things. That's what cigarettes do to your nerves."

"But don't you hear the rattlesnake?"

"I don't," Tom gravely informed him, though once more the
nerve-disturbing sound rose clearly on the air. "See here, Alf,
rattlers, whatever their habits, certainly don't climb trees. I'll
put you up on that limb."

Tom's strong young arms lifted Alf easily until he could clutch
at the lowest limb of a tree.

"Climb up there and sit down," Reade ordered. Drew sat on the limb,
shaking with terror.

"Now, I'll show you that there isn't a snake anywhere in that
clump of brush," Tom proposed, and forthwith stepped into the
thicket, beating about lustily with his heavy boots.

"L-l-l-look out!" shivered Drew. "You'll be bitten!"

"Nonsense, I tell you. There isn't a rattler anywhere on this
part of the Range. It's your nerves, Alf. Cigarettes are destroying
'em. There! I've beaten up every bit of this brush and you see
that I've not been bitten. Now I'll help you down to the ground,
and you want to get a good, steadying grip on your nerves."

Alf Drew permitted himself to be helped to the ground. No sooner,
however, had his feet touched the earth than there came that ominous
rattling sound.