Hattiesburg Daily Progress

THE RATTLE, THE RATTLER AND THE GIRL WHO GOT RATTLED.

I spent my vacation last year in Sullivan County near the banks of the Neversink River, where snakes of many kinds abound.

On the second morning of my stay I went for a walk, having first cut a stout pine stick to use for climbing. I cut a notch at one end and sharpened the other to a point, feeling well equipped to meet snakes.

I had walked about a mile when I saw a garter snake about ten inches long crossing the road. Carefully taking aim, I struck off its head. Then I laid it across the rocks of the stone wall.

When I returned from my walk I mentioned having killed a snake, as if it were an everyday occurrence. One of the boys bet half a dollar that I would run if I ever saw a "rattler," and I boldly replied that some day I would bring home one on my stick just to show that I was not afraid.

After that on my daily walks I was on the lookout for rattlesnakes—nothing smaller or less dangerous interested me—and one day I was rewarded. As I was walking along the river road eating blackberries and listening to the sound of the river rushing on, I heard a sound which warned me that a rattlesnake was near.

I looked to the right and left, behind me and before me, but saw nothing. I listened, but the sound was not repeated. I took a few steps forward, and the deadly sound came from my right. I turned quickly and there, sunning himself on the rocks, was a rattler fully 25 inches long. I laughed as I thought that some one would be minus 50 cents that day. I softly approached and prepared to strike, but the reptile remained motionless. I scorned to kill my victim while it slept, so, after opening the big blade of my jackknife, I touched his body with the point of my stick. Then quick as a flash I struck at the head with the notched end and savagely rubbed my stick across the neck, first toward me and then from me. It was an empty skin.

I stopped and dropped my stick. First I heard a giggle, then a snort, and then peal upon peal of derisive laughter. It was too much to bear. I stalked off, the picture of outraged dignity, resolving, however, to get "square."

Next morning before anyone was up I started for that ill-fated spot. When I arrived I found my mountain stick smeared with red paint and mud, and attached to it was a post-card, bearing a drawing of a rattle, a snake and a girl, with the inscription: "The Rattle, the Rattler and the Girl Who Got Rattled." - Pittsburg Dispatch.