He stopped then to put on his shoes, made his way to the drift opening and listened again for voices or footsteps.-When he found the way clear he hurried out and back to the dugout.-The first thing he did was to fill his pipe and light it.-Even then the sonorous voice of the old woman intoning her dreadful proclamation against the world rang in his ears and sent occasional ripples of horror down his spine.-Seen through the window, she had looked a sad, lonely old lady who needed sympathy and help.-At closer range she was terrible.-Casey was trying to forget her by busying himself about the stove when Joe walked in unexpectedly.
Joe stood just inside the door, staring at Casey with a glassy look in his eyes.-Something in Joe's face warned Casey of impending events; but with that terrible old woman still fresh in his mind, Casey was in the mood to welcome distraction of any sort.-He shifted his hand in the sling so that his concealed weapons lay more comfortably therein, secure from detection, and waited.
Joe leaned forward, lifted an arm slowly and aimed a finger at Casey accusingly.
"Pap says that you're a Federal officer!" he began, waggling his finger at Casey.-"Pap thinks you come here spyin' around t' see what we're up to on this here butte.-Now, you can't pull nothin' like that!-You can't get away with it.
"Hank, he wants t' bump yuh off an' say nothin' to anybody.-Now, I come t' have it out with yuh.-If you're a Federal officer we're goin' t' settle with yuh an' take no chances.-Mart, he's more easy-goin' in some ways, on account of havin' his crazy ol' mother on 'is hands t' take care of.-Mart don't want no killin'--on account of his mother goin' loony when 'is dad got killed.-But Mart ain't here. Pap an' Hank, they been at me all mornin' t' let 'em bump yuh off.
"But Pap an' Hank, they're drunk, see?-I'm the only sober man left on the job.-So I come up here t' settle with yuh myself.
Takes a sober man with a level head t' settle these things.-Now, if you come up here spyin' an' snoopin', you git bumped off an' no argument about it.-Mart's got his mother t' take care of--an' we aim t' pertect Mart.-If you're a Federal officer, I want t' know it here an' now.-If yuh ain't, I want yuh t' sample some uh the out-kickin'est 'White Mule' yuh ever swallered.-Now which are yuh, and what yuh goin' t' do?-I want my answer here an' now, an' no argument an' no foolin'!"
Casey blinked but his mouth widened in a grin.-"Me, I never went lookin' fer nothin, I wouldn't put under my vest, Joe," he declared convincingly.-So that was it!-He was thinking against time. Moonshiners as well as would-be murderers they were--and Joe drunk and giving them away like a fool.-Casey wished that he knew where Hank and Paw were at this moment.-He hoped, too, that Joe was right --that Hank and Paw were drunk.-He'd have the three of them tied in a row before dark, in any case.-The thing to do now was to humor Joe along--leave it to Casey Ryan!
Joe was uncorking a small, flat bottle of pale liquor.-Now he held it out to Casey.-Casey took it, thinking he would pretend to drink, would urge Joe to take a drink; it would be simple, once he got Joe started.-But Joe had a few ideas of his own concerning the celebration.-He pulled a gun unexpectedly, leaned against the closed door to steady himself and aimed it full at Casey.
"In just two minutes I'm goin' t' shoot if that there bottle ain't empty," he stated gravely, nodding his head with intense pride in his ability to handle the situation.-"If you're a Federal officer, yuh won't dast t' drink.-If yuh ain't, you'll be almighty glad to. Anyway, it'll be settled one way or t'other.
Drink 'er down!"
Casey blinked again, but this time he did not grin.-He debated swiftly his chance of scaring Joe with the dynamite before Joe would shoot.-But Joe had his finger crooked with drunken solemnity upon the trigger.-The time for dynamite was not now.
"Pap an' Hank, they lap up anything an' call it good.-I claim that's got a back-action kick to it.-Drink 'er down!"
Casey drank 'er down.-It was like swallowing flames. It was a half-pint flask, and it was full when Casey, with Joe's eyes fixed upon him, tilted it and began to drink.-Under Joe's baleful glare Casey emptied the flask before he stopped.
Joe settled his shoulders comfortably against the doorway and watched Casey make for the water bucket.
"I claim that's the out-kickin'est stuff that ever was made on Black Butte.-How'd yuh like it?"
"All right," Casey bore witness, keeping his eyes fixed on Joe and the gun and trying his best to maintain a nonchalant manner.
"I'd call it purty fair hootch."
"It's GOOD hootch!" Joe declared impressively, apparently quite convinced that Casey was not a Federal officer.-"Can yuh feel the kick'to it?"
Casey backed until he sat on the edge of the table his good right hand supporting his left elbow outside the sling.-He grinned at Joe and while he still keenly realized that he was playing a part for the sole purpose of gaining somehow an advantage over Joe, he was conscious of a slight giddiness.-An unprejudiced observer would have noticed that his grin was not quite the old, Casey Ryan grin.-It was a shade foolish.
"Bet your life I can feel the kick!" he agreed, nodding his head.
"You can ask anybody."-Then Casey discovered something strange in Joe's appearance.-He lifted his head, held it very still and regarded Joe attentively.
"Say, Joe, what yuh tryin' to do with that six-gun?-Tryin' to write your name in the air with it?"
Joe looked inquiringly down at the gun, eyeing it as if it were a new and absolutely unknown object.-He satisfied himself apparently beyond all doubt that the gun was doing nothing it should not do, and finally turned his attention to Casey sitting on the table and grinning at him meaninglessly.
"Ain't writin' nothin'," Joe stated solemnly.-"It's yore eyes.
Gun's all right--yo'r seein' crooked.-It's the hootch.
Back-action kick to it.-Ain't that right?"
