"
"Nice warm reception for visitors, I should remark," laughed Bob,
immediately adding: "there, I've found just the stick I want. Now, old
chap, look out for yourself! I'm going to have that rattle of yours to
take home, unless you give me the slip."
"No danger of that," remarked Frank; "because a rattler seldom runs
away, once he shakes his old box, and gives warning. Hit him just back
of the head, and let it be a good smart blow too, so that you break his
neck."
Then came a swishing sound, twice repeated. The thrilling rattle
immediately subsided.
"Get him?" demanded Frank, ready to take up his task once more, upon
receiving a favorable reply from his friend.
"He's squirming some, but helpless," returned Bob, composedly. "I'll
cut his head off, so that he can't turn around and jab me while I'm
getting that rattle box of his."
Two minutes later he came back into camp, carrying the coffee pot,
which he proceeded to place upon the fire Frank had started. The
latter noticed that his chum was trembling a little, and could give a
shrewd guess that Bob had been more startled than he had thus far
admitted.
"Perhaps I'll get used to it in time," Bob remarked, presently; "but it
sure does give a fellow a nasty shock to hear that sound burst out
close by your feet, knowing as you do what a bite from those fangs
means."
"Then it was a narrow squeak, was it?" asked Frank.
"I guess I never want to be closer to a diamond-back than that," Bob
admitted, with a shake of his head.
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