"It's still pretty swollen isn't it?"

The disappointment in Sandburg's voice had very little to do with his partner's pain. Simon Banks was almost amused by the apologetic look Ellison gave him in response. Jim Ellison wouldn't apologize to save his life and here he was looking like a puppy caught with a half-chewed slipper.

"Yeah, I guess it is," Ellison said. "I'm sorry. I know you had your heart set on that hike."

"No." Sandburg interrupted. "It's not a big deal. We'll hang out here and do some fishing. You can fish from the bank and soak your ankle in the creek. It'll be great, man."

It was a valiant attempt. Pitiful, but valiant. Banks couldn't take it anymore. "Look, Jim, what if I made the hike with Sandburg? It leaves you on your own most of the day, but we'd be back in plenty of time to cook dinner, so you could kick back and relax."

Ellison stared at him. "Did I just hear you offer to go hiking? With Sandburg?"

Banks held a hand up. "I know. But look at him. You ever see anything more pitiful?"

Sandburg laughed. "Come on guys. I told you I'm fine with hanging out here today."

Ellison sighed and shook his head sadly. "Damn near as bad as last winter when I told him there wasn't a Santa Claus."

"Make a man cry just looking at him," Banks agreed.

"That's it!" Sandburg said. "You two have a great time. I'll be back for dinner."

"Go on," Ellison said, dropping the game. "I know you don't mind staying here, but I couldn't relax knowing you were missing out on my account."

"Give me a couple of minutes," Banks said. Let me get my boots and throw a day pack together." It was a far cry from the way he'd intended to spend his day, but it was worth it to see the way Sandburg lit up, not to mention putting an end to Ellison's unwarranted guilt trip.

He returned to find Sandburg waiting with what passed for patience in his world, which is to say, rocking up on his toes like a tethered balloon, prepared to take flight the moment Simon's return released him.

"Ready?" Banks asked.

"Half an hour ago," Sandburg said. "See ya in a few hours, Jim."

Ellison waved without looking up from the fishing tackle he was inspecting. "Have fun."

Banks' longer stride was a good match for Sandburg's excess energy. They kept pace easily with each other as the trail climbed steeply from the lake to the top of the ridge. Sandburg paused there to take in the view. Banks stopped behind him, grateful for the chance to catch his breath.

Sandburg looked over his shoulder. "You OK, old man?"

"Say that with a little respect, kid."

Sandburg flashed a quick grin and went back to scanning the scenery. Snow-capped Rainier dominated the horizon, but Adams was making a good show of it as well. "Pretty incredible, isn't it?"

"Yeah. You called that one right." Banks watched in amusement as Sandburg tugged a sport bottle from the mesh pocket of his pack and squeezed a long stream of water into his mouth, then shifted the bottle to let the stream of water splash over his face and neck. The kid seemed to turn even the simplest act into an exuberant celebration. It probably drove Ellison insane at home, but after weeks of dealing with the dark side of humanity, Banks secretly found it refreshing. He wasn't regretting his impulsive offer nearly as much as he'd thought he would.

"Ready?" he asked.

"Born ready," Sandburg said, and headed off across the ridge at a near-jog.

Chuckling, Banks lengthened his stride to catch up.

The trail ran along the ridgeline for about a mile and a half, then dropped down the back side of it and turned up a draw, following it nearly to its source, before it picked up another ridge. Rather than climbing all the way to the top, the trail ran parallel to it, halfway up the side. Finally they reached the spot they were aiming for. It was a short distance off the main trail but it was easy to see the pathway trampled through the vegetation and over the reddish volcanic basalt where hikers left the trail to scramble up to a shallow cave.

Banks had been in the lead, but Sandburg surged past him, impatient to reach the petroglyphs. Banks followed a little more cautiously, wary of the loose rock covering the slope they had to traverse.

"Simon!" Sandburg called down to him. "You gotta see this, man! It's amazing!"

"On my way," Banks called back, picking up his pace. The kid's excitement was infectious and, as it turned out, well warranted. The walls of the shallow cave were covered with spirals, crude human and animal figures and hands. The hands were everywhere. Sandburg was studying it all as if he were reading from a book.

"What does it mean?" Banks asked. "Is it a language? Like Egyptian hieroglyphs?"

"Not really. More like a picture book. You see this figure here, with the antlers? He's a shaman. He's probably soul-traveling, maybe communing with animal spirits to ensure a good hunt. See how right near it there's a hunter killing a deer? A lot of tribes believed that the animals they killed for food were sort of willing sacrifices. They'd ask permission, and then when the kill was made, they'd thank the spirit of the animal for its sacrifice."

"What about all the hands?"

Sandburg practically glowed. "That's the coolest part. They're really hands."

Banks' brow furrowed in confusion. "What?"

"See, they'd crush the pigment up to a fine powder, and then they'd put their hands on the wall, and use a bone straw to blow the pigment around them. You know, like kids in school do-- lay their hand on paper and draw around it. All of these hands -- they're like signatures."

"Kilroy was here."

"Yeah," Sandburg said. "Exactly. So they're all, you know, like, real people. Every one of them represents a real, living person. Seriously cool, huh?"

He sounded like Daryl. Banks chuckled. "Definitely cool."

"I want to go down below," Sandburg said. "There's a short cliff face. I'll bet anything they used it as well."

"Who's they?"

Sandburg shrugged. "Wanapum, probably, but maybe Yakima. I'm not sure. It's not really my area. I'll find out for you when we go back. Come on. Let's check out the lower cliff."

"You go ahead," Banks said. "I'm not sure I want to scramble around the talus. I got a knee that doesn't like that kind of thing."

"Oh. Right. No problem."

Sandburg headed back down to level ground. Banks watched him skirt around the main surface of the short cliff and disappear through a steep, narrow chimney. A moment later, he heard what sounded like a rockslide, accompanied by a startled shout. Banks stumbled down the rough slope to the top of the cliff. "Sandburg? Where are you? You O.K.? Blair?"

"Simon? Shitshitshitshit..."

"Sandburg?" At least cussing meant he was conscious. "Hang on. I'm coming down."

"No!" Sandburg's voice had risen a full octave in panic. "Don't come down here! They're all awake, and they're pissed, man! They're really pissed."

What the hell? And then it registered. That buzzing. It wasn't cicadas. "Jesus." Banks leaned over the edge, trying to get a look, but the slight overhang hid Sandburg from his view. "Blair! Keep still! Don't move!"

"Are you nuts man? You really think I was going to move?"

"OK. I can't see you from here. I need to know how badly you're hurt."

The long pause didn't bode well. "I'm OK," Sandburg called back finally. "Just stay where you are."

Banks stretched out on the edge and scooted forward, sending a shower of gravel over the edge.

"Simon, don't!" Sandburg shouted. "You're scaring them!"

Banks froze. "How many are there?"

"You think I'm counting them? How should I know? They're all over the place!"

"I'm coming down!"

"No! You're only going to rile them up. I think..." His voice hitched a little, as if he were stifling a pained outcry. "I think they're settling down a little."

"Blair..." Banks was quivering with tension, barely containing the urge to rush to Sandburg's rescue. "All right. Listen to me. We need a plan to get you out of this, and that means I need to know how mobile you're going to be. If you're hurt, playing it down isn't going to help anyone, and it could endanger both of us." There it was again. That long pause. "Sandburg?"

"Just stay up there. When they settle down, I'll try to make my way back up."

Below, still sprawled awkwardly in the position he'd landed in, Sandburg did his best to appear innocuous. He was leaking blood from half a dozen places where the rough volcanic stone had sliced and abraded his skin, and clutching the wrist that he had no intention of telling Simon about just yet. One foot had jammed between two boulders at the last moment. So far, he hadn't dared to move to get it free.

From nearly every flat rock in the vicinity, a diamond shaped head hovered on an S-curve above a golden brown coil, and for every slight shift of Sandburg's body, half a dozen striped tails buzzed a warning.

"Easy guys," Sandburg murmured. "It's all good, right? We're just hanging out. Nothing to worry about, right?"

"Sandburg?" Banks voice floated down to him from the top of the ridge. It sounded farther away now -- distant and less important. Sandburg suspected that might not be a good sign, but he had other things on his mind at the moment. He shifted slightly, trying to slide a hand toward his trapped foot.

Instantly a snake struck at him, missing by only a few inches. Sandburg flinched. "God! Don't do that! Come on, how about a little trust here, man?" He could hear Banks maneuvering around up above, trying to find a way to get down to him. "Simon! Stay where you are. I'm O.K. for now. We're all just a little freaked out down here and we're just gonna chill until we're a little more relaxed. That's not gonna happen if you keep making a racket up there."

"They're snakes!" Banks called back. "They don't have ears."

"Yeah but it's gonna get ugly if you drop rocks on their heads. Trust me."

"Give me a reason to trust you." Banks' voice was edged with frustration. "Be straight with me about how badly you're hurt."

Sandburg risked a glance at his wrist. Yep. Uglier than the last time he'd looked. "Some cuts and scrapes, and my foot's caught in some rocks. The ankle may be sprained. See if you can find something I can use as a walking stick."

"All right. Hang on. I'll be back."

Sandburg looked around at his unwilling companions. Most of them had dropped their defensive postures and were watching him with their chins resting on their coiled bodies. A youngster flicked a curious tongue in his direction, tasting the air for his scent. A couple of two-year-olds retreated into the rocks. A large pregnant female wedged herself under a ledge and went back to napping.

That still left a few too close for comfort. His wrist hurt like hell. Kyle Brady, from the Bio department had taken him into a snake den once last spring. On the hike back up the ridge, Kyle had talked about something Sandburg had found incredibly fascinating at the time. Rattlesnakes, he'd said, were evolving. And not over millennia like other complex organisms -- over decades. Not long ago, the venom of a pit viper like a rattlesnake was entirely haemotoxic. It broke down blood vessels and damaged the surrounding tissue, unlike the neurotoxins of a cobra or coral snake, which attacked the nervous system and caused the victim to stop breathing. But something was happening to the rattlesnakes. At first it was only the Mojave Rattlesnake, but then it spread to the Southern Pacific Rattlesnake and now it was showing up in the Northern Pacific as well. A few individuals at a time, rattlesnakes were adding a neurotoxin to the mix. The scary part was, you couldn't tell which ones had it or in what proportions. Not until you stopped breathing.

Sandburg risked sitting up slowly. A few heads came up. The youngster buzzed, hardly more than a faint rustle with only two segments. Sandburg froze. The last thing he wanted to do was upset the little guy. Kyle had told him something else about rattlesnake venom. An adult would rarely deliver a full dose, but a little guy like this one wouldn't have that much control. Fortunately the youngster had had enough for one day and retreated to the safety of the den.

The next step would be to free his foot. But that would have to wait until his buddies settled down again. "So," he said hopefully, "Does everyone know Kumbayah?"

It took half an hour before Sandburg was satisfied that all of the snakes had either departed or settled down sufficiently to make it safe to move around them. In the meantime, he managed to get his foot free, but the way it was throbbing, he didn't dare try his weight on it. The few remaining snakes might not forgive him so readily if rolled on top of them again. He called to Banks to let him know he was on the move, and then began the slow, cautious ascent, maneuvering on his knees and one hand, and checking every rock for a hidden occupant before he touched it.

Above him, Banks gritted his teeth in frustration, making a conscious effort not to hold his breath as he listened to Sandburg's progress through the talus. Finally he heard the movement stop. He still couldn't get a good look past the overhang.

"All right," Sandburg panted. "I think I'm clear."

"Thank God," Banks muttered, and then raised his voice. "Stay where you are. I'll come down and give you a hand."

Sandburg didn't argue with him. "Just watch where you put your feet and hands. They could be anywhere."

Banks shuddered. "I was trying not to think about that. OK. Just hang on." He worked his way through the narrow, near-vertical chimney in the rock onto the scree slope below. The scattered rock slid out from under his feet and he sat down hard, grasping at a boulder to keep from sliding down the slope.

"You OK?" Sandburg called, and Banks could hear him scrabbling upward.

"Fine," he called back. "Just wait for me." He pushed himself upright, and moved cautiously across the slope until he could see Sandburg below him. Banks felt a surge of relief at being in visual contact again, although Sandburg's huddled position wasn't exactly reassuring.

Sandburg raised his head, and grinned broadly when he saw Banks above him. "Hey, Simon."

"Hey yourself," Banks said, reaching him at last and settling carefully beside him. "How you doing?"

"Better than five minutes ago."

Banks dug the first aid kit out of his pack. It wasn't exactly designed for major trauma but Sandburg didn't look too bad off. Banks didn't take time to clean the cuts properly. They could do a more thorough job back in camp, and Banks was a little concerned by Sandburg's state of mind. Not that the kid gave him any trouble. On the contrary, he was unusually passive while Banks bandaged the worst of the cuts and took a look at the injured ankle. The ankle was bruised and missing a patch of skin, but not swelling badly. "Looks like you got lucky," Banks said. Probably hurts like hell but it's bruised, not sprained."

Sandburg nodded silently.

"Blair? You OK?" Banks couldn't see any blood on his face, but his hair was long enough to conceal a head injury, and he was acting oddly enough to warrant wondering.

Sandburg sighed and finally shook his head. "Not exactly."

Banks gave him a sharp look. "How not exactly?" Sandburg wouldn't look at him. This was definitely not good. "Sandburg?"

"I kinda... fell on one."

"One what? A snake? Are telling me one of them bit you?"

"Only because I fell on him."

Banks wanted to pick him up and shake him. "I don't care why it bit you. Why didn't you tell me? Let me see."

Sandburg exposed the wrist that Banks had only just realized he'd been concealing. It was already swollen and beginning to discolor. Sandburg had been about as unlucky as it was possible to get with a rattlesnake. Most bites are dry, delivering no venom at all, or consist of a single puncture or even a light scratch. This snake had planted both fangs solidly and, worse, had been disturbed enough to deliver venom. The rapidity and severity of the swelling presaged a dangerous systematic reaction. At the very least, he was in for a rough ride. Rattlesnake venom was rarely fatal, but Banks wasn't willing to gamble on it.

He flushed the punctures with water, though he knew it was too late for it to do much good. "I don't think we'd better wrap it, the way it's swelling, but we need to get you back. You ready to move?"

"Yeah. Just let me hang on to you until I see how much this foot will take."

Banks got to his feet and shifted his stance until he was sure nothing was going to roll out from under his feet. "All right. Ready when you are."

Sandburg used Banks' arm to haul himself upright, took one step, and collapsed with a gasp of pain. "Well that went well," he panted, making a weak attempt at a grin.

"Hang on to me," Banks said. "Take it slow."

They worked their way up over the tumbled boulders to the base of the short cliff. Getting up around the cliff was a little tougher. Banks went first, and then reached out to help Sandburg haul himself up over the last few rocks. Sandburg sprawled on the trail for a moment longer, catching his breath while Banks retrieved Sandburg's pack and the slightly crooked branch he'd found to serve as a staff.

Sandburg reached up and Banks pulled him to his feet. "Thanks," Sandburg said, taking the staff and leaning heavily on it.

Banks watched him worriedly. "How you doing?"

"I'm OK." Sandburg shook his hair back from his face. A few strands clung tenaciously to his sweat-damp cheek. "We probably ought to get back, though."

"Yeah," Banks said. There wasn't much else to say. They both knew the score.

"Simon. Hold up a sec, man."

Banks stopped. "Sorry."

Sandburg shook his head. "It's O.K. I just need some water." He was flushed and sweating.

Banks pushed back a flutter of panic in his gut. The weather wasn't that hot. And they hadn't been moving very fast. He tugged a water bottle from his pack and pulled the sport nozzle up. "Here you go."

Sandburg leaned heavily on him for balance while he drank and then poured water over his swollen wrist.

"Pretty bad, huh?" Banks said. "Maybe I'd better have a look."

"What for?" Sandburg handed the water bottle back. "There's nothing we can do about it. Let's just keep moving."

"Maybe we shouldn't. I don't want to leave you alone, but maybe it'd be better for you to just sit someplace and let me go for help. Maybe get a chopper."

Sandburg shifted his weight back to the walking stick. "You know how much they make you pay for those things, man? Anyway, by the time they got one ordered and flown in, we could make it back three times over. I just want to get back."

Banks considered it. As much as he hated it, the kid was right. With the bite on his wrist and not on a foot or leg, he was probably better off doing a little walking and getting medical attention that much sooner. Not for the first time, Banks cursed the minor incident that had left Ellison with a sore ankle. Banks had had basic first aid training, but in the cool, damp climate of the west side, they didn't spend much time talking about rattlesnakes. Ellison could have acted with assurance. Banks was guessing at best. "All right," he said. "Why don't you lean on me?"

Sandburg shook his head. "I'm O.K. for now. No point wearing you down yet."

He didn't have to finish the thought and his eyes said clearly that he meant to spare Banks' feelings by leaving it unspoken. Banks suspected he'd never be able to think of the kid as "flaky" again. Unable to find words, he just nodded and let Sandburg move ahead of him, where he could set his own pace.

With Sandburg unable to put much weight on his bruised foot, they weren't making good time. Banks chafed at the delay, all too aware of the potential consequences, but there was nothing to be done about it. The difference in their heights would make it awkward for him to support Sandburg. It wouldn't be any easier on Sandburg and would probably slow them down. Carrying him would be a last resort. The kid was short, but solidly muscled. The only way Banks could handle his weight would be in a fireman's carry, and that would be hell for both of them.

Sandburg moved doggedly forward for another half hour, not wasting his energy to look back. Then he stumbled, swayed, and came to a stop, clinging hard to the walking stick. "Simon."

"Right here, kid." Banks moved forward quickly to get an arm around him. The stick fell away and Sandburg sagged against him, clutching at Banks' shirt with his good hand.

"I gotta sit down. Sorry. I just gotta sit..." His voice trailed off, and he rested his head against Banks' chest, his good hand shifting in Banks' shirt for a better grip.

"O.K. I gotcha. Come on." Banks lowered him to the ground and knelt beside him, keeping an arm around him for support. Sandburg's hand was still tangled his shirt. "Talk to me," Banks said, setting Sandburg's pack down to leave both hands free.

"I don't know. I just... God, it's like everything's tilting. I feel like I'm gonna fall." He jerked suddenly and tightened his grip, pinching flesh along with the shirt. "Don't let go!" he said in sudden panic.

"I won't," Banks promised. "I won't. I got you."

Sandburg chuckled unconvincingly. "Sorry. God, that was weird, man." He loosened his grip but didn't let go. His t-shirt was soaked with sweat. Banks could feel slight tremors running through him.

"You cold?" That would definitely not be a good sign.

"A little." Sandburg raised his head to look at him. "Maybe you were right. Maybe you ought to go on ahead."

"I don't think it'd be a good idea to leave you alone. It's not much farther." Banks used his free hand to work his pack from his shoulders, and then pinned it with his feet so he could get into it and pull out the zippered sweatshirt he'd stuffed into it in case the weather turned. It would be far too large for the smaller man, but that was what Banks was counting on. It would be more blanket than jacket for him. "Here. See if you can get your arm through this." Sandburg tensed and Banks realized the problem immediately. Getting into the sweatshirt was going to require releasing his hold on Banks' shirt. "I got you," Banks said.

"Yeah. Sorry. I know I'm sitting on the ground. I just can't seem to get my brain to believe it." He let go and allowed Banks to help him get his good arm through the sleeve and zip the sweatshirt around the injured one.

"Think you can walk, if I hang onto you?"

"I don't know." He hung his head, auburn curls falling forward to obscure his face. "This tilting thing -- it's making me seasick."

He looked so miserable and sounded so apologetic that Banks was transported twelve years back to when Daryl had the obligatory childhood run-in with the chicken pox. He shoved the pack aside and drew the younger man against him, trying to provide both warmth and support. "It's O.K. Relax. We'll just sit here for a minute."

For just a moment, Sandburg settled gratefully into the comfort. Then, as if he'd suddenly realized where he was, he stiffened and pulled away. "I'm O.K., man. You're right. We ought to get moving. We promised Jim he wouldn't have to cook. Help me up."

"You sure you're ready?"

Sandburg snorted. "I'm sure I'm not. But there's not much choice, is there?"

"'Fraid not, son." Banks wriggled into his pack and slung Sandburg's over one shoulder, then got to his feet and helped Sandburg up beside him. "All right. Here we go. Hang on to me."

"Lead on, Kemosabe." Sandburg's weak grin let Banks know he was still in the game. Irreverent, eccentric, hyperactive, seriously annoying at times -- the kid was a lot of things, but he was no quitter. Banks had to give him that.

They were on the last leg of trail. Banks knew it couldn't be more than half a mile. But Sandburg was on his last legs too, leaning more heavily on Banks with each step, and stopping every few yards to cling to Banks' shirt while he rode out a wave of dizziness. Finally, even his fierce determination wouldn't keep him on his feet any longer and he went down, nearly taking Banks with him.

Too busy hanging on to him to speak, Banks did what he could to slow the descent, until they were both on their knees, Sandburg clinging to Banks with one hand, Banks keeping one arm around him and bracing one hand on the ground to steady himself. "O.K," Banks said, "Just a little bit farther. We're almost there."

"I can't." Sandburg swayed and adjusted his grip, struggling to stay upright. "Simon, I can't, man. I'm sorry. I gotta rest."

Banks forced himself to speak calmly. "All right. That's O.K." He knelt there a little longer, catching his breath and trying to come to a decision. On his own he could probably make camp in ten or fifteen minutes, and be back with Ellison in another fifteen. Between them they could carry the kid without hurting him. But that would mean leaving Sandburg on his own for half an hour, and that didn't sit well. It didn't sit well at all.

Sandburg had been silent, breathing hard and hanging on the best he could, but now he raised his head. "Jim... Jim can probably hear us if we yell."

"Jim," said a new voice, "Could hear you a quarter mile back. What the hell happened?" Ellison crouched to take Sandburg's weight from Banks. "Relax, Chief. I got you."

Banks sat back on his heels. "Your partner went visiting in a snake den. They weren't all happy to see him."

"Only the one I rolled on," Sandburg grumbled.

Ellison shook his head. "Let you out of my sight for ten minutes. Come on. Let's get you back to camp. "Where's the bite?"

"Right wrist," Banks said.

"What about your ankle?" Sandburg piped up.

"My ankle's fine. Simon, are you O.K.?"

"Fine."

"All right, then let's go with a chair carry. It'll be quicker than trying to walk him back, and easier on him with the height difference."

"Right," Banks said. He leaned forward to unzip the sweatshirt, freeing Sandburg's right arm, then locked wrists with Ellison to form a platform.

"I can walk," Sandburg protested. "I just needed a break."

"Don't argue with me, Chief," Ellison said. "This will be easier on all of us."

"We'll have to watch the balance, Jim," Banks said. "He's been pretty dizzy."

"If you just let me walk..."

"No!" Banks and Ellison said in unison.

One week later...

"No." Ellison folded his arms, planted his feet and glared at his partner. "Absolutely no damn way."

"Jim..."

"No."

"You're scared!" Sandburg taunted. His right arm rested in a sling, and he still looked drained, but his eyes were bright with amusement. "Big bad Chopec warrior's scared!"

"I'm not scared." Ellison looked over the slope below them and shuddered. "I'm just being sensible. I've already carried you off this trail once."

Sandburg rolled his eyes dramatically, looking more like an annoyed teenager than an almost-PhD. "Don't be such a wuss, man. Come on." Before Ellison could stop him, he was making his way down over the slope.

"Sandburg!" Ellison growled, but it was far too late. Ellison hesitated a moment longer and then followed, cursing him all the way.

Halfway down the slope Sandburg stopped, and sat cross-legged on a flat rock. He held up a hand to warn Ellison, but Ellison needed no warning. The sight of his partner surrounded by at least twenty rattlesnakes was more than enough to make him move cautiously.

"It's OK," Sandburg said without looking back at him. "Come on down. Just watch where you put your feet."

Ellison joined him on the rock, but remained standing.

"Have you ever seen anything like it?" Sandburg said, glancing up at him with shining eyes.

"I think I can safely say I haven't. How about we go back up now?"

"Look at them." Sandburg said softly. "Just look at them, Jim."

Moved against his will by his partner's emotion, Ellison made an effort to relax and really looked.

They were all over the slope, curled up on the warm rocks, chins resting on their coiled bodies. While Ellison watched, one raised a masked face to study them for a moment. The jaws gaped in what looked for all the world like a yawn, and then snake settled back, nestling against the rock like a kitten getting comfortable on a pillow. The slanting rays of the afternoon sun picked up the paler tints in the snakes' patterns and made them glow dusty gold. It was almost...

"Magic," Sandburg said.

Yeah. That was the word he was looking for. Magic.

*Author's note:
Many readers will think that the final scene in this piece is unrealistic. In fact, it's the most realistic scene in the story. It was having that experience myself that got me thinking about writing a snake story. The Northern Pacific Rattlesnake dens in large groups. In spring, before they leave the denning area, and in the fall before they settle in for the winter, they can be seen in large numbers, sunning on the talus slope that covers the den. Contrary to popular misconception, they're not at all aggressive. In fact, the most unrealistic aspect of the story is the bite, which I could only make vaguely plausible by having Blair actually land on the snake. In almost every case where a Northern Pacific Rattlesnake bites a human, the human has either stepped on the snake, or was deliberately teasing or roughly handling it. Also, defensive bites often inject little or no venom. Of course, I wouldn't advise walking into a den unless you're experienced with snakes or have someone with you who is, but I hope my little story has taken away some of the irrational fear that causes people to kill these absolutely amazing creatures on sight.*

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