rmed
miracles. While he did not, literally change water into wine, he did
give forty-three gallons of White Mule a most imposing pedigree.

He turned kegs of crude, moonshine whisky into Canadian Club, Garnkirk,
Tom Pepper, Three Star Hennessey and Cognac--if you were to believe the
bottles, labels and government seals. Under Mack Nolan's instruction
and with his expert assistance, the forgery was perfect. While the
cellar reeked with the odor of White Mule when they had finished, the
bottled array on the table whispered of sybaritic revelings to glisten
the eyes of the most dissipated man about town.

"When it's as easy done as that, Mr. Nolan, the feller's a fool that
drinks it. You've learnt Casey Ryan somethin' that mighta done 'im
some good a few years back." He picked up a flat, pint bottle and
caressed its label with reminiscent finger tips.

"Many's the time me an' old Tommy Pepper drove stage together," he
mused. "Throwed 'im at a bear once that I met in the trail over in
Colorado when I hadn't no gun on me. Busted a pint on his nose--man!
Then I never waited to see what happened. I was a wild divil them days
when me an' Tommy Pepper was side pardners. But a yaller snake with a
green head crawled out of a bottle of 'im once--and that there was
where Casey Ryan says good-by to booze. If I hadn't quit 'im then, I'd
sure as hell quit 'im now. After this performance, Mr. Nolan, Casey
Ryan's goin' to look twice into his coffee pot. I wouldn't believe in
cow's milk, if I done the milkin' myself!"

"Most of the stuff that's peddled nowadays is doctored," Nolan
replied, with the air of one who knows. "When it isn't White Mule,
it's likely to be something worse. That's one of the chief reasons why
I'm fighting it. If they only peddled decent whisky it wouldn't be so
bad, Ryan. But it's rank poison. I've seen so many go stone blind--or
die--that it makes me pretty savage sometimes. So now I'll coach you
in the part you're to play as hootch runner; and to-morrow you can
start for Los Angeles."

Casey did not answer. He felt absently for his pipe, filled and
lighted it and went out to sit on the doorstep in gloomy meditation
while he smoked.

Returning to Los Angeles, even without a bootlegger's load, was not a
matter which Casey liked to contemplate. He would have to face the
Little Woman if he went back; either as a deliberate liar, who lied to
his wife to gain the freedom he might have had withou