Casey awoke almost sober and considerably surprised when he discovered
the handcuffs. His injured hand was throbbing from the poison in his
system and the steel band on his swollen wrist. His head still ached
frightfully and his tongue felt thick and dry as flannel in his mouth.
He rolled over and sat up, staring uncomprehendingly at the cabin full
of men. The sight of Barney Oakes recalled in a measure his
performance with the dynamite; at least, he felt a keen disappointment
that Barney was alive and whole and grinning. Casey could not see what
there was to grin about, and he took it as a direct insult to himself.
Mart and Joe sat sullenly on a bench against the wall, and Paw reclined
in his bunk at the farther end of the room. A blood-stained bandage
wrapped Paw's head turbanwise, and his little, deep-set eyes gleamed
wickedly in his pallid face. Casey looked for Hank, but he was not
there.
A strange man was cooking supper, and Casey wanted to tell him that he
was slicing the bacon twice as thick as it should be. The corpulent
man, whom he dimly remembered as a coroner, was talking with a big,
burly individual whom Casey guessed was the sheriff. A man came in and
announced to the big man that the car was fixed and they could go any
time. Mart, who had been staring morosely down at his shackled wrists,
lifted his head and spoke to the sheriff.
"You'll have to do something about my mother," he said, and bit his lip
at the manner in which every head swung his way.
"What about your mother?" the sheriff asked moving toward him. "Is she
here?" His eyes sent a quick glance around the room which obviously
had four outside walls.
Mart swallowed. "She has a cabin to herself," he explained
constrainedly. "She--she isn't quite right. Strangers excite her.
She--hasn't been well since my father was killed in the mine; she's
quiet enough with us--she knows us. I don't know how she'll be now.
I'm afraid--but she can't be left here alone; all I ask is, be as
gentle as you can."
The sheriff looked from him to Joe. Joe nodded confirmation. "Plumb
harmless," he said gruffly. "It IS kinda--pitiful. Thinks everybody in
the world is damned and going to hell on a long lope." He gave a snort
that resembled neither mirth nor disgust. "Mebbe she's right at that,"
he added grimly.
The sheriff asked more questions, and Mart stood up. "I'll show you
where she is, sure. But can't you leave her be till we're ready to
start? She--it ain't right to bring her here."
"She'll want her supper," the sheriff reminded Mart. "We'll be driving
all night. Is she sick abed?"
Casey lay down again and turned his face to the wall. He remembered
the old woman now, and he hoped sincerely they would not bring her into
the cabin. But whatever they did, Casey wanted no part in it whatever.
He wanted to be left alone, and he wanted to think. More than all else
he wanted not to see again the old woman who chanted horrible things
while she rocked and rocked.
He was roused from uneasy slumber by two officious souls, one of whom
was Barney Oakes. Their intentions were kindly enough, they only
wanted to give him his supper. But Casey wanted neither supper nor
kindly intentions, and he was still unregenerately regretful that
Barney Oakes was not lying out on the garbage heap in a more or less
fragmentary condition. They raised him to a sitting posture, and Casey
swung his legs over the edge of the bunk and delivered a ferocious kick
at Barney Oakes.
He caught Barney under the chin, and Barney went down for several
counts. After that Casey wore hobbles on his feet, and was secretly
rather proud of the fact that they considered him so dangerous as all
that. Had his mood not been a sulky one which refused to have speech
with any one there, they would probably have found it wise to gag him
as well.
That is one night in Casey's turbulent life which he never recalled if
he could help it. Two cars had brought the sheriff's party, and one
was a seven-passenger. In the roomy rear seat of this car, Casey,
shackled and savage, was made to ride with Mart and his mother. Two
deputies occupied the folding seats and never relaxed their
watchfulness.
Casey's head still ached splittingly, and the jolting of the car did
not serve to ease the pain. The old woman sat in the middle, with a
blanket wound round and round her to hold her quiet; which it failed to
do. Into Casey's ear rolled the full volume of her rich contralto
voice as she monotonously intoned the doom of all mankind--together
with every cat, every rat, etc. Mart's fear had proved well-founded.
Strangers had excited the woman and it was not until sheer exhaustion
silenced her that she ceased for one moment her horrible chant.
I read the story in the morning paper, and made a flying trip to San
Bernardino. Casey was in jail, naturally; but he didn't care much
about that so long as he owned a head with an air-drill going inside.
At least, that is what he told me when I was let in to see him. I was
working to get him out of there on bail if possible before I sent word
to the Little Woman, hoping she had not read the papers. I had some
trouble piecing the facts together and trying to get the straight of
things before I sent word to the Little Woman. I went out and got him
some medicine guaranteed, by the doctor who wrote the prescription, to
take the hoot out of the hootch Casey had swallowed. That afternoon
Casey left off glaring at me, sat up, accepted a cigarette and
consented to talk.
"--an' all I got to say is, Barney Oakes is a liar an' the father uh
liars. I never was in cahoots with him at no time. When he says I got
'im to foller a Joshuay palm jest to git 'im out in the hills an' kill
'im off, he lies. Let 'im come an' tell me that there story!"
Casey was still slightly abnormal, I noticed, so I calmed him as best I
could and left him alone for a time. There was some hesitancy about
the bail, too, which I wished to overcome. Throwing that half-stick of
dynamite might be construed as an attempt at wholesale murder. I did
not want the county officials to think too long and harshly about the
matter.
I explained later to Casey that Barney Oakes had reported his
disappearance to the officials in Barstow. The sheriff's office had
long suspected a nest of moonshiners somewhere near Black Butte, and it
was rumored that one Mart Hanson, who owned a mine up there, was
banking more money than was reasonable, these hard times, for a miner,
who ships no ore. Casey's disappearance had crystallized the
suspicions into an immediate investigation. And Barney's assertion
that Casey had been murdered took the coroner along with the posse.
It had all been straight and fairly simple until they reached the mine
and discovered Casey uproariously one of the gang. Throwing loaded
dynamite at sheriffs is frowned upon nowadays in the best official
circles, I told Casey; he would have to explain that in court, I was
afraid.
Then Barney, after Casey had kicked him in the chin, had reversed his
first report of the trouble and was now declaiming to all who would
listen that he had been decoyed to Black Butte by Casey Ryan and there
ambushed and nearly killed. Casey, as Barney now interpreted the
incident, had joined his confederates under the very thin pretense of
climbing the butte to come at them from behind. Barney now remembered
that he had been shot at from three different angles, and that the
burros had been killed by pistol shots fired at close range--presumably
by Casey Ryan.
It was like taming tigers to make Casey sit still and listen to all
this, but I had to do it so that he would know what to disprove.
Afterwards I had a talk with Joe and Paw, separately, and so got at the
whole truth. They bore no malice toward Casey and were perfectly
willing to see him out of the scrape. They were a sobered pair; Hank,
like a fool, had fired at the posse and was killed.
The next day came the Little Woman to the rescue. I told her the whole
story, not even omitting the burro, before she went to the jail to see
Casey. It was a pretty mess--take it all around--and I was secretly
somewhat doubtful of the outcome.
The Little Woman is game as women are made. She went with me to the
jail, and she met Casey with a whimsical smile. We found him sitting
on the side of his bunk with his legs stretched out and his feet
crossed, his good hand thrust in his trousers pocket and a cigarette in
one corner of his mouth, which turned sourly downward. He cocked an eye
up at us and rose, as the Little Woman had maybe taught him was proper.
But he did not say a word until the Little Woman walked up and kissed
him on both cheeks, turning his face this way and that with her hand
under his chin.
Casey grinned sheepishly then and hugged her with his good arm. I wish
you could have seen the look in his eyes when they dwelt on the Little
Woman!
"Casey Ryan, you need a shave. And your shirt collar is a disgrace to
a Piute," she drawled reprovingly.
Casey looked at me over her shoulder and grinned. He hadn't a word to
say for himself, which was unusual in Casey Ryan.
"It's lucky for you, Casey Ryan, that I remembered to go down to the
police station and get the proof that you were pinched twice on
Broadway just five days before Barney Oakes says he found you stalled
in the trail north of Barstow; and that you had been pinched pretty
regularly every whip-stitch for the last six months, and were a
familiar and unwelcome figure in downtown traffic and elsewhere.
"The sheriff who raided Black Butte admitted to me that it is utterly
impossible for the world to hold more than one Casey Ryan at a time;
and that he, for one, is willing to accept the word of the city police
that you were there raising the record for traffic trouble and not
moonshining at Black Butte. He doesn't approve of throwing dynamite at
people, but--well, I talked with the prosecuting attorney, too, and
they both seem to be mighty nice men and reasonable. I'm afraid Barney
Oakes will see his beautiful story all spoiled."
"He'll forget it when he feels the ruin to his face I'm goin' t' create
for him if I ever meet up with 'im again," Casey commented grimly.
"Babe sent you a pincushion she made in school. I think she made
beautiful, neat stitches in that C," went on the Little Woman in a
placid, gossipy tone invented especially for domestic conversation.
"And--oh, yes! There's a new laundryman on our route, and he PERSISTS
in running across the lawn and dumping the laundry in the front hall,
though I've told him and TOLD him to deliver it at the back. And
there's a new tenant in Number Six, and they hadn't been in more than
three days before he came home drunk and kept everybody in the house
awake, bellowing up and down the hall and abusing his wife and all. I
told him held have to go when his month is up, but he says he'll be
damned if he will. He says he won't and I can't make him."
"He won't, hey?" A familiar, pale glitter came into Casey's eyes. "You
watch and see whether he goes or not! He better tell Casey Ryan he
won't go! Who'd, they think's runnin' the place? Lemme ketch that
laundry driver oncet, runnin' across our lawn; I'll run 'im across
it--on his nose! They take advantage of you quick as my back's turned.
I'll learn 'em they got Casey Ryan to reckon with!"
The Little Woman gave me a smiling glance over Casey's shoulder, and
lowered a cautious eyelid. I left them then and went away to have a
satisfying talk with the sheriff and the prosecuting attorney.