“Bill discovered that rattlesnakes had rather have moth-balls to eat than anything under the sun. A rattlesnake will leave a young and tender rabbit any day for a moth-ball. Bill found out likewise that a rattlesnake jest can’t stand chili powder. Those two clues give him an idear. First he took some chili powder and soaked it in nitroglycerin. He rolled this into little pills and coated them with moth-ball.
“Then he took these balls and scattered ’em around where the reptiles stayed. Well, the critters would come out and find the moth-balls and swaller ’em right down, not thinkin’ there might be a ketch somewheres. Purty soon the outside coating would melt off, and the chili powder would burn the critters on the inside. This would make ’em mad, and they’d beat their tails against the ground and rocks, which exploded the nitroglycerin and blowed ’em into smithereens. We used to kill ’em that way here on the ranch, but the boss made us quit after one of the critters crawled under a steer and blowed him into atoms.”
“I’d think that would be a rather dangerous method,” said Lanky. “But what is that whiffle-poofle you mentioned a few minutes ago?”
“Oh, you’ll learn when you git a little older,” replied Joe. “You’d better hit the hay now, Lanky. You stand next guard.”
Lanky bent down to untie his bed-roll. Then he jumped straight into the air. “My God, I’m bitten!” he yelled.
“Bring the butcher knife and the coal-oil,” said Hank, “and heat a brandin’ iron.”
“Spect we ought to cut his hand off right now before the pizen spreads,” said Red. “Where’s the axe?”
“Now, lad, don’t let ’em buffalo you,” said Joe. “You ain’t bit a-tall.”
“But there’s blood on my hand,” said Lanky; “see.”
“That’s a shore sign you ain’t bit,” said Joe. “That’s the snake’s blood; see. That’s the very snake Red kilt.”