had never laughed so much before in all his
life, he thought. Every one, even Paw, who was normally a mean,
cantankerous old cuss, was having the time of his life.

They attempted to show Casey certain intricacies of their still, which
made it better than other stills and put a greater kick in the White
Mule it bred. Somewhere back in the dim recesses of Casey's mind, he
felt that he ought to listen and remember what they told him. Vaguely
he knew that he must not take another drink, no matter how insistent
they were. In the brief glow of that resolution Casey protested that
he could hoot without any more hootch. But he hated to hurt Paw's
feelings, or Hank's or Joe's. They had made the hootch with a new and
different twist, and they were honestly anxious for his judgment and
approval. He decided that perhaps he really ought to take a little
more just to please them; not much--a couple of drinks maybe.
Wherefore, he graciously consented to taste the "run" of the day
before. Thereafter Casey Ryan hooted to the satisfaction of everybody,
himself most of all.

After an indeterminate interval the four left the still, taking a
bottle with them so that it might be had without delay, should they
meet a snake or a hydrophobia skunk or some other venomous reptile. It
was Casey who made the suggestion, and he became involved in
difficulties when he attempted the word venomous. Once started Casey
was determined to pronounce the word and pronounce it correctly,
because Casey Ryan never backed up when he once started. The result was
a peculiar humming which accompanied his reeling progress down the
drift (now so narrow that Casey scraped both shoulders frequently) to
the portal.

They stopped on the flat of the dump and argued over the advisability
of taking a drink apiece before going farther, as a sort of preventive.
Joe told them solemnly that they couldn't afford to get drunk on the
darn' stuff. It had too hard a back-action kick, he explained, and
they might forget themselves if they took too much. It was important,
Joe explained at great length, that they should not forget themselves.
The boss had always impressed upon them the grim necessity of remaining
sober whatever happened.

"We never HAVE got drunk," Joe reiterated, "and we can't afford t' git
drunk now. We've got t' keep level heads, snakes or no snakes."

Casey Ryan's head was level. He wabbled up to Joe and told him so to
his face, repeating the stat