Mack Nolan laughed to himself and rubbed the ash from his cigarette against the sole of his shoe.-"Why," he answered genially, "my game is holding up bootleggers--and crooked cops.
Speaking off-hand (which I don't often do) I should say you have a fine chance to sit in with me.-I'm just guessing, now,"-he added dryly,-"but I'm tolerably good at guessing; a man's got to be, these days."
"A man's got to do better than guess--with Casey Ryan," Casey remarked ominously.-"The last man that guessed Casey Ryan, guessed 'im plumb wrong."
"Meaning that you'd refuse to help me round up bootleggers and the officers that protect them?" A steel edge crept into Mack Nolan's voice.-He leaned forward, his elbows on his knees, his eyes boring into Casey's mind.
"Man, don't stall with me!-You've got brains enough to know that if I were a crook I'd have held you up long before now.-You gave me three splendid opportunities to stick a gun in your back--and I could have made others.-And," he added with a smile, "if I had thought that you were a bootlegger or a crook of any other kind, I'd have had you in Las Vegas jail by this time.-You're no more a crook than I am.-You've got neither the looks nor the actions of a slicker.-I may say I know you pretty well--"
Casey thrust out a pugnacious chin.-"Say!-D' you know Bill Masters, too?-That's all I wanta know!"
"Bill Masters?-Why, is he the fellow who stepped out from under this load of hootch?-If he is, he must have picked himself a new name; I never heard it."
Casey glared suspiciously for twenty seconds before he settled back glumly into his mental corner.
"Ryan, I've been all day sizing you up.-I'm going to be perfectly honest with you and tell you why I think you're straight--although you must admit the evidence is rather against you.
"I happened to be right close when you drove down in here and stopped. As a matter of fact, I was behind that little clump of junipers. Had you driven around them instead of stopping this side, you couldn't have failed to see me.
"You came down here mad at the trick that had been played you.
You were so mad, you started talking to yourself as a safety valve --blowing off mental steam.-You've spent a lot of time in the desert --alone.-Men like that frequently talk aloud their thoughts, just to hear a human voice.-You made matters pretty plain to me before you knew there was any one within miles of you.-For instance, you're not at all sure this car you've got wasn't stolen.-You're inclined to think it was.-You're broke--robbed, I take it, by the men who somehow managed to leave you with the car and a load of booze on your hands.-The trick must have been turned this morning; down at the railroad,-I imagine--because you hadn't taken time to stop and size up the predicament you were in until you got here.
"Your main idea was to get off somewhere out of sight.-You were scared. You didn't hear me behind you until I spoke--which proves you're a green hand at dodging.-And that, Ryan, is a very good recommendation to a man in my line of work.-But you're shrewd, and you're game-- dead game.-You're a peach at thinking up schemes to get yourself out of a hole.-Of course, being new at it, you don't think quite far enough.-For instance, because you found me afoot it never occurred to you that I might know something about a car; but the rest of your plan was a dandy.
"Your idea of backing down there around the turn and burying the booze was all right.-With almost any other man it would have worked. Once you got that hootch off your mind, I rather think you'd have been glad to have me along with you, instead of giving me broad hints to leave.-But you haven't got the booze buried yet, and you've been figuring all the evening.-You don't see how the devil you're going to manage it with me around.
"I'll do a little more guessing, now: I guess you've doped it out that you'll pack the bedroll up here, tuck me in and pray to the Lord I'll sleep sound.-You're hoping you can cache the booze and make your getaway while I've gone bye-low.-Or possibly, if you got the booze put away safe from my prying eyes, you might come back to bed and I'd find you here in the morning just as if nothing had happened.-How Is that for guesswork?"
"You go tahell!" growled Casey, swallowing a sickly grin.-He pressed down the tobacco in his pipe, eyeing Nolan queerly.-"If them damn' lizards had uh let yuh alone, I wouldn't have nothin' on m' mind now but my hat."-He looked across the fire and grinned again.
"Keep on; you'll be tellin' me what the missus an' I was arguin' about last night over long-distance.-I've heard tell uh this four-bit mind reading an' forecastin' your horrorscope fer a dime; but I never met up with it before.-If you're aimin' to take up a collection after the show, you'll fare slim.-I've been what a feller called 'dusted off'."-He added, after a pause that was eloquent, "They done it thorough!"
Mack Nolan laughed.-"They usually are thorough, when they're 'dusting off a chump', as I believe they call it."
Casey grunted.-"'Chump' is right, mebby.-But anyways, you're too late, Mr. Nolan. I'm cleaned."
Mack Nolan rolled another cigarette, lighted it and flipped the match into the campfire.-He smoked it down to the last inch, staring into the fire and saying nothing the while.-When the cigarette stub followed the match, he leaned back upon one elbow and began tracing a geometrical figure in the sand with a stick.
