ing this side of
Searchlight an' so I pulls away from 'em a couple of miles. They never
seen where I went to."

While he washed for breakfast, Casey began to take stock of certain
minor injuries.

"That darned Pete Gibson has got tushes in his mouth like a wild hawg;
the kind that sticks out," he grumbled, touching certain skinned places
on his knuckles. "Every time I landed on 'im yesterday I run against
them tushes uh his'n." But he added with a grin, "They ain't so solid
as they was when I met up with 'im. I felt one of 'em give 'fore I got
through."

"Brings the price of moonshine up a bit, doesn't it?" Nolan suggested
drily. "I rather think you might better have paid the men their price.
A fight is well enough in its way--I'm Irish myself. But as my agent,
Ryan, the main idea is to let the law fight for you. Our work is
merely to give the law a chance. I like your not wanting to explain to
the sheriff. Prohibition officers do not explain, as a rule. The law
behind them does that.

"And since the price seems to be rather hard on the knuckles--" He
glanced down at Casey's hands and grinned. "--I think it may come
cheaper to make the stuff ourselves. Licking two men for three
gallons, and getting the officers at your tail light into the bargain,
is all right as an experiment; but I don't believe, Ryan, we ought to
adopt that as a habit."

Casey cocked an eye up at him. "Did yuh ever make White Mule, Mr.
Nolan?" he asked grimly.

Nolan laughed his easy little chuckle. "Why, no, Ryan, I never did. Did
you?"

"Naw. I seen some made once, but I had too much of it inside me at the
time to learn the receipt for it. I'd rather steal it, if it's all the
same to you, Mr. Nolan." His hand went up to the back of his head and
moved forward, although there was no hat to push. "I've lived honest
all these years--an', dammit, it's kinda tough to break out with
stealin I what yuh don't want! Couldn't we fill them bottles with
somethin' that LOOKS like hootch? Cold tea should get by, Mr. Nolan.
It'd be a fine joke on Smilin' Lou."

"A good joke, maybe--but no evidence. It isn't against the law, Ryan,
to have cold tea in your possession. No, it's got to be whisky, and
there's got to be a load of it. Enough to look like business and tempt
him or any other member of the gang you happen to meet. If they caught
you with three gallons, Casey, they'd probably run you in and feel very
virtuous about it. Nothi