The Trail of the White Mule

by B. M. Bower

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  Dawn was just thinning the curtain of darkness when Nolan woke Caseywith a shake of the shoulder.

  "I think we'd better be moving from here before the world's astir. Youcan back on down this draw, Ryan, and strike an old trail that cutsover the ridge and up the next gulch to an old, deserted mine whereI've made headquarters. It isn't far, and we can have breakfast at mycamp."

  Casey swallowed his astonishment, and for once in his life he did as hewas told without argument.

  Mack Nolan's camp was fairly accessible by roundabout trail with a fewtire tracks to point the way for Casey. Straight across the ridges, itwould not have been more than two miles to Juniper Wells. Neverthelessnot one man in a year would be tempted to come this way, unless it weredefinitely known that some one lived here.

  As the camp of a man who was prospecting for pastime rather than for agrubstake, the place was perfect. Mack Nolan had taken possession of acabin dug into the hill at the head of a long draw. A brush-coveredshed of makeshift construction sheltered a car of the ubiquitous Fordmake. Fifty yards away and in full sight of the cabin, the mouth of atunnel yawned blackly under a rhyolite ledge.

  Casey swept the camp with an observant glance and nodded approval asand stopped before the cabin.

  "As a prospector, Mr. Nolan, I'll say 'tis a fine layout you got here.An' tain't the first time an honest-lookin' mine has been made to coverthings far off from minin'. Like the Black Butte bunch, f'r instance.But if any one was to ride up on yuh unexpected here, I'll say yuhcould meet 'em with a grin an' feel easy about your secrets."

  "That's praise indeed, coming from an old hand like you," Nolandeclared. "Now I'll tell you something else. With Casey Ryan in thecamp the whole thing's twice as convincing. Come in. I want to showyou what I call an artistic interior."

  Grinning, Casey followed him inside and exclaimed profanely inadmiration of Mack Nolan's genius. The cabin showed every mark of theowner's interest in the geologic formation of that immediate district.

  On the floor along the wall lay specimens of mineralized rock, a coupleof prospector's picks, a single-jack and a set of drills; a samplesack, grimed and with a hole in the corner mended by the simple processof gathering the cloth together around it and tying it tightly with astring, hung from a nail above the tools. On the window sill werespecimens of ore; two or three of the pieces showed a richness thatlighted Casey's eyes with the enthusiasm of an old prospector. Miningjournals and a prospector's manual lay upon a box table at the foot ofthe bunk. For the rest, the cabin looked exactly what it was--theorderly home of a man quite accustomed to primitive living far off fromhis fellows.

  They had a very satisfactory breakfast cooked by Mack Nolan from hisown supplies and eaten in a leisurely manner while Nolan talked ofprimary formations and secondary, and of mineral intrusions and breaks.Casey listened and learned a few things he had not known, for all hisyears of prospecting. Mack Nolan, he decided, could pass anywhere as amining expert.

  "And now," said Nolan briskly, when he had hung up the dishpan anddraped the dishcloth over it to dry, "I'll show you the bottling works.We'll have to do the work by lantern-light. There's not one chance infifty that any one would show up here--but you never can tell. We couldget the stuff out of sight easily enough while the car was coming upthe gulch. But the smell is a different matter. We'll take no chances."

  At the head of the bunk, a curtained space beneath a high shelf veryobviously did duty as a wardrobe. A leather motor coat hung there, onesleeve protruding beyond the curtain of flowered calico. Other garmentsbulged the cloth here and there. Nolan, smiling over his shoulder atCasey, nodded and pushed the clothing aside. A door behind openedinward, admitting the two into a small recess from which another dooropened into a cellar dug deep into the hill.

  Undoubtedly this had once been used as a frost-proof storeroom. A smallventilator pipe opened--so Nolan told Casey--in the middle of agreasewood clump. Nolan lighted a gasoline lantern that shed a whitebrilliance upon the room. On the long table which extended down oneside of the room, Casey saw boxes of bottles and other supplies whichhe did not at the moment recognize.

  "We'll have to rebottle all the whisky," said Nolan.

  "You'll see a certain mark blown into the bottom of each one of these.The champagne, I'm afraid, I must either confiscate and destroy or runthe risk of marking the labels. The hop we'll lay aside for furtherconsideration."

  Casey grinned, thinking of the speedy downfall of his enemies, SmilingLou and Kenner--and, as a secondary consideration other crooks of theirtype.

  "So now we'll unload the stuff, Ryan, and get to work here." Nolanadjusted the white flame in the mantle of the gasoline lantern and ledthe way outside. "Take in the seat-cushion, Casey. I don't fancyopening it outside, even in this howling wilderness."

  "I think I'll just pack in the kegs first, Mr. Nolan." For the firsttime since the shock of Mr. Nolan's "mind-reading" the night before,Casey ventured a suggestion. "Anybody comes along, it's the kegsthey'd look at cross-eyed. Cushions is expected in Fords--if I ain'tbuttin' in," he added meekly.

  "Which you're not. You're acting as my agent now, Ryan, and it willtake two heads to put this over without a hitch. Sure, put the kegsout of sight first. The bottles next--and then we'll make short workof the dope in the cushion."

  Casey carried in the kegs while Nolan kept watch for inopportunevisitors. It was thought inadvisable to unload the camp outfit fromthe car until the whisky was all removed. The outfit effectually hidwhat was below--and they were taking no chances. They both breathedfreer when the two kegs were in the cellar. Nolan was pleased; too,when Casey came out with the sample bag and announced that he wouldcarry the bottles in the bag. Then Nolan fancied he heard a car, andwalked away to where he would have a longer view down the gulch. Hewould whistle, he said, and warn Casey if someone was coming.

  He had not proceeded fifty yards when Casey yelled and brought him backat a run. Casey was rummaging in the car, throwing things about with arecklessness which ill-became an agent of the self-possessed Mack Nolan.

  "There ain't a damn' bottle here!" he bellowed indignantly. "Themcrooks gypped me outa ten gallons uh good, bottle whisky! Now what doyou know about that, Mr. Nolan? That feller said it was high-gradestuff he had packed away at the bottom. He lied. There ain't nothin'here but a set uh skid chains an' a jack. An' the champagne, mebby,under the front seat!"

  Mack Nolan's eyes narrowed. "I think Ryan, I'll have a look under thatfront seat."

  He had a look--several looks, in fact. There was the false bottomunder the seat, but there was nothing in it. He took his pocket knife,opened a blade and split the edge of the seat-cushion at the bottom. Heinserted a finger and thumb and drew out a bit of hair stuffing. Hestood up and eyed Casey sharply, and Casey stared back defensively.

  "He was a darned liar from start t' finish. He said there waschampagne an' he said there was hop," Casey stated flatly.

  "I wondered at his letting go of stuff as valuable as that," saidNolan. "I think we'd better take a look at those kegs."

  They went into the cellar and took a look at the kegs. Both kegs.Afterward they stood and looked at each other. Casey's hands went tohis hips, and the muscles along his jaw hardened into lumps. He spatinto the dirt of the cellar floor.

  "Water!" He snorted disgustedly. "Casey Ryan with the devil an' allscart outa him, thinkin' he had ownership of a load uh booze an' hopsufficient t' hang 'im!" His hand slid into his trousers pocket,reaching for the comforting plug of tobacco. "Stuck up an' robbed iswhat happens t' Casey. You can ask anybody if it ain't highwayrobbery!"

  Nolan stopped whistling under his breath. "There's the Ford," hereminded Casey comfortingly.

  "Which I wisht it wasn't!" snarled Casey. "You know yourself, Mr.Nolan, it's likely stole, an' the first man I meet in the trail'lllikely take it off me, claimin' it's his'n!"

  Mack Nolan started whistling again, but checked himself a
bruptly."Well, our trap's wanting bait, I see. This leaves me still huntingthe White Mule."

  "Aw, tahell with your White Mule! Tahell with everything!" Caseykicked the nearest keg viciously and went out into the sunshine,swearing to himself.