inks I lied to 'er about takin' the
next train home from Barstow, anything I say 'll be used agin' me. My
wife's got brains. She ain't put it down that the trains have quit
runnin'. Accordin' to her figures, Casey's lied and he's in a hole
again, an' it'll be up to her an' Jack to run windlass an' pull 'im
out. Don't matter what I say she won't believe me anyhow--so Casey
won't say nothin'. Can't lie with your mouth shut, can yuh?"

"Oh, yes, it's been done," Mack Nolan chuckled. "Now we'll set down
the serial numbers and the bank name of this 'jack',--and here's your
expense money separate. And if there's anything that isn't clear to
you, Ryan, speak up. You won't hear from me again, probably, until
you're back from this fishing trip."

Casey thought that everything was perfectly clear, and rashly he said
so, as he started off.

From Barstow to Victorville, from Victorville to Camp Cajon Casey drove
expectantly, hoping to meet Smiling Lou. He scanned each car that
approached and slowed for every meeting like a searching party or a man
who is lost and wishes to inquire the way. His pace would have been
law-abiding in Los Angeles at five o'clock on Broadway between Fourth
and Eighth streets. Goggled women tourists eyed him curiously, and one
car stopped full to see what he wanted. But his "Tom Pepper" rode safe
under the tarp behind him, and the "Three Star Hennessey" beaded
daintily with the joggling it got, and Casey was neither halted nor
questioned as he passed.

At Camp Cajon Casey stopped and cooked an early supper, because the
summer crowd was there and a real bootlegger would have considered
stopping rather unsafe. Casey boiled coffee over one of the camp
fireplaces and watched furtively the sunburned holiday group nearest.
He placed his supper on one of the round, cement tables near the car,
and every man who passed that way Casey watched unblinkingly while he
ate.

He succeeded in making three different parties swallow their supper in
a hurry and pack up and leave, glancing back uneasily at Casey as they
drove away. But Casey himself was unmolested, and no one asked about
his load.

From Camp Cajon to San Bernardino Casey drove furiously, remembering
young Kenner's desire for speed. He stopped there for the night, and
nearly had a fight with the garage man where he put up, because he
showed undue caution concerning the safety of his car from prowlers
during the night.

He left the car the