away from me, and seemed in doubt. 

 Then he began to take on a few quirks. 

 " He is going to coil and then to 

 strike," said I, recalling a paragraph 

 from my school reader. It was an un- 

 happy moment! 



I knew that tradition had fixed the 

 proper weapons to be used against rat- 

 tlesnakes : a stone (more if necessary), 

 a stick (forked one preferred), and in 

 rare cases a revolver (when it is that 

 kind of a story). I had no revolver. 

 There was not a stick in sight, and not 

 a stone bigger than a hazelnut; but 

 there was the rattler. I cast another 

 despairing glance around and saw, al- 

 most at my feet and half hidden by 

 sage brush, several inches of rusty iron 

 blessed be the passing teamster who 

 had thrown it there. I darted towards 

 it and, despite tradition, turned on the 



