In The Morning We Found
Ourselves Close To The South Fork Of The Platte On A Spot Surrounded
By Bushes And Rank Grass.
Compensating ourselves with a hearty
breakfast for the ill fare of the previous night, we set forward
again on our journey.
When only two or three rods from the camp I
saw Shaw stop his mule, level his gun, and after a long aim fire at
some object in the grass. Delorier next jumped forward and began to
dance about, belaboring the unseen enemy with a whip. Then he
stooped down and drew out of the grass by the neck an enormous
rattlesnake, with his head completely shattered by Shaw's bullet. As
Delorier held him out at arm's length with an exulting grin his tail,
which still kept slowly writhing about, almost touched the ground,
and the body in the largest part was as thick as a stout man's arm.
He had fourteen rattles, but the end of his tail was blunted, as if
he could once have boasted of many more. From this time till we
reached the Pueblo we killed at least four or five of these snakes
every day as they lay coiled and rattling on the hot sand. Shaw was
the St. Patrick of the party, and whenever he or any one else killed
a snake he always pulled off his tail and stored it away in his
bullet-pouch, which was soon crammed with an edifying collection of
rattles, great and small.
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