a flick of his wrist； tossed the knife into the air。 The sliver of steel spun like a wheel in the sunshine。 Bond had to step aside。 The knife pierced the mud where Bond had been standing and stood upright。 Scaramanga gave a harsh laugh。 The laugh turned into a cough。 The gaunt face contorted painfully。 Too painfully？ Scaramanga spat red； but not all that red。 There could be only slight haemorrhage。 Perhaps a broken rib or two。 Scaramanga could be out of hospital in a couple of weeks。 Scaramanga put down his piece of snake and did exactly as Bond had told him； all the while watching Bond's face with his usual cold； arrogant stare。 He finished and picked up the piece of snake and began gnawing it。 He looked up。 〃Satisfied？〃
〃Sufficiently。〃 Bond squatted down on his heels。 He held his gun loosely； aiming somewhere halfway between the two of them。 〃Now then； let's talk。 Afraid you haven't got too much time； Scaramanga。 This is the end of the road。 You've killed too many of my friends。 I have the licence to kill you and I am going to kill you。 But I'll make it quick。 Not like Margesson。 Remember him？ You put a shot through both of his knees and both of his elbows。 Then you made him crawl and kiss your boots。 You were foolish enough to boast about it to your friends in Cuba。 It got back to us。 As a matter of interest； how many men have you killed in your life？〃
〃With you； it'll make the round fifty。〃 Scaramanga had gnawed the last segment of backbone clean。 He tossed it towards Bond。 〃Eat that； scum； and get on with your business。 You won't get any secrets out of me； if that's the pitch。 And don't forget。 I've been shot at by experts and I'm still alive。 Maybe not precisely kicking； but I've never heard of a lim