shade invited us to sit down.

"Are there snakes--rattlesnakes?" Miss Buchanan asked nervously.

"In the brush-hills--yes; here--no," replied my brother.

By a singular coincidence, the words were hardly out of his mouth when
we heard the familiar warning, the whirring, never-to-be-forgotten
sound of the beast known to the Indians as "death in the grass."

"Mercy!" exclaimed the schoolmarm, staring wildly about her. It is not
easy to localise the exact position of a coiled rattlesnake by the
sound of his rattle.

"Don't move!" said Ajax. "Ah, I see him! There he is! I must find a
stick."

The snake was coiled some half-dozen yards from us. Upon the top coil
was poised his hideous head; above it vibrated the bony, fleshless
vertebræ of the tail. The little schoolmarm stared at the beast,
fascinated by fear and horror. Ajax cut a switch from a willow; then
he advanced.

"Oh!" entreated Miss Buchanan, "please don't go so near."

"There's no danger," said Ajax. "I've never been able to understand
why rattlers inspire such terror. They can't strike except at objects
within half their length, and one little tap, as you will see, breaks
their backbone. Now watch! I'm going to provoke this chap to strike;
and then I shall kill him."