Once spring arrived in earnest, Hoss arranged a trip to Placerville to meet with a prominent rancher in that area about some new breeding stock. To celebrate his successful negotiations for the purchase of a grand bull, he decided to stop by one of his favorite fishing spots, a creek not far from Taylors Landing at the south end of Lake Tahoe. After retrieving the small pouch that held fishing line and hooks, Hoss cut a sapling to use as a pole, and positioned himself on a rocky outcropping that stuck out into the water. His time was well spent and soon he was rewarded for his effort.

"Hmm, hmmm, hmmm! Aren't ya a fine lookin' buncha trout! Hop Sing is gonna fry ya up real crispy like and iffen Adam, Joe, and Pa asks real nice I might jest let 'em have a little piece!"

Hoss chuckled heartily as he held up eight good-sized fish that gleamed in the bright April sun. He reached around behind him on the rocky ledge for his canvas bag to put the fish into for transporting them to the ranch. He heard the tell-tale rattle and instantly felt searing pain in his lower arm. Chubb whinnied from afar hearing his owner's painful groan. Hoss' lovely catch slipped down the rocky embankment into the water as he grabbed the rattler. Ripping it from his flesh, he flung it out into the creek.

"Uhh, ow, dammit!"

Reflex brought his meaty hand over to cover the bite. Immediately his mind kicked into action. Hoss tried to keep his left arm still while he worked quickly to unbuckle his gun belt and then pull the belt from his pants. He wrapped his large forearm with his belt just above the fang marks that were now oozing blood and pulled it tight. He sucked his arm at the sight of the wound in an attempt to remove some of the venom and forcefully spit deadly fluid to the side. He did this several times hoping to keep at least some of the poison from moving further into his bloodstream. Grabbing his canteen, Hoss took a drink and rinsed his mouth. Repeating this process a few times, he finally took a long draw before replacing the lid.

Hoss panted nervously trying to keep his wits about him. He shielded his eyes as he looked up toward the sun. He judged it to be a couple of hours before noon. Though he knew that moving about was risky and would probably advance the effects of the poison, he was alone and also needed to find shelter. He had not seen another soul in the time he had been fishing. He picked up his gun belt and canteen and moved with purpose to where his horse was picketed in the shade a short distance from the water.

"Chubb, ole buddy, I done got myself in a real mess here." His horse nickered as Hoss leaned hard into Chubb's head.

The big man dug into his saddlebag and pulled out a small flask of whiskey and a roll of cloth. He poured some of the amber liquid over his arm, wincing as it hit the open wounds. He took a swig and returned the bottle to the leather bag. He bandaged the area and prepared to mount up. Pausing briefly, he had the presence of mind to leave a marker of some broken branches for his family to follow if by chance they were able to find him. Hoss grimaced as he hoisted himself into the saddle. His arm was throbbing and he was already beginning to see red swelling on both sides of the dressing. Still hours from home and a doctor, he opted to follow a path he had seen leading away from the creek and nudged Chubb toward the trail.

The motion of his horse caused his stomach to churn as the poison began to affect his vision. He held tightly to the saddle horn to keep himself upright. A few minutes later the nausea got the best of him. He leaned over to try to keep from spewing the contents of his stomach down his leg and onto his horse. Only partially successful, Hoss swiped a hand across his face, barely keeping himself in the saddle, and urged Chubb on. Visions of his father and brothers passed before his eyes. He had no sense of time. A faint silly smile came to his face when Hoss thought that his family had found him, but it was all a hallucination.

"Pa? Pa my arm...I got myself bit by a rattler..Pa?" He mumbled with slurred speech.

Hoss swayed to and fro. His left arm and hand were swelling rapidly and becoming no use for steadying himself. Chubb plodded slowly forward, sensing his master was in dire straights.

Sometime later, though Hoss had no idea whether it was hours or days, he momentarily showed signs of coming out of the murky fog of his poison induced stupor. His vision was blurry and he had no sense of where he was, except that he was in a bed and it was dark. The face of a blonde-haired, blue-eyed woman glowed with an ethereal aura as she leaned over him mopping his brow with a cool cloth.

"Mama? Did I go ta be with ya? Mama", he croaked out in a faint whisper. Hoss tried to reach up toward the woman's face, but his arm fell back to the bed with a thud. Sapping all his strength, he slipped back into blackness.

"You take good care of him, understand-" an authoritative voice called from the shadows, "-a big clod like that can move a lot of rock if he survives and gets his strength back."

Not even daring to look his way, the young woman nodded obediently. "Yes, sir. I will, sir."

The man leered at his prisoners with satisfaction. In his current state, Hoss had no knowledge or any sensation of the shackles that bound his ankles and were secured with heavy chains to metal rings in the floor of the house where he laid.