pt, while the thunder came closer and louder at every peal. In
swarms the blackbirds arose from the swale and came flocking to the
interior, with a clamoring cry: "T'CHECK, T'CHECK." Grackles marshaled
to the tribal call: "TRALL-A-HEE, TRALL-A-HEE." Red-winged blackbirds
swept low, calling to belated mates: "FOL-LOW-ME, FOL-LOW-ME." Big,
jetty crows gathered close to her, crying, as if warning her to flee
before it was everlastingly too late. A heron, fishing the near-by pool
for Freckles' "find-out" frog, fell into trouble with a muskrat and
uttered a rasping note that sent Mrs. Duncan a rod down the line without
realizing that she had moved. She was too shaken to run far. She stopped
and looked around her fearfully.

Several bees struck her and were angrily buzzing before she noticed
them. Then the humming swelled on all sides. A convulsive sob shook her,
and she ran into the bushes, now into the swale, anywhere to avoid the
swarming bees, ducking, dodging, fighting for her very life. Presently
the humming seemed to become a little fainter. She found the trail
again, and ran with all her might from a few of her angry pursuers.

As she ran, straining every muscle, she suddenly became aware that,
crossing the trail before her, was a big, round, black body, with brown
markings on its back, like painted geometrical patterns. She tried to
stop, but the louder buzzing behind warned her she dared not. Gathering
her skirts higher, with hair flying around her face and her eyes almost
bursting from their sockets, she ran straight toward it. The sound of
her feet and the humming of the bees alarmed the rattler, so it stopped
across the trail, lifting its head above the grasses of the swale and
rattling inquiringly--rattled until the bees were outdone.

Straight toward it went the panic-stricken woman, running wildly and
uncontrollably. She took one leap, clearing its body on the path, then
flew ahead with winged feet. The snake, coiled to strike, missed Mrs.
Duncan and landed among the bees instead. They settled over and around
it, and realizing that it had found trouble, it sank among the grasses
and went threshing toward its den in the deep willow-fringed low ground.
The swale appeared as if a reaper were cutting a wide swath. The mass of
enraged bees darted angrily around, searching for it, and striking the
scrub-thorn, began a temporary settling there to discover whether it
were a suitable place. Completely exhausted, Mrs.