the trail of the white mule-第11部分

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found　it　scarcely　wide　enough　for　his　oscillating　progress。　They
turned　into　a　drift。　　Casey　did　not　know　which　drift　it　was；
though　he　tried　foggily　to　remember。　　He　was　still；　you　must
know；　trying　to　keep　a　level　head　and　gain　valuable　information
for　the　sheriff　who　he　hoped　would　return　to　the　butte　with　　　
Barney。

Paw　and　Hank　were　wrangling　somewhere　ahead。　　Casey　could　hear
their　raised　voices　mingled　in　a　confused　rumbling　in　the　pent
walls　of　the　drift。　　Casey　thought　they　passed　through　a　doorway；
and　that　Joe　closed　a　heavy　door　behind　them；　but　he　was　not
sure。

Memory　of　the　old　woman　intoning　her　horrible　anathema　surged
back　upon　Casey　with　the　closing　of　the　door。　　The　voices　of　Hank
and　Paw　he　now　mistook　for　the　ravings　of　the　woman　in　the　stone
hut。　Casey　balked　there；　and　would　not　go　on。　　He　did　not　want　to
face　the　old　woman　again；　and　he　said　so　repeatedlyor　believed
that　he　did。

Joe　caught　him　by　the　arm　and　pulled　him　forward　by　main
strength。　The　voices　of　Paw　and　Hank　came　closer　and　clarified
into　words；　or　did　Casey　and　Joe　walk　farther　and　come　into　their
presence？

They　were　all　standing　together　somewhere；　in　a　large；
underground　chamber　with　a　hole　letting　in　the　sunlight　high　up
on　one　side。　Casey　was　positive　there　was　a　hole　up　there；
because　the　sun　shone　in　his　eyes　and　to　avoid　it　he　moved　aside
and　fell　over　a　bucket　or　a　keg　or　something。　　Hank　laughed
loudly　at　the　spectacle；　and　Paw　swore　because　the　fall　startled
him；　but　it　was　Joe　who　helped　Casey　up。

Casey　knew　that　he　was　sitting　on　a　barrelor　somethingand
telling　a　funny　story。　　He　thought　it　must　be　very　funny　indeed；
because　every　one　was　laughing　and　bending　double　and　slapping
legs　while　he　talked。　　Casey　realized　that　here　at　last　were　men
who　appreciated　Casey　Ryan　as　he　deserved　to　be　appreciated。　
Tears　ran　down　his　own　weathered　cheekstears　of　mirth。　　He　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　mucha　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　statement　many　times　and　in　many
forms。　　He　declaimed　it　all　the　way　up　the　path　to　the　dugout；
and　when　they　were　standing　outside。　　Beyond　all　else；　Casey　was
anxious　that　Joe　should　feel　perfectly　certain　that　he；　Casey
Ryan；　knew　what　he　was　doing；　knew　what　he　was　saying；　and　that
his　head　was　and　always　had　been　perr…rf'c'ly　level…l…l。

〃Jus'　t'　prove…itI　c'n　kill　that
jack…over…therewithout…no…gun！〃　Casey　bragged　bubblingly；
running　his　words　together　as　if　they　were　being　poured　in　muddy
liquid　from　his　mouth。　　〃B'lieve　it？　Think…I…can't？〃

The　three　turned　circumspectly　and　stared　solemnly　at　a　gray
burro　with　a　crippled　front　leg　that　had　limped　to　the　dump　heap
within　easy　throwing　distance　from　the　cabin　door。　　Hobbling　on
three　legs　it　went　nosing　painfully　amongst　a　litter　of　tin　cans
and　bent　paper　cartons；　hunting　garbage。　　As　if　conscious　that　it
was　being　talked　about；　the　burro　lifted　its　head　and　eyed　the
four　mournfully；　its　ears　loosely　flopping。

〃How？〃　questioned　Paw；　waggling　his　beard　disparagingly。　　〃Spit
'n　'is　eye？〃

〃Talk　'm　t'　death；〃　Hank　guessed　with　imbecile　shrewdness。

〃Think…I…can't？　　What'lly'bet？〃

They　disputed　the　point　with　drunken　insistence　and　mild
imprecations；　Hank　and　Paw　and　Joe　at　various　times　siding
impartially　for　and　against　Casey。　　Casey　gathered　the　impression
that　none　of　them　believed　him。　　They　seemed　to　think　he　didn't
know　what　he　was　talking　about。　　They　even　questioned　the　fact
that　his　head　was　level。　　He　felt　that　his　honor　was　at　stake　and
that　his　reputation　as　a　truthful　man　and　a　level…headed　man　was
threatened。

While　they　wrangled；　the　fingers　of　Casey's　right　hand　fumbled
unobserved　in　the　sling　on　his　left；　twisting　together　the　two
short　lengths　of　fuse　so　that　he　might　light　both　as　one　piece。
Even　in　his　drunkenness　Casey　knew　dynamite　and　how　best　to
handle　it。　　Judgment　might　be　dethroned；　but　the　mechanical
details　of　his　profession　were　grooved　deep　into　habit　and　were
observed　automatically　and　without　the　aid　of　conscious　thought。

He　braced　himself　against　the　dugout　wall　and　raised　his　hand　to
the　cigarette　he　had　with　some　trouble　rolled　and　lighted。　A
spitting　splutter　arose；　that　would　have　claimed　the　attention　of
the　three；　had　they　not　been　unanimously　engaged　in　trying　to
out…talk　one　another　upon　the　subject　of　Casey's　ability　to　kill
a　burro　seventy…five　feet　away　without　a　gun。

Casey　glanced　at　them　cunningly；　drew　back　his　right　hand　and
pitched　something　at　the　burro。

〃Y'　watch　'im！〃　he　barked；　and　the　three　turned　around　to　look；
with　no　clear　conception　of　what　it　was　they　were　expected　to
watch。

The　burro　jerked　its　head　up；　then　bent　to　sniff　at　the　thin　curl
of　powder　smoke　rising　from　amongst　the　cans。　　Paw　and　Hank　and
Joe　were　lifted　some　inches　from　the　ground　with　the　explosion。
They　came　down　in　a　hail　of　gravel；　tin　cans　and　fragments　of
burro。　Casey；　flattened　against　the　wall　in　preparation　for　the
blast；　laughed　exultantly。

Paw　and　Hank　and　Joe　picked　themselves　up　and　clung　together　for
mutual　support　and　comfort。　　They　craned　necks　forward；　goggling
incredulously　at　what　little　was　left　of　the　burro　and　the　pile
of　tin　cans。

〃'Z　that　a　bumb？〃　　Paw　cackled　nervously　at　last；　clawing　gravel
out　of　his　uncombed　beard。　　〃'Z　got　me　all　shuck　up。　Whar's　that
'r　bottle？〃

〃'Z　goin'　t'　eat　a　bumbol'　fool　burro！〃　　Hank　chortled　weakly；
feeling　tenderly　certain　nicks　on　his　cheeks　where　gravel　had
landed。　〃Paw；　you　ol'　fool；　you；　don't　hawg　the　hull　thing
gimme　a　drink！〃

〃Casey's　sure　all　right；〃　came　Joe's　official　O。K。　of　the
performance。　〃Casey　said　'e　c'd　do　it'n'　Casey　done　it！〃　　He
turned　and　slapped　Casey　somewhat　uncertainly　on　the　back；　which
toppled　him　against　the　wall　again。　　〃Good'n　on　us；　Casey！　　Darn'
good　joke　on　us'n'　on　the　burro！〃

Whereupon　they　drank　to　Casey　solemnly；　and　one　and　all；　they
proclaimed　that　it　was　a　VERY　good　joke　on　the　burro。　　A　merciful
joke；　certainly；　as　you　would　agree　had　you　seen　the　poor　brute
hungry　and　hobbling　painfully；　hunting　scraps　of　food　amongst　the
litter　of　tin　cans。

After　that；　Casey　wanted　to　sleep。　　He　forced　admissions　from　the
three　that　he；　Casey　Ryan；　was　all　right　and　that　he　knew　exactly
what　he　was　doing　and　kept　a　level　head。　　He　crawled　laboriously
into　his　bunk；　shoes；　hat　and　all；　and；　convinced　that　he　had
defended　his　honor　and　preserved　the　Casey　Ryan　reputation
untarnished；　he　blissfully　skipped　the　next　eighteen　hours。



CHAPTER　SIX

Casey　awoke　under　the　vivid　impression　that　some　one　was　driving
a　gadget　into　his　skull　with　a　〃double…jack。〃　　The　smell　of　bacon
scorching　filled　his　very　soul　with　the　loathing　of　food。　　The
sight　of　Joe　calmly　filling　his　pipe　roused　Casey　to　the　fighting
mood　with　no　power　to　fight。　　He　was　a　sick　man；　and　to　remain
alive　was　agony。

The　squalid　disorder　and　the　stale　aroma　of　a　drunken　orgy　still
pervaded　the　dugout　and　made　it　a　nightmare　hole　to　Casey。　　Hank
came　tittering　to　the　bunk　and　offered　him　a　cup　of　coffee；　muddy
from　too　long　boiling；　and　Joe　grinned　over　his　pipe　at　the
colorful　language　with　which　Casey　refused　the　offering。

〃Better　take　a　brace　uh　hootch；〃　Joe　suggested　with　no　more　than
his　normal　ill　nature。　　〃I　got　some　over　at　the　still　we　made
awhile　back　that；　ain't　quite　so　kicky。　　Been　agin'　it　in　wood
an'　charcoal。　That　tones　'er　down。　　I'll　go　git　yuh　some　after　we
eat。　　Kinda　want　a　brace；　myself。　　That　new　hootch　shore　is　a
kickin'　fool。〃

Paw　accepted　this　remark；　as　high　praise；　and　let　three　hot　cakes
burn　until　their　edges　curled　while　he　bragged　of　his　skill　as　a
maker　of　moonshine。　　Paw　himself　was　red…eyed　and　loose…lipped
from　yesterday's　debauch。　　Hank's　whole　face；　especially　in　the
region　of　his　eyes；　was　puffed