against this snake in particular.

When both Max and Toby came up, each, with a part of a hickory limb in
their hands, the destiny of that snake was written plainly, strive as
she might to escape, or reach one of her human tormentors.

Whack! came Steve's pole down across the reptile's back, and from that
instant the fight was taken out of the scaly thing.

"Wow! this is what I call rushing the mourners!" gasped Bandy-legs,
after they had made sure that the rattler was as dead as might be
expected before sundown; for Owen declared that he had some sort of
belief in the old saying that "cut up a snake as you will, its tail will
wriggle until sunset."

"I should say yes," added Steve; "and you're bent on bein' in the center
of every old thing that happens. First you shout out your boat's
sinking, and while we're fixing her you wander out and stir up a
hornets' nest about your ears."

"Say, it did sound like it, sure as anything," admitted the repentant
Bandy-legs. "I'm sorry I gave you all so much trouble, boys; next time I
run across a litter of little snakes, it's me to the woods. Wonder what
became of the beggars? They disappeared about the time the mother came
tootin' up."

"Mebbe they ran down her throat," suggested Owen; "some say snakes can
hide their young that way, but I never believed it."

"Well," remarked Max, who was examining the dead reptile, "this one