The worst of it is, you never know what the effect will be until you have drunk the stuff; and after you have drunk it, you are in no condition to resist the effect or to refrain from courting further disaster.
That is what happened to Casey.

The poison in the first half-pint, swallowed under the eye of Joe's six-shooter, upset his judgment.

The poison in his further potations made a wholly different man of Casey Ryan; and the after effect was so terrific that he would have swallowed cyanide if it promised relief.
He gritted his teeth and suffered tortures until Joe returned and gave him a drink of whisky in a chipped granite cup.

Almost immediately he felt better.

The pounding agony in his head eased perceptibly and his nerves ceased to quiver.