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Updated: May 2, 2025
"No, only a button. Dig a hole and bury the head. Fangs are always fangs whether their owner is dead or alive." So Hamil scooped out a trench with his hunting-knife and they buried the little ground-rattler while both dogs looked on, growling. Cardross and Gray had remounted; Bulow cast out a brace of pointers for them, and they were already far away.
He noticed, too, her sweetness with the dogs, her quick encouragement when work was well done, her brief rebuke when the red dog, galloping recklessly down wind, jumped a ground-rattler and came within a hair's breadth of being bitten. "The little devil!" said Hamil, looking down at the twisting reptile which he had killed with a palmetto stem. "Why, Shiela, he has no rattles at all."
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