man was born--seemed
fascinating, unknown islets anchored in a sea of enchantment. Across
the valley to the west nearer mountains, all amethyst and opal tinted,
stood bold and inscrutable, with jagged peaks thrust into the blue to
pierce and hold the little clouds that came floating by. Even the
gulch at hand had been touched by the enchanter's wand and smiled
mysteriously in the vivid sunlight, the very air a-quiver with that
indescribable beauty of the high mesa land which holds desert dwellers
in thrall.

When first Casey saw the smoke smudge against the mountains to the
south, he remembered his misadventure of the lower desert and swore.
When he looked again, the majestic sweep of distance gave him a
satisfied feeling of freedom from the crowded pettinesses of the city.
For the first time since trouble met him in the trail between
Victorville and Barstow, Casey heaved a sigh of content because he was
once more out in the big land he loved. Those distant, painted
mountains, looking as impossible as the back drop of a stage, held
gulches and deep canyons he knew. The closer hills he had prospected.
The mesa, spread all around him, seemed more familiar than the white
apartment house in Los Angeles which Casey had lately called home. And
if the thought of the Little Woman brought with it the vague discomfort
of a schoolboy playing hookey, Casey could not have regretted being
here with Mack Nolan if he had tried.

They were lying up here in the shade--following the instinct of other
creatures of the wild to guard against surprises--while they worked out
a nice problem in moonshine. And since the desert had never meant a
monotonously placid life to Casey--who carried his problems
philosophically as a dog bears patiently with fleas--he had every
reason now for feeling very much at home. When he reached mechanically
into his pocket for his Bull Durham and papers, any man who knew him
well would have recognized the motion as a sign that Casey was himself
again, once more on his mental feet and ready to go boring
optimistically into his next bunch of trouble.

Mack Nolan raised his head off his arm and glanced at Casey quizzically.

"Well--we can't catch fish if we won't cut bait," he volunteered
sententiously. "I've a nice little job staked out for you, Casey."

Casey gave a grunt that might mean one of several things, and which
probably meant them all. He waited until he had his cigarette going.
"If it ain't a