ugh the
paralyzing horror which numbed him, and as if in answer the scene in the
dining-room of the ranch rose before him. "I hates snakes and mouse-traps
goin' off," he had said. Yes, he remembered.

The Indians looked at his yellow skin and at his eyes in which the horror
stayed, and laughed. He did not struggle when they stood him, mute, upon
his feet and bound him, for Smith knew Indians. His lips and chin
trembled; his throat, dry and contracted, made a clicking sound when he
swallowed. His knees shook, and he had no power to control the twitching
muscles of his arms and legs.

"He dances," said Yellow Bird.

As the sun rose higher and streamed into the crevice, the overpowering
odor increased with the heat. The yellow of Smith's skin took on a
greenish tinge.

"Ugh!" An Indian laid his hand upon his stomach. "Me sick!"

A bit of limestone fell into the crevice and bounded from one shelf of
rock to the other. Upon each ledge a nest of rattlesnakes basked in the
sun, and a chorus of hisses followed the fall of the stone.

"They sing! Their voices are strong to-day," said Running Rabbit.

The Indians threw Smith upon the edge of the crevice, face downward, so
that he could look below. With his staring, bloodshot eyes he saw them
all--dozens of them--a hundred or more! Crawling on the shelves and in the
bottom, writhing, wriggling, hissing, coiled to strike! Every marking,
every shading, every size--Smith saw them all with his bulging, fascinated
eyes. The Indians stoned them until a forked tongue darted from every
mouth and every wicked eye flamed red.

The thick rope was tied under Smith's arms, and a noose thrown over a huge
rock. They shoved him over the edge--slowly--looking at him and each
other, laughing a little at the sound of reptile fury from below. It was
the end. Smith's eyes opened before they let him drop, and his lips drew
back from his white, slightly protruding teeth. They thought he meant to
beg at last, and, rejoicing, waited. He looked like a coyote, a coyote
when its ribs are crushed, its legs broken; when its eyes are blurred with
the death film, and its mouth drips blood. He gathered himself--he was all
but fainting--and threw back his head, looking at Bear Chief. He
snarled--there was no tenderness in his voice when he gave the message:

"Tell _her_, you damned Injuns--tell the Schoolmarm I died game,
me--Smith!"

TITLES SELECTED FROM GROSSET & DUNLAP'S LIST

May be had wher