wind and the choking dust.

Casey always kept one cold water bag and one in process of cooling, and he
would charge as much as he thought they would pay and be called a fine
fellow afterwards. He knew that. He had lived in dry, hot places before,
and he was conscientiously trying to please the public and also make money
for Bill, who had befriended him. You are not to jump to the conclusion,
however, that Casey systematically robbed the public. He did not. He aided
the public, helped the public across a rather bad stretch of country, and
saw to it that the public paid for the assistance.

Casey saw all sorts and sizes of cars pass to and fro, and most of them
stopped at his door, for gas or for water or oil, or perhaps merely to
inquire inanely if they were on the right road to Needles or to Los
Angeles, as the case might be. Any fool, thought Casey, would know without
asking, since there was no other road, and since the one road was signed
conscientiously every mile or two. But he always grinned good-naturedly
and told them what they wanted him to tell them, and if they shifted money
into his palm for any reason whatever he brought out his green glass
pitcher and his green glass tumbler and gave them a drink all around and
wished them luck.

There were strip-down Fords that tried to look like sixes, and there were
six-cylinder cars that labored harder than Fords. There were limousines,
sedans, sport cars,--and they all carried suitcases and canvas rolls and
bundles draped over the hoods, on the fenders and piled high on the
running boards.

Sometimes he would find it necessary to remove a thousand pounds or so of
ill-wrapped bedding from the back of a tonneau before he could get at the
gas tank to fill it, but Casey never grumbled. He merely retied the
luggage with a packer's hitch that would take the greenhorn through his
whole vocabulary before he untied it that night, and he would add two bits
to the price of the gas because his time belonged to Bill, and Bill
expected Casey's time to be paid for by the public.

One day when it was so hot that even Casey was limp and pale from the
heat, and the proprietor of the Oasis had forsaken the strip of shade on
his porch and had chased his dog out of the dirt hollow it had scratched
under the house and had crawled under there himself, a party pulled slowly
up to the garage and stopped. Casey was inside sitting on the ground and
letting the most recently filled water bag