Cowboys frequently practise with their revolvers at snakes, but one of
the peculiarities of this rider was that he carried no gun, neither
six-shooter nor rifle. He drew out a short knife which might be used
to skin a beef or carve meat, though certainly no human being had ever
used such a weapon against a five-foot rattler. He stooped and rested
both hands on his thighs. His feet were not two paces from the poised
head of the snake. As if marvelling at this temerity, the big rattler
tucked back his head and sounded the alarm again. In response the
cowboy flashed his knife in the sun. Instantly the snake struck but
the deadly fangs fell a few inches short of the riding boots. At the
same second the man moved. No eye could follow the leap of his hand as
it darted down and fastened around the snake just behind the head. The
long brown body writhed about his wrist, with rattles clashing. He
severed the head deftly and tossed the twisting mass back on the
rocks.

Then, as if he had performed the most ordinary act, he rubbed his
gloves in the sand, cleansed his knife in a similar manner, and
stepped back to his horse. Contrary to the rules of horse-nature, the
stallion had not flinched at sight of the snake, but actually advanced
a high-headed pace or two with his short ears laid flat on his
neck, and a sudden red fury in his eyes. He seemed to watch for an
opportunity to help his master. As the man approached after killing
the snake the stallion let his ears go forward again and touched his
nose against his master's shoulder. When the latter swung into the
saddle, the wolf-dog came to his side, reared, and resting his
forefeet on the stirrup stared up into the rider's face. The man
nodded to him, whereat, as if he understood a spoken word, the dog
dropped back and trotted ahead. The rider touched the reins and