by B. M. Bower
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
At noon the next day Casey was still waiting--but not hopefully."Patience on a monument" couldn't have resembled Casey Ryan in anyparticular whatever. He was mad. By midnight he had begun to wonderif he was not going to be made a goat again. By daylight, he waspositive that he was already a goat. By the time the trusty broughthis breakfast, Casey was applying to Mack Nolan the identical words andphrases which he had applied to young Kenner when he was the maddest.Don't ask me to tell you what they were.
Jim Cassidy still clung desperately to his faith in Smiling Lou; butCasey's faith hadn't so much as a finger-hold on anything. What kind ofa government was it, he asked himself bitterly, that would leave atrusted agent twenty-four hours shut up in a cell with a whining crooklike Jim Cassidy? If, he added pessimistically, he were an agent ofthe government. Casey doubted it. So far as he could see, Casey Ryanwasn't anything but the goat.
His chief desire now was to get out of there as soon as possible sothat he could hunt up Mack Nolan and lick the livin' tar wit of him--orworse. He wanted bail and he wanted it immediately. Not a soul badcome near him, save the trusty, in spite of certain mysterious messageswhich Casey had sent to the office, asking for an interview with thejudge or somebody; Casey didn't care who. Locked in a cell, how was hegoing to do any of the things Nolan had told him to do if he happenedto find himself arrested by an honest officer?
When they hauled him before the police judge, Casey hadn't been giventhe chance to explain anything to anybody. Unless, of course, hewanted to beller out his business before everybody; and that, he toldhimself fiercely, was not Casey Ryan's idea of the way to keep asecret. Moreover, that damned speed cop was standing right there, justwaiting for a chance to wind his fingers in Casey's collar and chokehim off if he tried to say a word. And how the hell, Casey would liketo know, was a man going to explain himself when he couldn't get a wordin edgeways?
So Casey wanted bail. There were just two ways of getting it, and itwent against the grain of his pride to take either one. That is whyCasey waited until noon before his Irish stubbornness yielded a bit andhe decided to wire me to come. He had to slip the wire out by theunderground method--meaning the good will of the trusty. It cost Caseyten dollars, but he didn't grudge that.
He spent that afternoon and most of the night mentally calling thetrusty a liar and a thief because there was no reply to the message. Asa matter of fact, the trusty sent the wire through as quickly aspossible and the fault was mine if any one's. I was too busy hurryingto the rescue to think about sending Casey word that I was coming.Casey said afterwards that my thoughtlessness would be cured for lifeif I were ever locked in jail and waiting for news.
As it happened, I wired the Little Woman that Casey was in jail again,and caught the first train to San "Berdoo"--coming down by way ofBarstow. I could save two or three hours that way, I found, so I toldthe Little Woman to meet me there and bring all the money she could gether hands on. Not knowing just what Casey was in for this time, itseemed well to be prepared for a good, stiff bail. She beat me byseveral hours, and between us we had ten thousand dollars.
At that it was a fool's errand. Casey was out of jail and gone beforeeither of us arrived. So there we were, holding the bag, as you mightsay, and our ten thousand dollars' bail money.
"It's no use asking questions, Jack," the Little Woman told mepensively when we had finished our salad in the best cafe in town, andwere waiting for the fish. "I've asked questions of every uniform inthis town, from the district judge down to the courthouse janitor.Nobody knows a thing. I DID find that Casey was booked yesterday forhaving a stolen car and a load of booze in his possession, but he isn'tin jail--or if he is, they're keeping him down in some dungeon and havethrown away the key. It was hinted in the police court that he wasdismissed for want of evidence; but they wouldn't SAY anything, and sothere you are!"
We finished our fish in a thoughtful silence. Then, when the waiterhad removed the plates, the Little Woman looked at me with a twinkle inher eyes.
"Well-sir, there's something I want to tell you, Jack. I believe Caseyhas put this town on the run. They can't tell ME! Something'shappened, over around the courthouse. A lot of the men I talked withhad a scared look in their eyes, and they were nervous when doorsopened, and looked around when people came walking along. I don't knowwhat he's been doing--but Casey Ryan's been up to something. You can'ttell ME! I know how our laundry boy looks when Casey's home."
"And didn't you get any line at all on his whereabouts?" I asked her.Given three hours the start of me, I knew perfectly well that theLittle Woman had found out all there was to know about Casey.
"Well-sir--I've got this to go on," the Little Woman drawled and held atelegram across the table. "You'll notice that was sent from Goffs.It's ten days old, but I've been getting ready ever since it arrived.I've put Babe in a boarding-school, and I leased the apartment house.I kept three dressmakers ruining their eyes with nightwork, Jack,making up some nifty sports clothes. If Casey's bound to stay in thedesert--well, I'm his wife--and Casey does kind of like to have mearound. You can't tell ME.
"So I've got the twin-six packed with the niftiest camp outfit you eversaw, Jack. I've got a yellow and red beach umbrella, and two recliningchairs, and--well-sir, I'm going to rough it de luxe. I don't expectto keep Casey in hand--I happen to know him. But it's just possible,Jack, that I can keep him in sight!"
Of course I told her--as I've told her often enough before--that shewas a brick. I added that I would go along, if she liked; which shedid. Not even the Little Woman should ever attempt to drive across theMojave alone.
We started out as soon as we had finished the meal. A Cadillacroadster came up behind us and honked for clear passing as we swunginto the long, straight stretch that leads up the Cajon. The LittleWoman peered into the rear vision mirror and pressed the toe of herwhite pump upon the accelerator.
"There's only one man in the world that can pass ME on the road," theLittle Woman drawled, "and he doesn't wear a panama!"
As we snapped around the turns of Cajon Grade, I looked back once ortwice. The Cadillac roadster was still following pertinaciously, butit was too far back to honk at us. When we slid down to theVictorville garage and stopped for gas, the Cadillac slid by. Thedriver in the panama gave us one glance through his colored glasses,but I felt, somehow, that the glance was sufficiently comprehensive tofix us firmly in his memory. I inquired at the garage concerning CaseyRyan, taking it for granted he would be driving a Ford. A man of thatdescription had stopped at the garage for gas that forenoon, the boytold me. About nine o'clock, I learned from further questioning.
"Well-sir, that gives him five hours the start," the Little Womanremarked, as she eased in the clutch and slid around the corner intothe highway to Barstow. "But you can't tell me I can't run down a Fordwith this car. I know to the last inch what a Jawn Henry is good for.I drove one myself, remember. Now we'll see."
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
At Dagget, the big, blue car with a lady driver sounded the warningsignal and passed Mack Nolan and the Cadillac roadster. Like CaseyRyan, Nolan is rather proud of his driving, and with sufficient reason.He was already hurrying, not to overhaul Casey, but to arrive soonafter him.
Women drivers loved to pass other cars with a sudden spurt of speed, hehad found by experience. They were not, however, consistently fastdrivers. Mack Nolan was conscious of a slight irritation when thetwin-six took the lead. Somewhere ahead--probably in one of the rough,sandy stretches--he would either have to pass that car or lag behind.Your expert driver likes a clear road ahead.
So Mack Nolan drove a bit harder, and succeeded in getting most of thedust kicked up by the big, blue car. He counted on passing before theyreached Ludlow, but he could never quite make it. In that ungodlystretch of sand and rocks and chuck-holes that lies between Ludlow andAmboy, Nolan was sure that the woman driver would have to slow down.He swore a little, too, because she would pr
obably slow down just wherepassing was impossible. They always did.
They went through Amboy like one party, the big, blue car leading bytwenty-five yards. It was a long drive for a woman to make; a harddrive to boot. He wondered if the two in the big car ever ate.
Five miles east of Amboy, when a red sunset was darkening to starlight,the blue car, fifty yards in the lead, overhauled a Ford in trouble.In the loose, sandy trail the big car slowed and stopped abreast of theFord. There was no passing now, unless Mack Nolan wanted to risksmashing his crank-case on a lava rock, millions of which peppered thatparticular portion of the Mojave Desert. He stopped perforce.
A pair of feet with legs attached to them, protruded from beneath therunning board of the Ford. The Little Woman in the big car leaned overthe side and studied the feet critically.
"Casey Ryan, are those the best pair of shoes you own?" she drawled atlast. "If you wouldn't wear such rundown heels, you know, you wouldn'tlook so bow-legged. I've told you and TOLD you that your legs aren'tso bad when you wear straight heels."
Casey Ryan crawled out and looked up at her grinning sheepishly.
"They was all right when I left home, ma'am," he defended his shoesmildly. "Desert plays hell with shoe leather--you can ask anybody."Then he added, "Hullo, Jack! What you two think you're doin', anyway.Tryin' t' elope?"
"Why, hello, Ryan!" Mack Nolan greeted, coming up from the Cadillac."Having trouble with your car?" Casey whirled and eyed Nolan dubiously.
"Naw. This ain't no trouble," he granted. "I only been here four hoursor so--this is pastime!"
There was an awkward silence. We in the blue car wanted to know (notat that time knowing) who was the man in the Cadillac roadster, and howhe happened to know Casey so well. Nolan, no doubt, wanted to know whowe were. And there was so much that Casey wanted to know and needed toknow that he couldn't seem to think of anything. However, Casey was thehardest to down. He came up to the side of the blue car, reached inwith his hands all greasy black, and took the Little Woman's hand fromthe wheel and kissed it. The Little Woman made a caressing sound andleaned out to him--and Nolan and I felt that we mustn't look. So oureyes met.
He came around to my side of the car and put out his hand.
"I'm pretty good at guessing," he smiled. "I guess you're JackGleason. Casey has talked of you to me. I'm right glad to meet you,too. My name is Mack Nolan, and I'm Irish. I'm Casey Ryan's partner.We have a good--prospect."
Casey looked past the Little Woman and me, straight into Mack Nolan'seyes. I felt something of an electric quality in the air while theirgaze held.
"I'm just getting back from a trip down in the valley," Nolan observedeasily. "You never did see me in town duds, did you, Casey?" His eyeswent to the Little Woman's face and then to me. "I suppose you knowwhat this wild Irishman has just pulled off back there," he said,tilting his head toward San Bernardino, many a mile away to thesouthwest. "You wouldn't think it to look at him, but he surely hasthrown a monkey wrench into as pretty a bootlegging machine as there isin the country. It's such confidential stuff, of course, that you maycall it absolutely secret. But for once I'm telling the truth about it.
"Your husband, Mrs. Casey Ryan, holds a commission from headquarters asa prohibition officer. A deputy, it is true,--but commissionednevertheless. He's just getting back from a very pretty piece of work.A crooked officer named Smiling Lou was arrested last night. He had allkinds of liquor cached away in his house. Casey can tell you sometimehow he trapped him.
"Of course, I'm just an amateur mining expert on a vacation, myself."His eyes met Casey's straight. "I wasn't with him when he pulled thedeal, but I heard about it afterwards, and I knew he was planningsomething of the sort when he left camp. How I happened to know aboutthe commission," he added, reaching into his pocket, "is because heleft it with me for safe keeping. I'm going to let you look atit--just in case he's too proud to let it out of his hands once I giveit back.
"Now, of course, I'm talking like an old woman and telling all Casey'ssecrets--and you'll probably see a real Irish fight when he gets inreach of me. But I knew he hadn't told you exactly what he's doing,and--I personally feel that his wife and his best friend are entitledto know as much as his partner knows about him."
The Little Woman nodded absently her thanks. She was holding Casey'scommission under the dash-light to read it.
I saw Casey gulp once or twice while he stared across the car at MackNolan. He pushed his dusty, black hat forward over one eyebrow andreached into his pocket.
"Aw, hell," he grunted, grinning queerly. "You come around here oncet,Mr. Nolan, where I can git my hands on yuh!"
