The visitor supplied the arm and Gayne's heavy weight hung upon it. They went out of doors and Gayne stopped and looked around cautiously. "Where's that brat?" he demanded.
"Do you mean the boy? He's over there by the cove. Asleep, I think."
"Then come on. Can't trust him 'cause they're the kind that speak the truth. Fools, you know. Can trust you, Blake. Trust you anywhere."
"Thank you," returned the visitor dryly.
At some distance from the house, in a hollow overhung with rocks, the heavy weight on Matt's arm became heavier and Gayne pushed away some turf and stones with his foot, disclosing a puddle of dark-colored water. He stooped and, picking up a rusty tin cup, half-filled it, and presented it to his companion whose arm he released.
"There, if you don't b'lieve me!" he said triumphantly.
The carpenter accepted the cup doubtfully and smelled of it. "Phew!" he exclaimed with a grimace.
"'Course," said the other. "Sulphur. Won'ful sulphur spring. Cure you of ever'thing. Had it an'lyzed. Drink it."
Blake took a cautious sip.