356 REPTILES OF THE WORLD 



leaves. Through the brush nothing could be seen. 

 The guide looked at me squarely. His face had as- 

 sumed a solemn expression. 



"What's the matter?" was my query. 



"That rabbit's kicking his last," he answered. "I 

 know the noise they make in the leaves when they're 

 done for. I've shot plenty." 



"Kicking his last? Why, what on earth — " but an 

 idea had dawned on the author. 



"Diamond-back," was the guide's slow answer. 



The mention of that word brings a thrill when in such 

 surroundings. One of the deadly snakes was prowling 

 nearby. It was a stab from its long fangs that had 

 killed the rabbit. Would the creature follow the trail 

 of the prey and cross the path? 



"We will get one of the big bags ready and wait for 

 him," was the author's suggestion. 



Silently handing over the desired receptacle, the 

 guide climbed on his mule and drew his legs over the 

 animal's back. The colored assistant trembled per- 

 ceptibly but did not care to leave our company in the 

 darkness. We waited long and patiently, starting at 

 every sound, but the serpent failed to appear. 



At length we started on our hunt. The return was 

 uneventful until we arrived at the scene of the rabbit 

 episode, where curiosity compelled a stop. The guide 

 had dismounted and was examining the trail with the 

 small lantern which proved so handy in night journeys. 

 He appeared excited and there was just reason. 



Across the fine sand of the trail was seen the path 

 of a snake. Straight as the course of a wheel it led 

 from where the fated "cotton-tail" had sped across the 

 open, thence into the thicket whence the rabbit had 

 dashed to be overcome by the poison. From the direct 



