the trail of the white mule-第12部分

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from　yesterday's　debauch。　　Hank's　whole　face；　especially　in　the
region　of　his　eyes；　was　puffed　unbecomingly。　　Casey；　squinting　an
angry　eye　at　Hank　and　the　cup　of　coffee；　spared　a　thought　from
his　own　misery　to　acknowledge　surprise　that　anything　on　earth
could　make　Hank　more　unpleasant　to　look　upon。　　Joe　had　a　sickly
pallor　to　prove　the　potency　of　the　brew。

For　such　is　the　way　of　moonshine　when　fusel　oil　abounds；　as　it
does　invariably　in　new　whisky　distilled　by　furtive　amateurs
working　in　secret　and　with　neither　the　facilities　nor　the
knowledge　for　its　scientific　manufacture。　　There　is　grim
significance　in　the　sardonic　humor　of　the　man　who　first　named　it
White　Mule。　　The　kick　is　certain　and　terrific；　frequently　it　is
fatal　as　well。　　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。　　After　a　while　he
sat　up；　gazed　longingly　at　the　water　bucket　and　crawled　down　from
the　bunk。　He　drank　largely　in　great　gulps。　　His　bloodshot　eyes
strayed　meditatively　to　the　coffee　pot。　　After　an　undecided
moment　he　walked　uncertainly　to　the　stove　and　poured　himself　a
cup　of　coffee。

Casey　lifted　the　cup　to　drink；　but　the　smell　of　it　under　his　nose
sickened　him。　　He　weaved　uncertainly　to　the　door；　opened　it　and
threw　out　the　coffeecup　and　all。　　Which　was　nature　flying　a
storm　flag；　had　any　one　with　a　clear　head　been　there　to　observe
the　action　and　the　look　on　Casey's　face。

〃Gimme　another　shot　uh　that　damn'　hootch；〃　he　growled。　　Joe
pushed　the　bottle　toward　Casey；　eyeing　him　curiously。

〃That　stuff　they　run　yesterday　shore　is　kicky；〃　Joe　ruminated
sympathetically。　　〃Pap's　proud　as　pups　over　it。　　He　thinks　it's
the　real　articlebut　I　dunno。　　Shore　laid　yuh　out；　Casey；　an'
yuh　never　got　much；　neither。　　Not　enough　t'　lay　yuh　out　the　way
it　did。　Y'　look　sick。〃

〃I　AM　sick！〃　　Casey　snarled；　and　poured　himself　a　drink　more
generous　than　was　wise。　　〃When　Casey　Ryan　says　he's　sick；　you　can
put　it　down　he's　SICK！　　He　don't　want　nobody　tellin'　'im　whether
'e's　sick　'r　not。　he　KNOWS　'e's　sick！〃　　He　drank；　and　swore
that　it　was　rotten　stuff　not　fit　for　a　hawg　（which　was　absolute
truth）。　　Then　he　staggered　to　the　stove；　picked　up　the　coffee
pot；　carried　it　to　the　door　and　flung　it　savagely　outside　because
the　odor　offended　him。

〃Mart　got　back　last　night；〃　Joe　announced　casually。　〃You　was　dead
t'　the　world。　　But　we　told　'im　you　was　all　right；　an'　I　guess　he
aims　t'　give　yuh　steady　work　an'　a　cut…in　on　the　deal。　　We　been
cleanin'　up　purty　good　moneybut　Mart　says　the　market　ain't　what
it　was；　too　many　gone　into　the　business。　　You're　a　good　cook　an'
a　good　miner　an'　a　purty　good　feller　all　aroundonly　the　boss
says　you'll　have　t'　cut　out　the　booze。〃

〃'J　you　tell　'im　you　MADE　me　drink　it？〃　　Casey　halted　in　the
middle　of　the　floor；　facing　Joe　indignantly。

〃I　told　'im　I　put　it　up　t'　yuh　straightwhat　your　business　is；
an'　all。　　You　got　no　call　t'　kickdidn't　I　go　swipe　this　bottle
uh　booze　for　yuh　t'　sober　up　on；　soon　as　the　boss's　back　was
turned？　I　knowed　yuh　needed　it；　that's　why。　　We　all　needed　it。　
I'm　just　tellin'　yuh　the　boss　don't　approve　of　no　celebrations
like　we　had　yest'day。　　I　got　up　early　an'　hauled　that　burro　outa
sight　'fore　he　seen　it。　　That's　how　much　a　friend　I　be；　an'　it
wouldn't　hurt　yuh　none　to　show　a　little　gratitude！〃

〃Gratitude；　hell！　　A　lot　I　got　in　life　t'　be　grateful　for！〃　
Casey　slumped　down　on　the　nearest　bench；　laid　his　injured　hand
carefully　on　the　table　and　leaned　his　aching　head　on　the　other
while　he　discoursed　bitterly　on　the　subject　of　his　wrongs。

His　muddled　memory　fumbled　back　to　his　grievance　against　traffic
cops；　distorting　and　magnifying　the　injustice　he　had　received　at
their　hands。　　He　had　once　had　a　home；　a　wife　and　a　fortune；　he
declared；　and　what　had　happened？　　Laws　and　cops　had　driven　him
out；　had　robbed　him　of　his　home　and　his　family　and　sent　him　out
in　the　hills　like　a　damned　kiotey；　hopin'　he'd　starve　to　death。　
And　where；　he　asked　defiantly；　was　the　gratitude　in　that？

He　told　Joe　ramblingly　but　more　or　less　truthfully　how　he　had
been　betrayed　and　deserted　by　a　man　he　had　befriended；　one　Barney
Oakes；　upon　whom　Casey　would　like　to　lay　his　hands　for　a　minute。

〃What　I　done　to　the　burro　ain't　nothin'　t'　what　I'd　do　t'　that
hound　uh　hell！〃　he　declared；　pounding　the　table　with　his　good
fist。

Homeless；　friendless；　but　Joe　was　his　friend；　and　Paw　and　Hank
were　his　friendsand　besides　them　there　was　in　all　the　world　not
one　friend　of　Casey　Ryan's。　　They　were　good　friends　and　good
fellows；　even　if　they　did　put　too　much　hoot　in　their　hootch。　
Casey　Ryan　liked　his　hootch　with　a　hoot　in　it。

He　was　still　hooting　（somewhat　incoherently　it　is　true；　with
recourse　now　and　then　to　the　bottle　because　he　was　sick　and　he
didn't　give　a　darn　who　knew　it）　when　the　door　opened　and　he　whom
they　called　Mart　walked　in。　　Joe　introduced　him　to　Casey；　who　sat
still　upon　the　bench　and　looked　him　over　with　drunken
disparagement。　　Casey　had　a　hazy　recollection　of　wanting　to　see
the　boss　and　have　it　out　with　him；　but　he　could　not　recall　what
it　was　that　he　had　been　so　anxious　to　quarrel　about。

Mart　was　a　slender　man　of　middle　height；　with　thin；　intelligent
face　and　a　look　across　the　eyes　like　the　old　woman　who　rocked　in
the　stone　hut。　　He　glanced　from　the　bottle　to　Casey；　eyeing　him
sharply。　　Drunk　or　sober；　Casey　was　not　the　man　to　be　stared
down；　nevertheless　his　fingers　strayed　involuntarily　to　his　shirt
collar　and　pulled　fussily　at　the　wrinkles。

〃So　you're　the　man　they've　been　holding　here　for　my　inspection；〃
Mart　said　coolly；　with　a　faint　smile　at　Casey's　evident
discomfort。　〃You're　still　hitting　it　up；　I　see。　Joe；　take　that
bottle　away　from　him。　　When　he's　sober　enough　to　talk　straight；
I'll　give　him　the　third　degree　and　see　what　he　really　is；　anyway。　
Guess　he's　all　rightbut　he　sure　can　lap　up　the　booze。　　That's　a
point　against　him。〃

Casey's　hand　went　to　the　bottle；　beating　Joe's　by　three　inches。
He　did　not　particularly　want　the　whisky；　but　it　angered　him　to
hear　Mart　order　it　taken　from　him。　　Away　back　in　his　mind　where
reason　had　gone　into　hiding；　Casey　knew　that　some　great　injustice
was　being　done　him；　that　he；　Casey　Ryan；　was　not　the　man　they
were　calmly　taking　it　for　granted　that　he　was。

With　the　bottle　in　his　hand　he　rose　and　walked　unsteadily　to　his
bunk。　He　did　not　like　this　man　they　called　the　boss。　　He
remembered　that　in　his　bunk；　under　the　bedding；　he　had　concealed
something　that　would　make　him　the　equal　of　them　all。　　He　fumbled
under　the　blankets；　found　what　he　sought　and　with　his　back　turned
to　the　others　he　slipped　the　thing　into　his　sling　out　of　sight。

Mart　and　Joe　were　talking　together　by　the　table；　paying　no
attention　to　Casey；　who　was　groggily　making　up　his　mind　to　crawl
into　his　bunk　and　take　another　sleep。　　He　still　meant　to　have　it
out　with　Mart；　but　he　did　not　feel　like　tackling　the　job　just
now。

Mart　turned　to　the　door　and　Joe　got　up　to　follow　him；　with　a
careless　glance　over　his　shoulder　at　Casey；　who　was　lifting　a
foot　as　if　it　weighed　a　great　deal；　and　was　groping　with　it　in
the　air　trying　to　locate　the　edge　of　the　lower　bunk。　　Joe
laughed；　but　the　laugh　died　in　his　throat；　choked　off　suddenly　by
what　he　saw　when　Mart　pulled　open　the　door。

Casey　turned　suspiciously　at　the　laugh　and　the　sound　of　the　door
opening。　　He　swung　round　and　steadied　himself　with　his　back
against　the　bunk　when　he　saw　Mart　and　Joe　lift　their　hands　and
hold　them　there；　palms　outward；　a　bit　higher　than　their　heads。　
Something　in　the　sight　enraged　Casey　unreasoningly。　　A　flick　of
the　memory　may　have　carried　him　back　to　the　old　days　in　the
mining　camps　when　Casey　drove　stage　and　hold…ups　were　frequent。

〃What　'r　yuh　tryin'　to　pull　on　me　now？〃　he　bawled；　and　rushed
headlong　toward　them；　pushing　them　forcibly　out　into　the　open
with　a　collision　of　his　body　against　Joe。　　Outside；　a　voice
harshly　commanded　him　to　throw　up　his　handsand　it　was　then　that
Casey　Ryan's　Irish　fighting　blood　boiled　and　bubbled　over。　
Unconsciously　he　pushed　his　hat　forward　over　one　eye；　drew　back
his　lips　in　a　fighting　grin；　stepped　down　off　the　low　doorsill
with　a　lurch　that　nearly　sent　him　sprawling　and　went　weaving
belligerently　toward　a　group　of　five　men　whose　attitude　was
anything　but　conciliatory。

〃Casey　Ryan！　　I'm　dogged　if　it　ain't　Casey！〃　exclaimed　a　familiar
voice　in　the　group；　whereat　the　others　looked　astonished。　Through
his　slits　of　swollen　lids　Casey　glared　toward　the　voice　and
recognized　Barney　Oakes；　grinning　at　him　with　what　Casey
considered　a　Judas　treachery。　　He　saw　two　men　step　away　from　Joe
and　the　boss；　leaving　them　in　handcuffs。

〃Take　them　irons　off'n　my　friends！〃　bellowed　Casey　as　he　charged。
〃Whadda　yuh　think　you're　doin'；　anyway？　　Take　'em　off！　　It's
Casey　Ryan　that's　tellin'　yuh；　an'　yuh　better　heed　what　he　says；
before　you're　tore　from　limb　to　limb！〃

〃B…but；　Casey！　　This　'ere's　a　shurf's　possy！〃　　The　voice　of
Barney　rose　in　a　protesting　'squawk。　　〃I　brung　'em　all　the　way
over　here　to　your　rescue！　　They　brung　a　cor'ner　to　view　your
remains！　　Don't　you　know　your　pardner；　BARNEY　OAKES？

〃Ah…hI　know　yuh　think　I　don't？　　I　know　yuh　to　a　fare…yuh…well！
Brung　a　cor'ner；　did　yuh？　　Tha's　all　rightgoin'　t'　need　a
cor'ner…but　he　won't　set　on　Casey　Ryan's　remainsyou　c'n　ask
anybody　if　any　cor'ners　ever　set　on　Casey　Ryan　yit！　　Naw。〃　Casey
snarled　as　contemptuously　as　was　possible　to　a　man　in　his
condition。　〃No　cor'ner　ever　set　on　Casey　Ryan；　an'　he　ain't　goin'
to！〃

The　men　g