A light flashed upon young Ashbridge. The amused expression on the faces of the escort was explained. James Deane had not been harmed by the rattlesnake which he had pounded to death. As is said, all this was done for effect.
The most real thing about the business was that Jim was procuring a prodigious supply of excellent whiskey without any expense to himself, and without any cause existing for such an over-dose.
Seeing the actual danger that threatened their friend, Hastings touched the shoulder of Mr. Altman, who looked up inquiringly at him.
"I wouldn't give him any more."
"It will be safer to fill him up with it, so as to counteract the poison."
"Yesh—fill him up," added Jim, thickly, reaching out his hand vaguely for the bottle; "fill him up—coun'act—hic—p'son—fill him up so he runs over."
"I think, Tom, he's running over now," suggested Mr. Ashbridge, who understood matters.
The words and the expressions on the countenances of the others caused the truth to flash upon the good Samaritan. He rose to his feet with a disgusted look. Then he shook his glass flask, and held it up between him and the sunlight.
"If I had suspected, he shouldn't have had a drop; he has drank enough to make three men drunk."
"And he's as drunk as three men can get," replied Ashbridge.