Death Valley was celebrating his sudden rise to affluence by a resort to the flowing bowl and when Virginia stepped in she found all three phonographs running and a two-gallon demijohn on the table. Death Valley himself was reposing in an armchair with one leg wrapped up in a white bandage and as she stopped the grinding phonographs and made a grab for the demijohn he held up two fingers reprovingly. "I'm snake-bit," he croaked. "Don't take away my medicine. Do you want your Uncle Charley to die?" "Why, Charley!" she cried, "you know you aren't snake-bit! The rattlesnakes are all holed up now." "Yes--holed up," he nodded; "that's how I got snake-bit. It was fourteen years ago, this month. Didn't you ever hear of my snake-mine--it was one of the marvels of Arizona--a two-foot stratum of snakes. I used to hook 'em out as fast as I needed them and try out the oil to cure rheumatism; but one day I dropped one and he bit me on the leg, and it's been bad that same month ever since. Would you like to see the bite? There's the pattern of a diamond-back just as plain as anything, so I know it must have been a rattler." He reached resolutely for the demijohn and took a hearty drink whereat Virginia sat down with a sigh. "I'll tell you something," went on Charley confidentially. "Do you know why a snake shakes its tail? It's generating electricity to shoot in the pisen, and the longer a rattlesnake rattles----" "Oh, now, Charley," she begged, "can't you see I'm in trouble? Well, stop drinking and listen to what I say. You can help me a lot, if you will." "Who--me?" demanded Charley, and then he roused himself up and motioned for a dipper of water. "Well, all right," he said, "I hate to kill this whiskey----" He drank in great gulps and made a wry face as he rose up and looked around. "Where's Heine?" he demanded. "Here Heine, Heine!" "You drove him under the house," answered Virginia petulantly, "playing all three phonographs at once. Really, it's awful, Charley, and you'd better look out or mother will give you the bounce." "Scolding women--talking women," mused Charley drunkenly. "Well; what do you want me to do?" "I'm _not_ scolding!" denied Virginia, and then as he leered at her she gave way weakly to tears. "Well, I can't help it," she wailed, "she scolds me all the time and--she simply drives me to it." "They'll drive you crazy," murmured Charley philosophically. "There's nothing to do but hide out. But I must save the rest of that whiskey for the Colonel." He reached for the demijohn and corked it stoutly, after which he turned to Virginia.