is left
hand mechanically to the back of his head and pushed his black felt hat
forward so that it rested over his right eyebrow at a devil-may-care
angle. These preparations made involuntarily and unconsciously, Casey
Ryan was himself again.

"All right--if you're willin' to rustle the wood an' start a fire, I'll
see if I can dig up somethin'." He cocked an eye up at the sun. "I et
my breakfast long enough ago so I guess it's settled. I reckon mebby I
c'd take on some bacon an' coffee myself. Feller I had along with me I
ditched, back here at the railroad. He done the packin' up--an' I'd
hate to swear to what he put in an' what he left out. Onery cuss--I
wouldn't put nothin' past him. But mebby we can make out a meal."

The stranger seemed perfectly satisfied with this arrangement and
studied preamble. He started off to gather dead branches of
greasewood; and Casey, having prepared the way for possible
disappointment, turned toward the car.

Fear and Casey Ryan have ever been strangers; yet he was conscious of a
distinct, prickly chill down his spine. The glance he cast over his
shoulder at the stranger betrayed uneasiness, best he could do. He
turned over the roll of bedding and cautiously began a superficial
search which he hoped would reveal grub in plenty--without revealing
anything else. He wished now that he had taken a look over his
shoulder when young Kenner was unloading the car at Smiling Lou's
command. He would be better prepared now for possible emergencies. He
remembered, with a bit of comfort, that the bootlegger had piled a good
deal of stuff upon the ground before Casey first heard the clink of
bottles.

A grunt of relief signaled his location of a box containing grub. A
moment later he lifted out a gunny sack bulging unevenly with cooking
utensils. He fished a little deeper, turned back a folded tarp and
laid naked to his eyes the top of a whisky keg. With a grunt of
consternation he hastily replaced the tarp, his heart flopping in his
chest like a fresh-landed fish.

The stranger was kneeling beside a faintly crackling little pile of
twigs, his face turned inquiringly toward Casey. Casey, glancing
guiltily over his shoulder, felt the chill hand of discovery reaching
for his very soul. It was as if a dead man were hidden away beneath
that tarp. It seemed to him that the eyes of the stranger were sharp,
suspicious eyes, and that they dwelt upon him altogether too
attentively for a