“Ah! so he did, sir; but I wasn’t thinking about what he said then. So that’s his rattle at the end of his tail, with a sting in it.”
“Nonsense!” I cried. “Rattlesnakes do not sting.”
“Hark at him!” cried Pete, addressing nobody. Then to me—
“Why, you said just now they did.”
“I meant bite.”
“But wapses have their stings in their tails.”
“But rattlesnakes do not,” I said. “Look here.”
I drew the hunting knife I carried, and with one chop took off the dangerous reptile’s head. Then picking it up I opened the jaws and showed him the two keen, hollow, poisonous fangs which rose erect when the jaws gaped.
“Seem too little to do any harm, Master Nat,” said Pete, rubbing his head. “Well, I shall know one of them gentlemen another time.—Oh, don’t chuck it away!” he cried. “I should like to put that head in a box and save it.”
“Too late, Pete,” I said, for I had just sent the head flying into the rippling stream; and after reloading we went on again till it seemed as if we were quite shut in.