Click-ick-ick! sounded close to him.

"You can't make me stay in this tent. It's the most dangerous
spot in Nevada," cried Drew, turning and fleeing into flee open.
The two chums could hear his feet as he sped to another part
of the camp.

"Some trick about that rattling?" queried Harry in a whisper.

"Of course," Tom admitted with a wink.

"It's a shame to tease the youngster so."

"It would be," Tom assented rather gravely, "but I'm using that
means to make the lad afraid to smoke cigarettes. If young Drew
goes on smoking the miserable little things he'll become come a
physical wreck inside of a year."

"How do you do the trick, anyway?" asked Harry curiously.

"Does it really sound like the click of a rattler?" asked Tom.

"Does it? I was 'stung' almost as badly as poor Alf was. How
do you do the trick?"

"I'll show you, some time," nodded Tom Reade.

With that promise Harry had to be content, and so must the reader,
for the present.