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 
