“This is a lovely situation,” muttered the lieutenant; “I like one about as well as the other, but I don’t intend to let you have your own sweet way.”
The latter was addressed to the rattler, a bite from which was fatal, but it could inflict no harm except by a closer approach. If it attempted to come nearer for the purpose of striking, the officer would blow its head off. He kept his eye on it. But the crotalus species is cowardly, and the serpent, finding itself not likely to be attacked, came out of its coil and glided off among the boulders and was seen no more.
CHAPTER XXII.
WHAT DOES IT MEAN?
“Now,” said Lieutenant Decker, as the horrible serpent glided from sight in the gloom, “if you’ll pass round the end of that big rock over yonder and give that Apache your attention, I’ll forgive you for the way you scared me.”
As nearly as he could judge, the rattler was heading in the direction named, and the officer listened, hoping to hear favorable results, but the silence was unbroken, and, if the reptile passed near the warrior, there was no collision between them.
One of the uncomfortable facts connected with these fearsome pests is that when you come upon one in the desert or wilderness, you are likely to meet another or perhaps several of them. The species attain enormous size in New Mexico and Arizona, and a sting from one of them, though slower in its results than the bite of the cobra, is about as fatal. No man can contemplate the probability of coming upon a rattler unawares in the night without a shudder. While it was not likely that the reptile, seeing the crouching man, would attack him, yet such things have occurred and the lieutenant never allowed himself to forget the fact.
His chief concern, however, was with the “two-legged rattler” who, as matters stood, was tenfold more dangerous than the creeping one. Neither of the men had gained a shot at the other, but both were hopeful of doing so.