Rupert was provided with a hunter's outfit and a gun by his host, and in company with his guide started out on Monday morning.

"I suppose you won't mind roughing it, Rupert?" said Mr. Packard.

"No, that is what I shall like. I remember when I lived in the country I went with some other boys to a point fifteen miles away, and camped out for a week. I wish I could see the boys now. There was Harry Bacon, and George Parker, and Eugene Sweetland, and—but you won't be interested in hearing about it."

"I am glad you have had some experience in that kind of life. Of course you won't have the comforts of home, but you may meet with adventures. At any rate, if you get tired you can start for home any time."

"Mr. Boone," said Rupert, when they were fairly on their way, "are you related to Daniel Boone?"

"I don't think there was any Daniel in our family," answered Ben, in a matter-of-fact tone. "Where did he live?"

"In Kentucky."

"I never was in Kentucky myself, though my wife has a cousin who lives there somewhere."

"This Daniel Boone was a great hunter," explained Rupert, rather surprised that Ben had not heard of him.

"Then he must be a relation to me. All my family were fond of hunting."

At the end of ten miles they struck a river, which was pleasant, as it afforded them a change of travel. They had brought with them a skeleton skiff, a sort of framework, with skins to cover it, and they were able to launch it on the river. The stream was narrow, and bordered on one side by mountain scenery. The channel seemed to be deep, and as the skiff moved rapidly on, with comparatively slight exertion in the way of rowing, Rupert felt that he was indeed in a wonderful land.

The country seemed very sparsely settled. Once in a great while they caught sight of a rude cabin, which appeared to contain but one room.

"Have you ever been on those mountains, Mr. Boone?" asked Rupert.

"Well, I've never been to the top of any of the peaks. I reckon I've been half-way up Pike's Peak (that's north of us) and Long's Peak. It's dreadful hard climbing, and there don't seem to be any good in it when you've done it. Did you want to climb up any of the mountains?"

"Well, I might like to some time, but perhaps I'd better wait till another trip."

"I reckon you'd better."

It was clear that Mr. Boone had no desire to go mountain-climbing. He was not fond of exertion; it was easier getting over level ground.

They kept to the river for as much as fifty miles. Occasionally they landed, and made a little trip into the woods, but after a while they returned again to the river. At night they slept on the ground, covering themselves with blankets. They shot a few birds, but thus far they had met with no large game.

One morning Rupert had a fright. It was about four o'clock, and the light was indistinct. As he turned from one side to the other he was startled by finding that he had a bedfellow. There, coiled at his side, was a large rattlesnake, apparently asleep.

Rupert did not start up suddenly. He did not dare do so, for fear of rousing his unpleasant neighbor, and perhaps receiving a bite. Rupert was naturally a brave boy, but he turned very pale, and his heart came up in his mouth.

With extreme caution he moved somewhat to the opposite side, and managed to raise himself to his feet. He was not sure whether rattlesnakes had a quick sense of hearing, and this made him unusually circumspect. He wondered that the snake, which must have taken his position after he was asleep, had not attacked him before.

"But I suppose he was not hungry," he reflected, and then he shuddered as he thought that, had he slept two or three hours longer, the snake might have waked up and felt ready for breakfast. In that case, he would have been a ready victim.

However, he was on his feet and unhurt. Ben Boone lay ten feet away. He was snoring loudly, so loudly that Rupert wondered he had not waked up the rattlesnake, who could hardly be accustomed to sounds of that nature.

He approached his companion, and, bending over, called out, "Mr. Boone," but Ben never moved. He was a sound sleeper.

Rupert shook him, first gently, afterwards more roughly, till at last he opened his eyes, but seemed dazed and not quite conscious.

"Eh? Eh? What's the matter?" he ejaculated at length.

"Look there," said Rupert, pointing to the rattlesnake.

"Oh, yes, a rattlesnake," returned Ben, wholly without excitement. "There's a good many of 'em in these parts."

"That one coiled himself up close to where I was lying."

"Yes, it's a way they have. Seems as if they liked company," answered Ben, coolly.

"But—aren't they dangerous?"

"Well—they might be, if you interfered with 'em," drawled Boone. "As long as you lay still and didn't meddle with 'em they'd be all right."

"But suppose in my sleep I'd thrown out my arm, as I sometimes do, and hit the snake?"

"Then there'd be a chance of his biting you."

"And I suppose that would be fatal?"

"I've been bit myself," said Ben, in a reminiscent tone.

"And did you die?"

It was upon Rupert's lips to say this, but it occurred to him that it would be rather an absurd question, so he changed it to, "How did you get over it?"

"I filled myself full of whiskey—it's the only way. I was never so drunk in my life. But when I got over it, I was all right."

"I suppose the whiskey neutralized the poison," suggested Rupert.

"I reckon so," answered Boone, who was not quite clear in his mind as to the meaning of the word which Rupert had used. "What time is it?"

Rupert consulted his watch.

"It is fifteen minutes past four."

"That's too early to get up. I'll have another nap."

"I can't sleep. I shall be all the time thinking of the snake."

"He won't do you any harm."

"You are more used to such sights than I. Can't we kill the snake?"

"We might, but it's likely there's more not far away."

"I'll tell you what I'll do. I'll go into the boat and see if I can't stretch myself out there."

"Just as you like," said Boone, drowsily.

He turned over, and in two minutes he was snoring as noisily as ever.

Rupert shared the repugnance that most persons have for snakes, and he had read so much about rattlesnakes and the fatal effects of their bite that he had an unusual dread of them. It would have been a relief if this particular snake were killed.

How would it do for him to shoot it in the head, which he judged was the most vulnerable part? Only, if he missed fire, and the snake were only wounded, he would probably be roused to anger, and in that case would become dangerous. Doubtless Ben could cope with him, but Rupert felt that it would be imprudent in him, a mere boy, and unaccustomed to hunting, to arouse such a dangerous antagonist.

So, giving up all thoughts of an encounter, he proceeded to the river, and lay down as well as he could in the boat. It was not very comfortable, but we felt relieved from all fear of the snake, and after a while he fell asleep.

When he woke up he got out of the boat and went on shore. He looked at the spot where the snake had been coiled, but could not see him. He had evidently waked up and vacated the premises.

Rupert glanced over to where the guide was lying and saw that he was still asleep. The fact that the rattlesnake was so near had not interfered at all with his ease of mind or his slumbers.

Rupert looked at his watch. It was already seven o'clock, and that was the hour when they generally got up.

"Seven o'clock, Mr. Boone!" he called out, giving Ben a shake.

"Oh! ah! is it?" and Ben stretched himself out in a sleepy way.

"Yes. Isn't it time to get up?"

Ben took the hint, and rose from his recumbent position.

"Didn't you wake me some time ago?" he asked. "What was it all about?"

"There was a rattlesnake lying beside me."

"Where is it now?"

"It's gone."

"Then there's no harm done."

Ben Boone was not only the guide, but the cook of the little party. They had brought with them materials for camping-out meals, and it was his work to make a fire and prepare their simple repasts. Sometimes they caught a fish or two in the river, and it made a pleasant addition to their fare.

Rupert found that in this new life he always had a good appetite for breakfast—more, even, than for their other meals. He had never had so good an appetite at the Somerset House, though the cook at that establishment was probably superior to Ben Boone in his chosen line.