ORCHID-HUNTING 153 
huckleberry-bush, when he noted under its lee a 
rattlesnake in coil, about the size of a peck measure 
—as pretty a death-trap as was ever set in the 
woods. By the time I got there, Jim had pinned the 
hissing heart-shaped head down with his forked 
stick, while the bloated, five-foot body was thrash- 
ing through the air in circles, the rattles whirring 
incessantly. 
““Grab him just back of the stick,’’ panted Jim, 
bearing down with all his weight, ‘‘and put him in 
the bag.” 
I paused. 
*“You’re not scared, are you?” he inquired; while 
Tin, who had hurried up with a gunny-sack, regarded 
me reproachfully. 
“Certainly not,” I assured him indignantly, “‘but 
I don’t want to be selfish. Let Tin do it.” 
“No,” said Jim firmly, ““you’recompany. Tin can 
pick up rattlesnakes any day.” 
“Well, how about my friend?” I rejoined weakly. 
The Ornithologist, who had been watching the 
scene from the far background, spoke up for him- 
self. 
**T would n’t touch that damn snake, ”’ he said earn- 
estly, ‘‘for eleven million dollars.” 
At this profanity the rattlesnake started another 
paroxysm of struggling, while his rattle sounded 
like an alarm-clock. When he stopped to rest, the 
Ornithologist raised his price to an even billion— 
in gold. It was evident that I was the white man’s 
hope. It would never do to let two members of a 
