To make certain Lem cautiously shrank back, and taking care not to make the slightest sound, he worked his way around to the opposite side and gained a position where he could see McGill's face. Like a shadow he stepped out from behind a boulder and looked at Sap. What he saw almost caused him to laugh outright. Sap was far from being dead. He was wholly conscious and wholly alive, but ludicrously quiet. His eyes were popping out of his head. They told that he would beg for his life if he dared so much as to speak. He hardly dared breathe. Great tears of terror were oozing out of his forehead and trickling in copious streams down across his death-like features. The only risk the dullard could take to express his agony was to roll his eyes. The rattlesnake's head was focused less than twelve inches from his chin, and he knew well that upon the slightest tremor of his body the rattler would stab him in the throat. He knew well that the lightning of the heavens could not emulate the fatal quickness and rapidity of that snake's poisonous blow. For well on to two hours McGill had suffered the agonies of a thousand hells. Lem now spoke to him. When Lem's words reached McGill's ears, his only sign of comprehension was an added bulge transmitted to his rolling eyes. Standing motionless and in even tones, to avoid startling the rattler, Lem said: "Well--so yo' got t' yore jest end at last, didn't yo'--egg-dog? Belle-Ann is a comin' up the trail in a short spell--an' I air a goin' t' kill yo' 'fore she gits heah, which is a mighty short spell t' live I 'low--so ef a skunk like yo'-all knows a prayer, why now's yore time to think hit--but I advise yo' not t' git up on yore knees er stir roun' much." Here Lem chuckled tauntingly and gleefully. "Say--air thet a tame snake yo'-all got thah--eh? Ac's like he wus some kin to yo'-all--say, 'fore y'o go away--just glance yore mind over all th' pesky, onery divilmint yore folks has been a doin' fo' twenty years. 'Member th' day yore old pap shot my dad under th' truce flag thet my maw held up, 'cause we'uns wanted t' have peace--but yore old pap didn't git away, did he?--he was kindy slow-like. Say--yo' know a feller in these mountains named Johnse Hatfield--eh? Did yo'-all ever hern tell on em--eh? Ha-ha-ha! Hit wus a good dance, wusn't hit? Pears like Johnse sort a put a crimp in yore folks down at Junction City thet night--eh? Say--yo' ugly groun'-dawg--I hain't a killin' yo' exactly fo' all thet--I air only aimin' t' kill yo' onct fer thet--but I air goin' t' kill yo' twict fo' shootin' a boy--yo' shot a little boy, dedn't yo'--eh? Yo' shot my boy brother twict an' tried t' kill em--didn't yo'--eh? Now I air goin' t' blow yore brains out----"