Casey fell asleep immediately afterward, but Mack Nolan lay for a long while with his eyes wide open and his ears alert for strange sounds in the gulch.-He was a new man in this district, working independently of sheriff's offices.-Casey Ryan was the first man he had confided in; all others were fair game for Nolan to prove honest or dishonest with the government.-The very nature of his business made it so.-For when whisky runners drove openly in broad daylight through the country with their unlawful loads, somewhere along the line officers of the law were sharing the profits. Nolan knew none of them,--by sight.-If he carried the records of some safely memorized and pigeonholed for future use, that was his own business. Mack Nolan's thoughts were his own and he guarded them jealously and slept with his lips tightly closed.
He wanted no sheriff coming to him for explanation of his movements.-Wherefore he listened long, and when he slept his slumber was light.
At daylight he was up and abroad.-Two hours after sunrise Casey awoke with the smell of breakfast in his nostrils.-He rolled over and blinked at Mack Nolan standing with his hat on the back of his head and a cigarette between his lips, calmly turning three hot-cakes with a kitchen knife.-Casey grinned condescendingly.-He himself turned his cakes by the simple process of tossing them in the air a certain kind of flip, and catching them dexterously as they came down.-Right there he decided that Mack Nolan was not after all a real outdoors man.
"Well, the sheriff didn't arrive last night," Nolan observed cheerfully, when he saw that Casey was awake.-"I don't much look for him, either.-Your driving on past the turn to Juniper Wells and coming up that other old road very likely threw him off the track.-You must have been close to the State line then and he gave you up as a bad job."
"It was a GOOD job!"-Casey maintained reaching for his clothes.
"I made 'em think I was headed clean outa the country.-If they knowed who it was at all, they'd know I belong in L. A., and I figured they'd guess I was headed there.-They stopped for something this side of Searchlight an' so I pulls away from 'em a couple of miles.-They never seen where I went to."
While he washed for breakfast, Casey began to take stock of certain minor injuries.
"That darned Pete Gibson has got tushes in his mouth like a wild hawg; the kind that sticks out," he grumbled, touching certain skinned places on his knuckles.-"Every time I landed on 'im yesterday I run against them tushes uh his'n."-But he added with a grin, "They ain't so solid as they was when I met up with 'im.
I felt one of 'em give 'fore I got through."
"Brings the price of moonshine up a bit, doesn't it?"-Nolan suggested drily.-"I rather think you might better have paid the men their price. A fight is well enough in its way--I'm Irish myself.-But as my agent, Ryan, the main idea is to let the law fight for you.-Our work is merely to give the law a chance.-I like your not wanting to explain to the sheriff.-Prohibition officers do not explain, as a rule. The law behind them does that.
"And since the price seems to be rather hard on the knuckles--"
He glanced down at Casey's hands and grinned"--I think it may come cheaper to make the stuff ourselves.-Licking two men for three gallons, and getting the officers at your tail light into the bargain, is all right as an experiment; but I don't believe, Ryan, we ought to adopt that as a habit.
Casey cocked an eye up at him.-"Did yuh ever make White Mule, Mr. Nolan? he asked grimly.
Nolan laughed his easy little chuckle. "Why, no, Ryan, I never did. Did you?"
"Naw.-I seen some made once, but I had too much of it inside me at the time to learn the receipt for it.-I'd rather steal it, if it's all the same to you, Mr. Nolan."-His hand went up to the back of his head and moved forward, although there was no hat to push. "I've lived honest all these years--an', dammit, it's kinda tough to break out with stealin I what yuh don't want!-Couldn't we fill them bottles with somethin' that LOOKS like hootch?-Cold tea should get by, Mr. Nolan.-It'd be a fine joke on Smilin'
Lou."
"A good joke, maybe--but no evidence.-It isn't against the law, Ryan, to have cold tea in your possession.-No, it's got to be whisky, and there's got to be a load of it.-Enough to look like business and tempt him or any other member of the gang you happen to meet.-If they caught you with three gallons, Casey, they'd probably run you in and feel very virtuous about it.-Nothing for it, I'm afraid.-We'll have to become real moonshiners ourselves for awhile."
Casey ate with less appetite after that.-Making moonshine did not appeal to him at all.-Given his choice, I think he would even prefer drinking it, unhappy as the effect had been on him.
"We'll need a still, and we'll need the stuff.-I'm going to leave you in charge of the camp, Ryan, while I make a trip to Needles. I'll deputize you to assist me in cleaning up this district. And this district, Ryan, touches salt water.-So if revenge looks good to you, you'll have a fine chance to get even with the bootleggers.-And in the meantime, just kill time around camp here while I'm gone.-If any one shows up, you're prospecting."
That day, doubt-devils took hold of Casey Ryan and plucked at his belief.-How did he know that Mack Nolan wasn't another bootlegger, wanting to rope Casey in on a job for some fell purpose of his own?-He had Mack Nolan's word and nothing more.
For that matter, he had also had young Kenner's word.-Kenner had fooled him completely.-Mack Nolan could also fool him--perhaps.
"Well, anyhow, he never claimed to know Bill Masters, and that's a point in 'is favor.-And if it's some dirty work he's up to, he coulda made it shorter than what he's doin'.-An' if he's double-crossin' Casey Ryan--well, anyway, Casey Ryan 'll be present at the time an' place when he does it!"
Upon that comforting thought, Casey decided to trust Mack Nolan until he caught him playing crooked; and proceeded to kill time as best he could.
