"No; I don’t think he’ll speak. I’ve just been figurin’ that neither Apache Kid nor Larry might tell him. He’s liable to be givin’ you straight goods and no lie when he says he don’t know the location." "Pity we did n’t drop Apache Kid’s hoss that time they charged down. We could ha’ got him, instead, that way. Reckon we need n’t have been so scared o’ killin’ Apache Kid himself without gettin’ the news. But say! This won’t do. I don’t like the looks of this thing. They all are getting a move on ’em and edgin’ up this way, the whole three of ’em." "Three of them," thought I, with my eye on the rattler. "That’s one short. I wonder who has been killed or disabled." "Say! Shout to him to stop. Tell him if he wants to pow-wow with us to come up alone." "Yes, and leave his rifle down. You do the talkin’ now, Farrell." "Right," said Farrell, and then he shouted, "Well, what do you want?" "I want to come up and talk this out with you," hailed a voice that I recognised for Apache Kid’s. "He can’t come up here," said Farrell. "We don’t want ’em to know that we ’re only a threesome now, same as ’em." "I ’ll tell you what to do," said one of them, with the voice of a man who has been visited by a sudden inspiration. "Stop there a minute!" cried Farrell, and then turning to the speaker he said sharply: "Spit it out then, Pete; what’s your notion?" "Loosen the kid there," said Pete, "and set him on the front here and hold your gat to his head while we hear what they ’ve got to palaver." "Hum!" mused Farrell. "Kind o’ hostage notion? Heh? Well, there’s something in that," and he stood upright fearlessly and held his hand aloft, the palm facing away to those in the valley. "You can come up the length o’ that there white rock," he cried, and then to his companions: "See! Lend a hand here." The snake had coiled again. I cannot guess how often it had sprung at me; I do not know. All that I know is that at every fresh rattle I crouched my head into my shoulders and gasped to myself the one word "God"; for we all, I believe, no matter what manner of lives we have led, at the last moment give a cry to the Unknown, in our hearts, if not with our lips. And every leap of the snake I was prepared to find the one that was to make an end of my acquaintance with the sunlight and with the sweet airs that blow about the world. But that torment was over now, for with one swift drop of his rifle-butt Farrell cut the head clean from the hideous long body, and then lent the other two men a hand to roll the great stone from off my aching limbs. "Stand up, you son of a whelp," he said, and spurned me with his boot. After the terror of the snake there seemed little now that I need heed. "It’s easier said than done!" I cried, angry at his words. "I ’m like a block of stone from my waist down." "I guess that’s right. He must be feeling that way," said one of the others, with a touch of commiseration in his voice.