by B. M. Bower
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
It was noon the next day when Nolan returned, and he did not explainwhy he was eighteen hours overdue. Casey eyed him expectantly, butNolan's manner was brisk and preoccupied.
"Help me unload this stuff, Ryan," he said, "and put it out of sight inthe cellar. We won't have to go through the process of makingmoonshine, after all."
Casey looked into the car, pulling aside the tarp. Four kegs hecounted, and lifted out one.
"An' how many did YOU lick, Mr. Nolan?" he grinned over his shoulder ashe started for the door.
Nolan laughed noncommittally.
"Perhaps I'm luckier at picking my bootleggers," he retorted. "If youcarry the right brand of bluff, you can keep the skin on your knuckles,Ryan. This beats making it, at any rate."
That afternoon and the next day, Casey Ryan did what he never dreamedwas possible. With Mack Nolan to show him how, Casey performedmiracles. While he did not, literally change water into wine, he didgive forty-three gallons of White Mule a most imposing pedigree.
He turned kegs of crude, moonshine whisky into Canadian Club, Garnkirk,Tom Pepper, Three Star Hennessey and Cognac--if you were to believe thebottles, labels and government seals. Under Mack Nolan's instructionand with his expert assistance, the forgery was perfect. While thecellar reeked with the odor of White Mule when they had finished, thebottled array on the table whispered of sybaritic revelings to glistenthe eyes of the most dissipated man about town.
"When it's as easy done as that, Mr. Nolan, the feller's a fool thatdrinks it. You've learnt Casey Ryan somethin' that mighta done 'imsome good a few years back." He picked up a flat, pint bottle andcaressed its label with reminiscent finger tips.
"Many's the time me an' old Tommy Pepper drove stage together," hemused. "Throwed 'im at a bear once that I met in the trail over inColorado when I hadn't no gun on me. Busted a pint on his nose--man!Then I never waited to see what happened. I was a wild divil them dayswhen me an' Tommy Pepper was side pardners. But a yaller snake with agreen head crawled out of a bottle of 'im once--and that there waswhere Casey Ryan says good-by to booze. If I hadn't quit 'im then, I'dsure as hell quit 'im now. After this performance, Mr. Nolan, CaseyRyan's goin' to look twice into his coffee pot. I wouldn't believe incow's milk, if I done the milkin' myself!"
"Most of the stuff that's peddled nowadays is doctored," Nolanreplied, with the air of one who knows. "When it isn't White Mule,it's likely to be something worse. That's one of the chief reasons whyI'm fighting it. If they only peddled decent whisky it wouldn't be sobad, Ryan. But it's rank poison. I've seen so many go stone blind--ordie--that it makes me pretty savage sometimes. So now I'll coach youin the part you're to play as hootch runner; and to-morrow you canstart for Los Angeles."
Casey did not answer. He felt absently for his pipe, filled andlighted it and went out to sit on the doorstep in gloomy meditationwhile he smoked.
Returning to Los Angeles, even without a bootlegger's load, was not amatter which Casey liked to contemplate. He would have to face theLittle Woman if he went back; either as a deliberate liar, who lied tohis wife to gain the freedom he might have had without resorting todeceit, or as the victim once more of crooks. Casey thought he wouldprefer the accusation of lying deliberately to the Little Woman, thoughit made him squirm to think of it. He wished she had not openlytaunted him with getting into trouble and needing her always to get himout.
He would like to tell her that he was now working for the government.The secrecy of his mission, the danger it involved, would impress evenher amused cynicism. But the very secrecy of his mission in itselfmade it impossible for him to tell her anything about it. Casey wouldnot admit it, but it was a real disappointment to him that he could notwear a star on his coat.
All that day and evening he was glum, a strange mood for Casey Ryan.But if Mack Nolan noticed his silence, he gave no sign. Nolan himselfwas wholly absorbed by the business in hand. The success of this planmeant a good deal to him, and he told Casey so very frankly; whichlightened Casey's gloom perceptibly.
Casey was to drive to Los Angeles--even to San Diego if necessary--andreturn within a week, unless Nolan's hopes were fulfilled and Casey washeld up and highjacked. If he were apprehended by officers who werehonestly discharging their duty, Casey was to do thus-and-so, andpresently be free to drive on with his load. If he were highjacked(Casey gritted his teeth and said he hoped the highjacker would beSmiling Lou), he was to permit himself to be robbed, worm himself asfar as possible into their confidence and return for further orders.
If Mack Nolan should chance to be absent from the cabin, then Casey wasto wait until he returned. And Nolan intimated that hereafter themaking of moonshine might be a part of Casey's duties. Then, withoutwarning, Mack Nolan struck at the heart of Casey's worry.
"I don't want to dictate to any man in family affairs, Ryan. But I'vegot to speak of one other matter," he said diffidently. "I supposenaturally you'll want to go home and let your wife know you're stillalive, anyway. But if you can manage to keep your present business asecret for the time being, I think you'd better do it. You said youwere planning to be away on a trip for some time, I remember. If youcan just let it go that way, or say that you are prospecting over here,I wish you would. Think you can manage that all right?"
"I'd rather manage a six-horse team of bronk mules," Casey admitted."But after the way the missus thinks I lied to 'er about takin' thenext train home from Barstow, anything I say 'll be used agin' me. Mywife's got brains. She ain't put it down that the trains have quitrunnin'. Accordin' to her figures, Casey's lied and he's in a holeagain, an' it'll be up to her an' Jack to run windlass an' pull 'imout. Don't matter what I say she won't believe me anyhow--so Caseywon't say nothin'. Can't lie with your mouth shut, can yuh?"
"Oh, yes, it's been done," Mack Nolan chuckled. "Now we'll set downthe serial numbers and the bank name of this 'jack',--and here's yourexpense money separate. And if there's anything that isn't clear toyou, Ryan, speak up. You won't hear from me again, probably, untilyou're back from this fishing trip."
Casey thought that everything was perfectly clear, and rashly he saidso, as he started off.
From Barstow to Victorville, from Victorville to Camp Cajon Casey droveexpectantly, hoping to meet Smiling Lou. He scanned each car thatapproached and slowed for every meeting like a searching party or a manwho is lost and wishes to inquire the way. His pace would have beenlaw-abiding in Los Angeles at five o'clock on Broadway between Fourthand Eighth streets. Goggled women tourists eyed him curiously, and onecar stopped full to see what he wanted. But his "Tom Pepper" rode safeunder the tarp behind him, and the "Three Star Hennessey" beadeddaintily with the joggling it got, and Casey was neither halted norquestioned as he passed.
At Camp Cajon Casey stopped and cooked an early supper, because thesummer crowd was there and a real bootlegger would have consideredstopping rather unsafe. Casey boiled coffee over one of the campfireplaces and watched furtively the sunburned holiday group nearest.He placed his supper on one of the round, cement tables near the car,and every man who passed that way Casey watched unblinkingly while heate.
He succeeded in making three different parties swallow their supper ina hurry and pack up and leave, glancing back uneasily at Casey as theydrove away. But Casey himself was unmolested, and no one asked abouthis load.
From Camp Cajon to San Bernardino Casey drove furiously, rememberingyoung Kenner's desire for speed. He stopped there for the night, andnearly had a fight with the garage man where he put up, because heshowed undue caution concerning the safety of his car from prowlersduring the night.
He left the car there that day and returned furtively after dark,asking the night man if he had seen any saps around his car. The nightman looked at him uncomprehendingly.
"I dunno--nothin's been picked up since I come on at six. We ain'tresponsible for lost articles, anyway. See that sign?"
Casey grunted, cranked up and drove away, w
ondering whether the nightman was as innocent as he tried to act.
From San Bernardino to Los Angeles Casey drove placidly as a load oforanges in February. He put up at a cheap place on San Pedro Street,with his car in the garage next door and a five-dollar tip in the palmof a rat-faced mechanic with Casey's injunction to clean 'er dingbatsand keep other people away.
He did not go out to see the Little Woman, after all. He had sent hera wire from Goffs the day before, saying that he was prospecting with afellow and he hoped she was well. This, after long pondering, hadseemed to him the easiest way out of an argument with the Little Woman.The wire had given no address whereby she might reach him, but theomission was not the oversight Casey hoped she would consider it. Hewanted to be reassuring without starting anything.
Los Angeles with no Little Woman at his elbow was a dismal hole, andCasey got out of it as soon as possible. As per instructions, he drovedown to San Diego, ventured perilously close to the Mexico line, fooledaround there for a day looking for trouble, failed to find so much as afrown and drove back.
He headed straight for San Bernardino, which was Smiling Lou'sheadquarters. He killed time there and met the sheriff on the streetthe day he arrived. The sheriff had a memory trained to hold facesindefinitely. He smiled a little, made a polite gesture in the generaldirection of his hat and passed on. Casey swore to himself andresolved to duck guiltily around the nearest corner if he saw thesheriff coming his way again.
On the day when his time limit expired Casey drove up the gulch toNolan's camp. In the car behind him rode undisturbed his CanadianClub, Garnkirk, Three-Star Hennessey, Cognac and Tom Pepper; bottles,labels, government seals and all. Nolan was walking over from thetunnel when Casey arrived. He smiled inquiringly as he shook hands,--aceremony to which Casey was plainly unaccustomed.
"What luck, Ryan? I beat you back by about two hours. Getting thingsready to begin making it. Did they catch you all right?"
"Naw!" Casey spat disgustedly. "Never seen a booze peddler, never seena cop look my way. I went around actin' like I just killed a man an'stole a lady's diamonds, and the sheriff at San Berdoo TIPS 'IS HAT TOME, by golly! Drove through L. A. hella-whoopin' an' not a darnedtraffic cop knowed it was Casey Ryan. You can ask anybody if I didn'tdo every thing possible to git in bad or give bootleggers a tip I wasone of 'em.
"You can't git Casey Ryan up agin' the gang you're after, Mr. Nolan.Only way Casey Ryan can git up agin' the law is to go along peaceabletryin' to please the missus an' mindin' his own business. I couldapeddled that damn' hootch on a hangin' tray like circus lemonade. Icoulda stood on the corner in any uh them damned towns with the hullworks piled out on a table in front of me, an' I coulda hollered mydamn' head off; an' Smilin' Lou woulda passed me by like I was sellin'chewin' gum and shoe strings."
Mack Nolan looked at Casey, turned and went into the cabin, sat down onthe edge of the bed and laughed until the tears dripped over hislashes. Casey Ryan followed him, and sat on the edge of the table withhis arms folded. Whenever Mack Nolan lifted his face from his palmsand looked at Casey, Casey swore. Whereat Mack Nolan would giveanother whoop.
You can't wonder if relations were somewhat strained, between them forthe rest of that day.