152 EVERYDAY ADVENTURES 



I can remember only one, a blood-curdling story 

 about a man from Bridgeport, name not given, who 

 caught a rattlesnake while on a hunt with Jim, but 

 who let go while attempting to put it into the bag, 

 whereupon the rattlesnake bit him as it dropped. 



"Did he die?" queried the writer and the Orni- 

 thologist in chorus. 



"No, " said Jim proudly; "Tin and I saved his life. " 



"Whiskey?" ventured the writer. 



"Not for snake-bites, " responded Jim simply. 



"Well, how was it?" persisted the Ornithologist, 

 hoping to learn of some mysterious Indian remedy. 



"Well," said Jim, stretching out his tremendous 

 arms like a great bear, "I held him tight and Tin 

 here burned the place out. It took two matches and 

 he yelled somethin' terrible. I told him we were 

 savin' his life, but the fool said he would rather die 

 of snake-bite than be burned to death. You wouldn 't 

 suppose a grown man would make such a fuss over 

 two little matches. " 



Finally, we reached the Den, a ledge of rocks near 

 the top of the mountain, where for some unknown 

 reason all the rattlesnakes for miles around were 

 accustomed to hibernate during the winter and to 

 remain for some weeks in the late spring before 

 scattering through the valley. The Ornithologist and 

 I fell unobtrusively to the rear, while the dauntless 

 Pan led the van with a crotched stick. Suddenly 

 Jim thrust one foot up into the air like a toe-dancer, 

 and pirouetted with amazing rapidity on the other. 

 He had been in the very act of stepping over a small 



