Retired pair snag and snip deadly snakes : They prowl for rattlers, poking into places where common sense says no one ought to poke.

Some people retire to Arizona for the air. Others for the scenery. Some for the laid-back lifestyle. John and Sandy Weber came for the snakes.

Rattlers, to be exact. Hissing, slithery, venomous, side winding, no-good varmint rattlesnakes. The “chink-chink-chink” of a rattler’s tail is music to the Webers’ ears, not to mention money in their pockets.

Emigres from Illinois, where he long worked for an aviation firm, the couple has spent the last 11 years as professional rattlesnake hunters, stalking the back roads and washes of the desolate Dragoon Mountains near Tombstone for a prey that most people go to lengths to avoid.

“First time I came out here there were 20 big ones just laying on the ground,” said John, 55, as he bent down to peer into a dark, foreboding crevice one day recently. “Took my breath away.”

Now, from April to September, the best time for hunting, the Webers spend virtually every evening on the prowl, listening for that chilling, telltale rattler sound and poking gingerly into places that common sense says no one ought to poke.

“The most frightening sound I know is hearing that rattle and not knowing where the snake is,” said Weber. “Your heart just pounds.”

Odd as it may sound, Weber has had snakes on the brain ever since he was a kid, spending countless hours rounding up harmless garter snakes. He went to college in Florida and spent his weekends in swamps snagging deadly water moccasins.

These days, to do the job right, Weber travels with a knife or hatchet and a pair of long aluminum sticks equipped with pistol grips on one end and pliers on the other. When he spots a rattler, he grabs it with one stick, holds it down with the other, cuts the head off and stuffs both the head and body into a bag.

For those of you keeping score, the play goes simply: rattle, rattle, snag, push, snip.

Easy, right? Not exactly. For one thing, rattlers are hard to find. Weber once calculated that he captures one snake for every 10 hours of hunting. That averages out to a little more than three nights per snake, although during the rainy season in August he often can tally a snake a night.

So the experienced rattlesnake hunters learn that no opportunity is to be missed. On the way to meet friends for dinner recently, the Webers spotted a pair of snakes winding across the highway. They stopped their pickup, killed the snakes, stuffed them in the back and went on to dinner.

Then there was the time when Sandy, dressed in her Sunday finest, was driving to church when she spotted a rattler. Resourceful to the end, she pulled over, found a big rock, bashed the snake’s head off and stuffed both parts into a canvas bag. Then it was on to church, where the minister let her stash the bag in a refrigerator until services were done. Amen.

“John buys me lunch for every one I get so I wasn’t about to let that sucker get away,” said Sandy, 58.

Despite the dangers, Weber says he’s never been bitten. But that doesn’t mean he doesn’t worry about it. “We’re very careful, almost cowardly in the way we hunt,” he says. “We have a lot of respect for rattlesnakes.”

Just to be safe, he carries a suction device to suck the poison out of any wound. He also packs a stun gun that could be used to send a strong electric current into any bite. Although it’s only a theory, Weber believes the gun might help neutralize the poison.

The Webers market their catch at their own rattlesnake crafts store in Gleeson, a ghost town of abandoned buildings inhabited by vultures and 12 residents. The shop is stocked with more than 100 rattlesnake products from snake-skin neckties to wristbands for bowlers, earrings made from ribs and fangs and even a night light sticking out of the head of a Western diamondback.

Customers can also munch on free samples of rattlesnake jerky, which the Webers cook on the premises. They also fire up an occasional breakfast for visitors. Snake and eggs, anyone?