“If it doesn’t kill me, why then it’s safe, you see. I’m always willing to be the tester for the crowd, you know. Tastes all right, though, and as cold as anything. Whew! Rod, you have a dip, since Hanky feels nervous about it, won’t you?”
Rod thereupon laughed, accepted the rude drinking cup from the joker, filled it from the dripping bucket, and offered it to the third member of the group.
“Don’t mind what he says, Hanky; you know Josh loves to have his little joke; and I believe he still feels that he owes you one on account of the trick you played on him this morning.”
“Then you really don’t believe they did poison it, Rod?” asked the other.
“That isn’t the German way of doing things, as far as I know,” Rod told him; at which assurance Hanky Panky swallowed his fears, and drained the gourd.
“Might as well be hung for a whole sheep as a lamb!” he declared, once more dipping into the bucket; “but no matter if it’s my last drink or not, I’m going to say this is as fine water as any I ever drank over in our own dear country. So here goes.”
Rod in turn took a drink, and was ready to pronounce it excellent. Indeed, after their dusty ride of the morning nothing could have been one-half so refreshing as that draught of ice-cold water from the well with the old-fashioned sweep.
“If we’re meaning to rest up a little bit,” remarked Hanky Panky, shrewdly, “we might as well stay right here. Then just before we start off again it’ll be another swig all around. I’d like to carry a canteen of that same water along with me, so I could wet my whistle as I rode.”
“That would be your undoing, I’m afraid,” laughed Rod, picturing the other uptilting the said canteen every few minutes, in spite of the wretched condition of the road and the necessity for cautious riding.
“I wonder whatever became of the people who lived here?” remarked Josh, presently, as he shifted his position for some reason or other, and sat with his face close to the curb of the well.