r!" cried Joe, and the hounds ran forward to the
spot pointed out to them. But no sooner had they gone far enough to
see the nature of the enemy that the fawn was attacking, than they
turned away affrighted, and with their tails hanging down retreated
from the scene of action.

They rode up and surveyed more closely the strange battle. The fawn,
becoming more and more enraged, did not suspend hostilities at their
approach. They paused involuntarily when, within a few feet of the
object, which proved to be a tremendous rattlesnake, some five feet in
length, and as thick as a man's arm. It was nearly dead, its body,
neck, and head, exhibited many bloody gashes cut by the sharp hoofs of
the fawn. Every time the fawn sprang upon it, it endeavoured in vain
to strike its fangs into its active foe, which sprang away in a
twinkling, and before it could prepare to strike again, the fatal
hoofs would inflict another wound on its devoted head. It grew weaker
and weaker, and finally turned over on its back, when the infuriated
deer, no longer compelled to observe cautionary measures, soon severed
its head entirely from the body and stood over it in triumph.

[Illustration: It grew weaker and weaker, and finally turned over on
its back.--P. 247]

"Pete can do that if a deer can!" said Joe, somewhat emboldened at the
death of so formidable a reptile, and beholding the fixed though
composed gaze of the pony as he stood with his head turned sideways
towards the weltering snake.

"Sartinly he kin," said Sneak, standing up in his stirrups, and
stretching his long neck to its utmost tension to see if any snakes
were in the open area before them.

"Do you see any, Sneak?" asked Joe, now grasping his rod and anxious
for the fray.

"I see a few--about forty, I guess, lying in the sun at the edge of
the water."

"Sneak, there's too many of them," said Joe.

"Dod--you ain't a going to back out now, I hope. Don't you see your
pony snuffing at 'em? He wants to dash right in among 'em."

"No he don't," said Joe--"he don't like the smell, nor I
either--faugh!"

"Why, it smells like May-apples--I like it," said Sneak; "but there
ain't more than one or two copper-heads there--they're most all
racers. Come on, Joe--we must gallop right through and mash their
heads with our sticks as we pass. Then after a little while we must
turn and dash back agin--that's the way to fix 'em."

"You must go before," said Joe.

The number that Sneak m