OLD RATTLER AND THE KING SNAKE. i-j-i, 



fast as ever they could; and to run away was the best thing they 

 could do, for when Old Eattler struck one of them with his fangs 

 all was over with him. So there were many in the canon, beasts 

 and birds and snakes too, who hated Old Rattler, but only a few 

 dared face him. And one of these was Glittershield,* whom men 

 call the King of Snakes, and in a minute I shall tell you why. 



And when Old Rattler was doing all that I have said, the King 

 Snake lay low on a bed of pine needles, behind a bunch of fern, 

 and watched with keen, sharp eye. The angry buzz of Rattler's 

 tail, which scared the chipmunks and the bullfrogs and all the 

 rest of the beast folk, was music for Glittershield. He was a 

 snake too, and snakes understand some things better than any of 

 the rest of us. 



Glittershield was slim and wiry in his body, as long as Old 

 Rattler himself, but not so large around. His coat was smooth 

 and glossy, not rough and wrinkly like Old Rattler's, and his up- 

 raised head was small and pretty — for a snake. He was the best 

 dressed of all his kind, and he looked his finest as he faced Old 

 Rattler. His head was shiny black, his throat and neck as white 

 as milk, while all do"um his body to the end of his tail he was 

 painted with rings, first white, then black, then crimson, and every 

 ring was bright as if it had just been freshly polished that very day. 

 So the King Snake passed the sheltering fern and came right 

 up to Old Rattler. Rattler opened his sleepy eyes, threw him- 

 self on guard with a snap and a buzz, and shook his bony clappers 

 savagely. But the King of Snakes was not afraid. Every snake 

 has a weak spot somewhere, and that is the place to strike him. 

 If he hadn't a weak spot no one else could live about him, and 

 then perhaps he would starve to death at last. If he had not some 

 strong points, where no one could harm him, he couldn't live 

 himself. 



As the black crest rose. Old Rattler's tail grew cold, his head 

 dropped, his mouth closed, he straightened out his coil, and stag- 

 gered helplessly toward his hole. 



This was the chance for Glittershield. With a dash so swift 

 that all the rings on his body — red, white, and black — melted into 

 one purple flash, he seized Old Rattler by his throat. He car- 

 ried no weapons, to be sure. He had neither fangs nor venom. 

 He won his victories by force and dash, not by mean advantage. 

 He was quick and strong, and his little hooked teeth held like the 

 claws of a hawk. Old Rattler closed his mouth because he couldn't 

 help it, and the fangs he could not use were folded back against 

 the roof of his jaw. 



* Lampropeltis zonatut. 



