Still her chum did not move—nor make reply. As though she were posing for her picture, the young girl sat motionless. Dorothy could not see her face at the angle from which she was advancing. But something about Tavia’s attitude finally startled her.
“What is the matter?” screamed Dorothy Dale, suddenly bounding forward.
She could run as well as any boy. Her gymnasium work at Glenwood, and her vacations out-of-doors, had made Dorothy hardy and strong. She dashed forward over the rough way, crying out again and again as she saw that her chum still sat stonily.
Dorothy leaped up beside her and would have—the next moment—seized Tavia by the shoulder. But there, with her hand outstretched, she halted. The intake of her breath sounded harsh in her own ears. She saw what had paralyzed Tavia—and the horrid object nearly froze Dorothy, too, in her tracks.
Out of the crevice in the rock protruded the arrow-headed upper length of a rattlesnake. It was coiled less than two feet below the level of Tavia’s face, and its tail was a-quiver. The whir of the rattles is a dreaded sound that, once heard, is never to be forgotten.
There the reptile stretched itself, its eyes fairly holding Tavia charmed. Of course, it was the girl’s own nerves that held her motionless and speechless—her nerves affected by fear.
Tavia could neither rise to escape the threatened stroke of the rattler, nor do aught to defend herself from it. The immediate neck of the creature was curved back, and the pointed head, with the swiftly shooting tongue, threatened instant attack.
Dorothy felt a dreadful tightening about her heart—just as though a savage hand had gripped it. She felt as though she would faint—yet she knew she must not give way to such weakness.
On her depended her chum’s very life!
She glanced about for some weapon. There was no stick within her reach of sufficient weight to be of use. But there were pebbles and broken bits of rock scattered over the ground.