Then, she slid over the side again, and at the bottom held the flask
up to the light. Through the side slits in the alligator-skin covering,
she saw the deep color of the contents; and, as she lifted the nozzle,
she sniffed contemptuously. Then, she took a sample draught herself--to
make certain that it was whiskey.

She brushed her lips scornfully with the back of her hand.

"Huh!" she exclaimed. "Hit hain't nothin' but red licker, but maybe
hit mout be better'n nuthin'." She was accustomed to seeing whiskey
freely drunk, but the whiskey she knew was colorless as water, and
sweetish to the palate.

She knew the "mountain dew" which paid no revenue tax, and which, as
her people were fond of saying, "mout make a man drunk, but couldn't
git him wrong." After tasting the "fotched-on" substitute, she gravely,
in accordance with the fixed etiquette of the hills, wiped the mouth of
the bottle on the palm of her hand, then, kneeling once more on the
stones, she lifted the stranger's head in her supporting arm, and
pressed the flask to his lips. After that, she chafed the wrist which
was not hurt, and once more administered the tonic. Finally, the man's
lids fluttered, and his lips moved. Then, he opened his eyes. He opened
them waveringly, and seemed on the point of closing them again, when he
became conscious of a curved cheek, suddenly coloring to a deep flush,
a few inches from his own. He saw in the same glance a pair of wide
blue eyes, a cloud of brown-red hair that fell down and brushed his
face, and he felt a slender young arm about his neck and shoulders.

"Hello!" said the stranger, vaguely. "I seem to have----" He broke