075- Snake Doctor -Ira Grossel

Suspense, which is usually heard at this hour on Thursday nights, is taking its customary summer holiday. Suspense returns to the air two weeks from tonight, on Thursday, September 1st. You are standing at the doorway of a cabin on Cassier Creek.

Up on the ridge the bloodhounds have caught your scent, and between you and the fortune between you and the scape. You're on the white jaws of a deadly cottonmouth. We offer you escape, designed to free you from the four walls of today for a half hour of high adventure.

Tonight, we escape to the worn out acres of a poor farm, somewhere in the southern mountains, with Ervin S. Cobb's great tale of vengeance. Snake doctor. Far back in the southern mountains, it's quiet and hot and lonely.

One pine-scarred hill is very much like the next, and one wind and creek differs little from another. The area through which cashier creek twisted was the same as all the rest, except for the snakes.

Deadly, venomous, cottonmouths, moccasins have probably more snakes along cashier creek than anywhere else. Most people lived in constant deadly fear of these snakes, but there was one man who even seemed to like them. A man they called Snake Doctor.

His cabin was near the creek bottom where the cotton mouths were the commonest, and he earned his meagal living by rendering down his soft fats, bottling the oil and selling it. Snake Doctor seemed harmless enough, but there was one man who believed he was a colleague of the devil who hated him because he wasn't afraid of the snakes.

This man was J.F. Morna, the snake doctor's nearest neighbor. J.F. was that dangerous kind of man who suspected, feared, and hated anything he didn't understand. And he understood neither Cottonmouth nor the snake doctor. J.F. was ordinary, ignorant, and shifters.