File:The boy scouts on the range (1911) (14569344477).jpg

Identifier: boyscoutsonrange00pays (find matches)
Title: The boy scouts on the range
Year: 1911 (1910s)
Authors: Payson, Howard, 1879-1917
Subjects:
Publisher: New York, Hurst & company
Contributing Library: New York Public Library
Digitizing Sponsor: MSN

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UTS OX THE EANGE The excitement of the dance was upon them.Suddenly a blood-curdhng yell echoed against therock-bound walls. A young brave, one of those who had beenseated in the front row of the onlookers, sprangto his feet. He cast off his blanket with a shout,standing upright in the firelight, a nude figure ofbronze. The play of his muscles showed plainas day in the glare of the glowing pit. Straightup to the earthen jars he gyrated, chanting therefrain of the weird ritual. Uttering a wild screech, he plunged his armup to the elbow into its wriggling, deadly con-tents, and drew forth a vicious-looking side-winder, or desert rattlesnake—a distinct speciesfrom the big diamond-back—and even moredeadly. Without the slightest hesitation, he thrust themonsters spade-shaped head into his mouth, andwith one clean bite severed it. He then spat itforth into the glowing pit, where it fell hissing. This was the signal for yet wilder frenzies onthe part of the Indians. One after another the
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Uttering a wild screech, he drew forth a vicious-lookingdesert rattlesnake. THE WORSliirrEKS OF THE SNAKE 283 young braves cast off their ))lankets and rushedforward to repeat the nauseous performance ofthe snake eater. The ground at the feet of thechanters of the ritual was littered with limp rep-tiles bodies. An overpowering, musky stencharose on the air, the odor of scores of burntenvenomed heads. In the midst of that maddened throng therewas but one quiet, unmoved countenance, and thatwas that of a bearded man, who stood back somedistance in the shadows. He eyed the ceremonieswith a look that was half contempt and half pity.But he made no motion to interfere, nor did he,in fact, move at all. And for a very good reason.He was bound hand and foot to a post. His face was white as ashes under its deepbronze, but not from fear, for not a tremorcrossed his features. Perhaps a deep wound onthe back of his head accounted for it. But Jef-fries Mayberry—for our readers must have al-ready

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