ness and
subtlety, he could get no inkling of their intentions. The suspense got on
Smith's nerves, though he gave no outward sign. The first gray light of
morning came, and still they waited. The east flamed.

"It will be hot to-day," said Running Rabbit. "The sky is red."

Then the sun showed itself, glowing like a red-hot stove-lid shoved above
the horizon.

In silence they watched the coming day.

"This limestone draws the heat," said Smith, and he laid aside his coat.
"But it suits me. I hates to be chilly."

Bear Chief stood up, and they all arose.

"You are like us--you like the sun. It is warm; it is good. Look at it.
Look long time, white man!"

There was something ominous in his tone, and Smith moistened his short
upper lip with the tip of his tongue.

"Over there is the ranch where the white woman lives. Look--look long
time, white man!" He swung his gaunt arm to the west.

"You make the big talk, Injun," sneered Smith, but his mouth was dry.

"Up there is the sky where the clouds send messages, where the sun shines
to warm us and the moon to light us. There's antelope over there in the
foothills, and elk in the mountains, and sheep on the peaks. You like to
hunt, white man, same as us. Look long time on all--for you will never see
it again!"

The sun rose higher and hotter while the Indian talked. He had not
finished speaking when Smith said:

"God!"

A look of indescribable horror was on his face. His skin had yellowed, and
he stared into the crevice at his feet. Now he understood! He knew why
they waited on the limestone hill! An odor, scarcely perceptible as yet,
but which, faint as it was, sickened him, told him his fate. It was the
unmistakable odor of rattlesnakes!

The crevice below was a breeding-place, a rattlesnakes' den. Smith had
seen such places often, and the stench which came from them when the sun
was hot was like nothing else in the world. The recollection alone was
almost enough to nauseate him, and he always had ridden a wide circle at
the first whiff.

His aversion for snakes was like a pre-natal mark. He avoided cowpunchers
who wore rattlesnake bands on their hats or stretched the skin over the
edge of the cantle of their saddles. He always slept with a hair rope
around his blankets when he spent a night in the open. He would not sit in
a room where snake-rattles decorated the parlor mantel or the organ. A
curiosity as to how they had learned his peculiarity crept thro