Blood of Eagles by William W. Johnstone

foot deep. Braced on his elbows, he clung desperately to the neck of a very large and very angry viper and felt debris raining down on his back. The snake beneath him writhed and surged, and he strained desperately to hold it still. Even while the debris was falling a thunder rose, and horsemen were right on top of him. Pounding hooves pummeled the earth inches from him ... and went right on by.
    Not even daring to breathe, Woha’li lay frozen still and listened. An inch from his nose, the rattlesnake hissed and gaped, its fangs dripping venom on the hand that held it imprisoned. His other arm, the right one, was almost numb with a searing pain that shot clear to his shoulder. The snake had stung him as he was grabbing it—a glancing blow, like two short scratches, but it hurt like fire. He ignored it as horsemen thundered toward him unseen.
    The riders went right over him! He heard them receding, heard their voices as they circled and searched, looking for him. Then he heard again the roar of the shotgun, and men seemed to be shouting all around.
    With every ounce of his strength, Woha’li held himself still in the tiny trough that hid him, held the writhing rattlesnake imprisoned beneath him, held its seeking fangs away from his flesh and held his breath. To hide in a forest, one must be the forest.
    â€œBe the prairie,” the Indian boy commanded himself.Nine pounds of powerful rattlesnake writhed and twisted, trying to free itself from the desperate fingers clutching its neck and head, and Woha’li did not move. He lay as still as the prairie.

    A covey of bobwhites exploded from cover as CasperWilkerson circled his horse, peering closely at the concealing underbrush. Almost underfoot, seven or eight quail flushed in a flurry of wings, and Casper’s shotgun came up and roared.
    Four birds dropped, and Casper heard Asa’s angry shout, “What are you doin’, you fool? It’s only birds!”
    â€œProb’ly all it ever was!” Casper shouted back. “See anythin’ else?”
    â€œNot a damn thing! But that was no quail that shot Folly! Keep lookin’!”
    From a distance, the bull voice of Kurt Obermier roared, “What is it? Did you get him?”
    â€œHaven’t seen anybody! How’s Folly?”
    â€œHe’s bleedin’ like hell!” Obermier shouted. “His cheek’s gouged wide open! God, I can see into his mouth through it! An’ he’s got a hole through his left ear! Somebody come help me with him!”
    For long minutes the search continued. Then Asa said, “Whoever it was is gone now! Let’s get back to the wagon!”
    Once again, the riders passed within yards of Woha’li without seeing him. Half-buried in gravel, sand, and shreds of sage, he was as invisible as a Cherokee can be.
    When he was sure they were gone Woha’li raised himself carefully, keeping his tight grip on the rattlesnake.His right arm throbbed, swollen and awkward.The men had returned to the wagon, where bat ears was on his feet now, staggering around and moaning, holding his head with a bloody hand.
    Carefully, Woha’li rolled out of the little depression,bringing the snake with him. The creature was as big around as his forearm, and almost as long as he was tall. Powerful coils writhed around his arm, compressing the flesh cruelly, and the extended fangs were like curved ivory needles, nearly an inch long.
    Watching until the men were turned away from him, he freed his arm of the rattler’s coils, then turned and flung it away from him. Landing among sage clumps, it coiled and buzzed, then stretched out and disappeared into shadows.
    â€œUtsonati, ” Woha’li whispered. “A’ali‘i a-awaduli.” Rattlesnake, be my friend. You are in my blood now. I have your spirit. “Utsonati, unali’i,” he added. “Go in peace.”
    His rifle was clogged with sand, and when he tried to jack a