We rose to our hands and knees and crawled painfully up the slippery incline. Soon we had reached dry ground and stood upright; then, struck by a sudden thought, I turned to Harry:
"Didn't you drink any of that water?"
He answered: "No."
"Well, let's try it. It may be our last drink, Hal; make it a good one."
We crept back down to the edge of the lake (I call it that in my ignorance of its real nature), and, settling myself as firmly as possible, I held Harry's hand while he lowered himself carefully into the water. He was unable to reach its surface with his mouth without letting go of my hand, and I shook off my poncho and used it as a line.
"How does it taste?" I asked.
"Fine!" was the response. "It must be clear as a bell. Lord. I didn't know I was so thirsty!"
I was not ignorant of the fact that there was an excellent chance of the water being unhealthful, possibly poisoned, what with the tertiary deposits of copper ores in the rock-basins; but the thought awakened hope rather than fear. There is a choice even in death.
But when I had pulled Harry up and descended myself I soon found that there was no danger—or chance. The water had a touch of alkali, but nothing more.
Then we crept back up the wet ledge, and once more stood on dry ground.