Finally, we reached the Den, a ledge of rocks near the top of the mountain, where for some unknown reason all the rattlesnakes for miles around were accustomed to hibernate during the winter and to remain for some weeks in the late spring before scattering through the valley. The Ornithologist and I fell unobtrusively to the rear, while the dauntless Pan led the van with a crotched stick. Suddenly Jim thrust one foot up into the air like a toe-dancer, and pirouetted with amazing rapidity on the other. He had been in the very act of stepping over a small huckleberry-bush, when he noted under its lee a rattlesnake in coil, about the size of a peck measure--as pretty a death-trap as was ever set in the woods. By the time I got there, Jim had pinned the hissing heart-shaped head down with his forked stick, while the bloated, five-foot body was thrashing through the air in circles, the rattles whirring incessantly. "Grab him just back of the stick," panted Jim, bearing down with all his weight, "and put him in the bag." I paused. "You're not scared, are you?" he inquired; while Tin, who had hurried up with a gunny-sack, regarded me reproachfully. "Certainly not," I assured him indignantly, "but I don't want to be selfish. Let Tin do it." "No," said Jim firmly, "you're company. Tin can pick up rattlesnakes any day." "Well, how about my friend?" I rejoined weakly. The Ornithologist, who had been watching the scene from the far background, spoke up for himself. "I wouldn't touch that damn snake," he said earnestly, "for eleven million dollars." At this profanity the rattlesnake started another paroxysm of struggling, while his rattle sounded like an alarm-clock. When he stopped to rest, the Ornithologist raised his price to an even billion--in gold. It was evident that I was the white man's hope. It would never do to let two members of a conquered race see a pale-face falter. Remembering Deerslayer at the stake, Daniel Boone, and sundry other brave white men without a cross, I set my teeth, gripped the rough, cold, scaly body just back of the crotched stick, and lifted. The great snake's black, fixed, devilish eyes looked into mine. If, in this world, there are peep-holes into hell, they are found in the eyes of an enraged rattlesnake. As he came clear of the ground, he coiled round my arm to the elbow, so that the rattles sounded not a foot from my ear. Although the rattlesnake is not a constrictor, and there was no real danger, yet under the touch of his body my arm quivered like a tuning-fork. "What makes your arm shake so?" queried Jim, watching me critically. "It's probably rheumatism," I assured him.